So RUNS THE WORLD 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY SIENKIEWICZ 
 
 AUTHOR OF "QUO VADIS" 
 
 FJENNYSON NEELY, PUBLISHER, HEW YORK & LONDON
 
 So Puns 
 The World 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "QUO VADIS," ETC. 
 
 Translated by S. C. de SOISSONS 
 
 r. TENNYSON NEELY 
 Publisher 
 
 LONDON js NEW YORK 
 
 96 QUEEN STREET ^ 1 14 FIFTH AVENUE 
 
 oar. zmtsy, ws AHCELES
 
 Copyright, 1898 
 TENNYSON 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON
 
 Contents 
 
 \ 
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ 7 
 
 ZOLA 43 
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 89 
 
 THE VERDICT . . 127 
 
 WIN OR LOSE . 153 
 
 2133087
 
 PART FIRST
 
 part Jf frst. 
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 I ONCE read a short story, in which a Slav 
 author had all the lilies and bells in a forest 
 bending toward each other, whispering 
 and resounding softly the words: "Glory! 
 Glory! Glory!" until the whole forest and 
 then the whole world repeated the song of 
 flowers. 
 
 Such is to-day the fate of the author of the 
 powerful historical trilogy: "With Fire and 
 Sword," "The Deluge" and "Pan Michael," 
 preceded by short stories, "Lillian Morris," 
 "Yanko the Musician," "After Bread," 
 "Hania," "Let Us Follow Him," followed by 
 two problem novels, "Without Dogma," and
 
 8 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 "Children of the Soil," and crowned by a 
 masterpiece of an incomparable artistic beauty, 
 "Quo Vadis." Eleven good books adopted 
 from the Polish language and set into circula- 
 tion are of great importance for the English- 
 reading people just now I am emphasizing 
 only this because these books are written in 
 the most beautiful language ever written by any 
 Polish author ! Eleven books of masterly, per- 
 sonal, and simple prose ! Eleven good books 
 given to the circulation and received not only 
 with admiration but with gratitude books 
 where there are more or less good or sincere 
 pages, but where there is not one on which 
 original humor, nobleness, charm, some com- 
 forting thoughts, some elevated sentiments do 
 not shine. Some other author would perhaps 
 have stopped after producing "Quo Vadis," 
 without any doubt the best of Sienkiewicz's 
 books. But Sienkiewicz looks into the future 
 and cares more about works which he is going
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 9 
 
 to write, than about those which we have al- 
 ready in our libraries, and he renews his 
 talents, searching, perhaps unknowingly, for 
 new themes and tendencies. 
 
 When one knows how to read a book, then 
 from its pages the author's face looks out on 
 him, a face not material, but just the same 
 full of life. Sienkiewicz's face, looking on us 
 from his books, is not always the same; it 
 changes, and in his last book ("Quo Vadis") 
 it is quite different, almost new. 
 
 There are some people who throw down a 
 book after having read it, as one leaves a 
 bottle after having drank the wine from it. 
 There are others who read books with a 
 pencil in their hands, and they mark the most 
 striking passages. Afterward, in the hours 
 of rest, in the moments when one needs a 
 stimulant from within and one searches for 
 harmony, sympathy of a thing apparently so 
 dead and strange as a book is, they come back
 
 io HENRYK SIENKIEW1CZ. 
 
 to the marked passages, to their own thoughts, 
 more comprehensible since an author ex- 
 pressed them; to their own sentiments, 
 stronger and more natural since they found 
 them in somebody else's words. Because oft- 
 times it seems to us the common readers 
 that there is no difference between our in- 
 terior world and the horizon of great authors, 
 and we flatter ourselves by believing that we 
 are only less daring, less brave than are 
 thinkers and poets, that some interior lack of 
 courage stopped us from having formulated 
 our impressions. And in this sentiment there 
 is a great deal of truth. But while this ex- 
 pression of our thoughts seems to us to be a 
 daring, to the others it is a need ; they even 
 do not suspect how much they are daring and 
 new. They must, according to the words of 
 a poet, "Spin out the love, as the silkworm 
 spins its web." That is their capital distinc- 
 tion from common mortals; we recognize
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. II 
 
 them by it at once ; and that is the reason we 
 put them above the common level. On the 
 pages of their books we find not the traces of 
 the accidental, deeper penetrating into the life 
 or more refined feelings, but the whole har- 
 vest of thoughts, impressions, dispositions, 
 written skilfully, because studied deeply. 
 We also leave something on these pages. 
 Some people dry flowers on them, the others 
 preserve reminiscences. In every one of Sien- 
 kiewicz's volumes people will deposit a great 
 many personal impressions," part of their 
 souls ; in every one they will find them again 
 after many years. 
 
 There are three periods in Sienkiewicz's 
 literary life. In the first he wrote short 
 stories, which are masterpieces of grace and 
 ingenuity at least some of them. In those 
 stories the reader will meet frequent thoughts 
 about general problems, deep observations 
 of life and notwithstanding his idealism,
 
 12 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 very truthful about spiritual moods, ex- 
 pressed" with an easy and sincere hand. 
 Speaking about Sienkiewicz's works, no 
 matter how small it may be, one has always 
 the feeling that one speaks about a known, 
 living in general memory work. Almost 
 every one of his stories is like a stone thrown 
 in the midst of a flock of sparrows gathering 
 in the winter time around barns: one throw 
 arouses at once a flock of winged reminis- 
 cences. 
 
 The other characteristics of his stories are 
 uncommonness of his conceptions, masterly 
 compositions, ofttimes artificial. It happens 
 also that a story has no plot (" From the Diary 
 of a Tutor in Pozman," "Bartek the Victor"), 
 no action, almost no matter ("Yamyol"), but 
 the reader is rewarded by simplicity, rural 
 theme, humoristic pictures ("Comedy of 
 Errors: A Sketch of American Life"), pity 
 for the little and poor ("Yanko the Musi-
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 13 
 
 cian"), and those qualities make the reader re- 
 member his stories well. It is almost impos- 
 sible to forget under the general impressions 
 about his striking and standing-out figures 
 ("The Lighthouse Keeper of Aspinwall"), 
 about the individual impression they leave on 
 our minds. Apparently they are common- 
 place, every-day people, but the author's 
 talent puts on them an original individuality, 
 a particular stamp, which makes one remem- 
 ber them forever and afterward apply them 
 to the individuals which one meets in life. 
 No matter how insignificant socially is the 
 figure chosen by Sienkiewicz for his story, the 
 gieat talent of the author magnifies its strik- 
 ing features, not seen by common people, and 
 makes of it a masterpiece of literary art. 
 
 Although we have a popular saying: Com- 
 paraison rfest 'pas raison, one cannot refrain 
 from stating here that this love for the poor, 
 the little, and the oppressed, brought out so
 
 14 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 powerfully in Sienkiewicz's short stories, con- 
 stitutes a link between him and Fra^ois Cop- 
 pe"e, who is so great a friend of the friendless 
 and the oppressed, those who, without noise, 
 bear the heaviest chains, the pariahs of our 
 happy and smiling society. The only differ- 
 ence between the short stories of these two 
 writers is this, that notwithstanding all the 
 mastercraft of CoppeVs work, one forgets the 
 impressions produced by the reading of his 
 work while it is almost impossible to forget 
 " The Lighthouse Keeper" looking on any light- 
 house, or " Yanko the Musician" listening to a 
 poor wandering boy playing on the street, or 
 " Bartek the Victor" seeing soldiers of which 
 military discipline have made machines rather 
 than thinking beings, or "The Diary of a 
 Tutor" contemplating the pale face of children 
 overloaded with studies. Another difference 
 between those two writers the comparison is 
 always between their short stories is this,
 
 HENRY K SIENKIEWICZ. 15 
 
 that while Sienkiewicz's figures and charac- 
 ters are universal, international if one can 
 use this adjective here and can be applied to 
 the students of any country, to the soldiers of 
 any nation, to any wandering musician and to 
 the light-keeper on any sea, the figures of 
 Francois Coppee are mostly Parisian and 
 could be hardly displaced from their Parisian 
 surroundings and conditions. 
 
 Sometimes the whole short story is written 
 for the sake of that which the French call 
 pointe. When one has finished the reading of 
 "Zeus's Sentence," for a moment the charm- 
 ing description of the evening and Athenian 
 night is lost. And what a beautiful descrip- 
 tion it is! If the art of reading were culti- 
 vated in America as it is in France and Ger- 
 many, I would not be surprised if some 
 American Legouv6 or Strakosch were to 
 add to his repertoire such productions of 
 prose as this humorously poetic "Zeus's
 
 1 6 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 Sentence," or that mystic madrigal, "Be 
 Blessed." 
 
 "But the dusk did not last long," writes 
 Sienkiewicz. " Soon from the Archipelago ap- 
 peared the pale Selene and began to sail like a 
 silvery boat in the heavenly space. And the 
 walls of the Acropolis lighted again, but they 
 beamed now with a pale green light, and 
 looked more than ever like the vision of a 
 dream." 
 
 But all these, and other equally charming 
 pictures, disappear for a moment from the 
 memory of "the reader. There remains only 
 the final joke only Zeus's sentence. " A vir- 
 tuous woman especially when she loves an- 
 other man can resist Apollo. But surely 
 and always a stupid woman will resist him." 
 
 Only when one thinks of the story does one 
 see that the ending that "immoral conclu- 
 sion" I should say if I were not able to under- 
 stand the joke does not constitute the essence
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. I? 
 
 of the story. Only then we find a delight in 
 the description of the city for which the wag- 
 ons cater the divine barley, and the water is 
 carried by the girls, "with amphorae poised 
 on their shoulders and lifted hands, going 
 home, light and graceful, like immortal 
 nymphs." 
 
 And then follow such paragraphs as the fol- 
 lowing, which determine the real value of the 
 work: 
 
 " The voice of the God of Poetry sounded so 
 beautiful that it performed a miracle. Be- 
 hold ! In the Ambrosian night the gold spear 
 standing on the Acropolis of Athens trembled, 
 and the marble head of the gigantic statue 
 turned toward the Acropolis in order to hear 
 better. . . . Heaven and earth listened to it; 
 the sea stopped roaring and lay peacefully 
 near the shores ; even pale Selene stopped her 
 night wandering in the sky and stood motion- 
 less over Athens."
 
 1 8 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 "And when Apollo had finished, a light 
 wind arose and carried the song through the 
 whole of Greece, and wherever a child in the 
 cradle heard only a tone of it, that child grew 
 into a poet. " 
 
 What poet? Famed by what song? Will 
 he not perhaps be a lyric poet? 
 
 The same happens with " Lux in Tenebris." 
 One reads again and again the description of 
 the fall of the mist and the splashing of the 
 rain dropping in the gutter, "the cawing of 
 the crows, migrating to the city for their 
 winter quarters, and, with flapping of wings, 
 roosting in the trees." One feels that the 
 whole misery of the first ten pages was neces- 
 sary in order to form a background for the 
 two pages of heavenly light, to bring out the 
 brightness of that light. "Those who have 
 lost their best beloved," writes Sienkiewicz, 
 " must hang their lives on something ; other- 
 wise they could not exist." In such sentences
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 19 
 
 and it is not the prettiest, but the shortest 
 that I have quoted resounds, however, the 
 quieting wisdom, the noble love of that art 
 which poor Kamionka " respected deeply and 
 was always sincere toward." During the long 
 years of his profession he never cheated nor 
 wronged it, neither for the sake of fame nor 
 money, nor for praise nor for criticism. He 
 always wrote as he felt. Were I not like 
 Ruth of the Bible, doomed to pick the ears of 
 corn instead of being myself a sower if God 
 had not made me critic and worshipper but 
 artist and creator I could not wish for an- 
 other necrology than those words of Sienkie- 
 wicz regarding the statuary Kamionka. 
 
 Quite another thing is the story "At the 
 Source." None of the stories except "Let Us 
 Follow Him" possess for me so many tran- 
 scendent beauties, although we are right to be 
 angry with the author for having wished, dur- 
 ing the reading of several pages, to make us
 
 20 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 believe an impossible thing that he was de- 
 ceiving us. It is true that he has done it in a 
 masterly manner it is true that he could not 
 have done otherwise, but at the same time 
 there is a fault in the conception, and al- 
 though Sienkiewicz has covered the precipice 
 with flowers, nevertheless the precipice exists. 
 
 On the other hand, it is true that one read- 
 ing the novel will forget the trick of the 
 author and will see in it only the picture of an 
 immense happiness and a hymn in the wor- 
 ship of love. Perhaps the poor student is 
 right when he says : " Among all the sources 
 of happiness, that from which I drank during 
 the fever is the clearest and best." "A life 
 which love has not visited, even in a dream, 
 is still worse." 
 
 Love and faith in woman and art are two 
 constantly recurring themes in " Lux in Tene- 
 bris," "At the Source," "Be Blessed," and 
 "Organist of Ponikila."
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 21 
 
 When Sienkiewicz wrote " Let Us Follow 
 Him," some critics cried angrily that he les- 
 sens his talent and moral worth of the litera- 
 ture; they regretted that he turned people 
 into the false road of mysticism, long since 
 left. Having found Christ on his pages, the 
 least religious people have recollected how 
 gigantic he is in the writings of Heine, walk- 
 ing over land and sea, carrying a red, burning 
 sun instead of a heart. They all understood 
 that to introduce Christ not only worthily or 
 beautifully, but simply and in such a manner 
 that we would not be obliged to turn away 
 from the picture, would be a great art almost 
 a triumph. 
 
 In later times we have made many such at- 
 tempts. "The Mysticism" became to-day an 
 article of commerce. The religious tender- 
 ness and simplicity was spread among Pari- 
 sian newspaper men, playwrights and novel- 
 ists. Such as Armand Sylvestre, such as
 
 22 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 Theodore de Wyzewa, are playing at writing 
 up Christian dogmas and legends. And a 
 strange thing! While the painters try to 
 bring the Christ nearer to the crowd, while 
 Fritz von Uhde or Lhermitte put the Christ in 
 a country school, in a workingman's house, the 
 weakling* writers, imitating poets, dress Him 
 in old, faded, traditional clothes and surround 
 Him with a theatrical light which they dare 
 to call "mysticism." They are crowding the 
 porticos of the temple, but they are merely 
 merchants. Anatole France alone cannot be 
 placed in the same crowd. 
 
 In " Let Us Follow Him" the situation and 
 characters are known, and are already to be 
 found in literature. But never were they 
 painted so simply, so modestly, without ro- 
 mantic complaints and exclamations. In the 
 first chapters of that story there appears an 
 epic writer with whom we have for a long 
 time been familiar. We are accustomed to
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 23 
 
 that uncommon simplicity. But in order to 
 appreciate the narrative regarding Antea, one 
 must listen attentively to this slow prose and 
 then one will notice the rhythmic sentences 
 following one after the other. Then one feels 
 that the author is building a great foundation 
 for the action. Sometimes there occurs a 
 brief, sharp sentence ending in a strong, 
 short word, and the result is that Sienkiewicz 
 has given us a masterpiece which justifies the 
 enthusiasm of a critic, who called him a 
 Prince of Polish Prose. 
 
 In the second period of his literary activity, 
 Sienkiewicz has produced his remarkable his- 
 torical trilogy, "The Deluge," "With Fire and 
 Sword," and "Pan Michael," in which his tal- 
 ent shines forth powerfully, and which possess 
 absolutely distinctive characters from his short 
 stories. The admirers of romanticism cannot 
 find any better books in historical fiction. 
 Some critic has said righteously about Sinkie-
 
 24 HENRYK SIENK1EWICZ. 
 
 wicz, speaking of his "Deluge," that he is 
 " the first of Polish novelists, past or present, 
 and second to none now living in England, 
 France, or Germany." 
 
 Sienkiewicz being himself a nobleman, 
 therefore naturally in his historical novels he 
 describes the glorious deeds of the Polish 
 nobility, who, being located on the frontier of 
 such barbarous nations as Turks, Kozaks, 
 Tartars, and Wolochs (to-day Roumania), had 
 defended Europe for centuries from the inva- 
 sions of barbarism and gave the time to Ger- 
 many, France, and England to outstrip Poland 
 in the development of material welfare and 
 general civilization among the masses the 
 nobility being always very refined though 
 in the fifteenth century the literature of 
 Poland and her sister Bohemia (Chechy) 
 was richer than any other European coun- 
 try, except Italy. One should at least 
 always remember that Nicolaus Kopernicus
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 2$ 
 
 (Kopernik) was a Pole and John Huss was 
 a Chech. 
 
 Historical novels began in England, or 
 rather in Scotland, by the genius of Walter 
 Scott, followed in France by Alexandre 
 Dumas pere. These two great writers had 
 numerous followers and imitators in all coun- 
 tries, and every nation can point out some 
 more or less successful writer in that field, 
 but who never attained the great success of 
 Sienkiewicz, whose works are translated into 
 many languages, even into Russian, where 
 the antipathy for the Polish superior degree 
 of civilization is still very eager. 
 
 The superiority of Sienkiewicz 's talent is 
 then affirmed by this fact of translation, and I 
 would dare say that he is superior to the father 
 of this kind of novels, on account of his 
 historical coloring, so much emphasized in 
 Walter Scott. This important quality in the 
 historical novel is truer and more lively in the
 
 26 HENRYK SIEXKIEWICZ. 
 
 Polish writer, and then he possesses that psy- 
 chological depth about which Walter Scott 
 never dreamed. Walter Scott never has 
 created such an original and typical figure as 
 Zagloba is, who is a worthy rival to Shake- 
 speare's Falstaff. As for the description of 
 duelings, fights, battles, Sienkiewicz's fantas- 
 tically heroic pen is without rival. 
 
 Alexandre Dumas, notwithstanding the bit- 
 ing criticism of Brunetiere, will always re- 
 main a great favorite with the reading masses, 
 who are searching in his books for pleasure, 
 amusement, and distraction. Sienkiewicz's 
 historical novels possess all the interesting 
 qualities of Dumas, and besides that they are 
 full of wholesome food for thinking minds. 
 His colors are more shining, his brush is 
 broader, his composition more artful, chiselled, 
 finished, better built, and executed with more 
 vigor. While Dumas amuses, pleases, dis- 
 tracts, Sienkiewicz astonishes, surprises, be-
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 2/ 
 
 witches. All uneasy preoccupations, the dol- 
 orous echoes of eternal problems, which phil- 
 osophical doubt imposes with the everlasting 
 anguish of the human mind, the mystery of 
 the origin, the enigma of destiny, the inex- 
 plicable necessity of suffering, the short, trag- 
 ical, and sublime vision of the future of the 
 soul, and the future not less difficult to be 
 guessed of by the human race in this material 
 world, the torments of human conscience and 
 responsibility for the deeds, is said by Sien- 
 kiewicz without any pedanticism, without any 
 dryness. 
 
 If we say that the great Hungarian author 
 Maurice Jokay, who also writes historical 
 novels, pales when compared with that fasci- 
 nating Pole who leaves far behind him the 
 late lions in the field of romanticism, Stanley 
 J. Weyman and Anthony Hope, we are 
 through with that part of Sienkiewicz's liter- 
 ary achievements.
 
 28 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 In the third period Sienkiewicz is repre- 
 sented by two problem novels, "Without 
 Dogma" and "Children of the Soil." 
 
 The charm of Sienkiewicz's psychological 
 novels is the synthesis so seldom realized and 
 as I have already said, the plastic beauty and 
 abstract thoughts. He possesses also an ad- 
 mirable assurance of psychological analysis, a 
 mastery in the painting of customs and char- 
 acters, and the rarest and most precious fac- 
 ulty of animating his heroes with intense, per- 
 sonal life, which, though it is only an illusion - 
 ary life, appears less deceitful than the real 
 life. 
 
 In that field of novels Sienkiewicz differs 
 greatly from Balzac, for instance, who forced 
 himself to paint the man in his perversity or 
 in his stupidity. According to his views life 
 is the racing after riches. The whole of Bal- 
 zac's philosophy can be resumed in the deifi- 
 cation of the force. All his heroes are 
 
 *
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 29 
 
 "strong men" who disdain humanity and take 
 advantage of it. Sienkiewicz's psychological 
 novels are not lacking in the ideal in his con- 
 ception of life; they are active powers, form- 
 ing human souls. The reader finds there, in 
 a well-balanced proportion, good and bad ideas 
 of life, and he represents this life as a good 
 thing, worthy of living. 
 
 He differs also from Paul Bourget, who as a 
 German savant counts how many microbes are 
 in a drop of spoiled blood, who is pleased with 
 any ferment, who does not care for healthy 
 souls, as a doctor does not care for healthy 
 people and who is fond of corruption. Sien- 
 kiewicz's analysis of life is not exclusively 
 pathological, and we find in his novels healthy 
 as well as sick people as in the real life. He 
 takes colors from twilight and aurora to paint 
 with, and by doing so he strengthens our en- 
 ergy, he stimulates our ability for thinking 
 about those eternal problems, difficult to be
 
 30 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 decided, but which existed and will exist as 
 long as humanity will exist. 
 
 He prefers green fields, the perfume of 
 flowers, health, virtue, to Zola's liking for 
 crime, sickness, cadaverous putridness, and 
 manure. He prefers I } dme humaine to la b$te 
 humaine. 
 
 He is never vulgar even when his heroes do 
 not wear any gloves, and he has these common 
 points with Shakespeare and Moliere, that he 
 does not paint only certain types of human- 
 ity, taken from one certain part of the coun- 
 try, as it is with the majority of French 
 writers who do not go out of their dear Paris ; 
 in Sienkiewicz's novels one can find every 
 kind of people, beginning with humble peas- 
 ants and modest noblemen created by God, 
 and ending with proud lords made by the 
 kings. 
 
 In the novel "Without Dogma," there are 
 many keen and sharp observations, said mas-
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 3* 
 
 terly and briefly ; there are many states of the 
 soul, if not always very deep, at least written 
 with art. And his merit in that respect is 
 greater than of any other writers, if we take in 
 consideration that in Poland heroic lyricism 
 and poetical picturesqueness prevail in the 
 literature. 
 
 The one who wishes to find in the modern 
 literature some aphorism to classify the char- 
 acteristics of the people, in order to be able 
 afterward to apply them to their fellow-men, 
 must read " Children of the Soil." 
 
 But the one who is less selfish and wicked, 
 and wishes to collect for his own use such a 
 library as to be able at any moment to take 
 a book from a shelf and find in it something 
 which would make him thoughtful or would 
 make him forget the ordinary life, he must 
 get "Quo Vadis," because there he will find 
 pages which will recomfort him by their 
 beauty and dignity ; it will enable him to go
 
 32 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 out from his surroundings and enter into him- 
 self, i.e., in that better man whom we some- 
 times feel in our interior. And while reading 
 this book he ought to leave on its pages the 
 traces of his readings, some marks made with 
 a lead pencil or with his whole memory. 
 
 It seems that in that book a new man was 
 aroused in Sienkiewicz, and any praise said 
 about this unrivaled masterpiece will be as 
 pale as any powerful lamp is pale compara- 
 tively with the glory of the sun. For in- 
 stance, if I say that Sienkiewicz has made a 
 thorough study of Nero's epoch, and that his 
 great talent and his plastic imagination 
 created the most powerful pictures in the his- 
 torical background, will, it not be a very 
 tame praise, compared with his book which, 
 while reading it, one shivers and the blood 
 freezes in one's veins? 
 
 In "Quo Vadis" the whole alta Roma, be- 
 ginning with slaves carrying mosaics for
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 33 
 
 their refined masters, and ending with patri- 
 cians, who were so fond of beautiful things 
 that one of them for instance used to kiss at 
 every moment a superb vase, stands before our 
 eyes as if it was reconstructed by a magical 
 power from ruins and death. 
 
 There is no better description of the burn- 
 ing of Rome in any literature. While read- 
 ing it everything turns red in one's eyes, and 
 immense noises fill one's ears. And the 
 moment when Christ appears on the hill to 
 the frightened Peter, who is going to leave 
 Rome, not feeling strong enough to fight with 
 mighty Caesar, will remain one of the strongest 
 passages of the literature of the whole world. 
 
 After having read again and again this 
 great shall I say the greatest historical 
 novel ? and having wondered at its deep con- 
 ception, masterly execution, beautiful lan- 
 guage, powerful painting of the epoch, plastic 
 description of customs and habits, enthusiasm
 
 34 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 of the first followers of Christ, refinement of 
 Roman civilization, corruption of the old 
 world, the question rises : What is the dominat- 
 ing idea of the author, spread out all over the 
 whole book? It is the cry of Christians mrr- 
 dered in circuses : Pro Christo ! 
 
 Sienkiewicz searching always and continually 
 for a tranquil harbor from the storms of con- 
 science and investigation of the tormented 
 mind, finds such a harbor in the religious senti- 
 ments, in lively Christian faith. This idea is 
 woven as golden thread in a silk brocade, not 
 only in " Quo Vadis," but also in all his novels. 
 In " Fire and Sword" his principal hero is an 
 outlaw; but all his crimes, not only against 
 society, but also against nature, are redeemed 
 by faith, and as a consequence of it afterward 
 by good deeds. In the " Children of the 
 Soul," he takes one of his principal characters 
 upon one of seven Roman hills, and having 
 displayed before him in the most eloquent
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 35 
 
 way the might of the old Rome, the might as 
 it never existed before and perhaps never will 
 exist again, he says: " And from all that noth- 
 ing is left only crosses! crosses! crosses!" It 
 seems to us that in " Quo Vadis" Sienkiewicz 
 strained all his forces to reproduce from one 
 side all the power, all riches, all refinement, 
 all corruption of the Roman civilization in 
 order to get a better contrast with the great 
 advantages of the cry of the living faith : Pro 
 Christo ! In that cry the asphyxiated not only 
 in old times but in our days also find refresh- 
 ment; the tormented by doubt, peace. From 
 that cry flows hope, and naturally people pre- 
 fer those from whom the blessing comes to 
 those who curse and doom them. 
 
 Sienkiewicz considers the Christian faith as 
 the principal and e\en the only help which 
 humanity needs to bear cheerfully the burden 
 and struggle of every-day life. Equally his 
 personal experience as well as his studies
 
 36 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 made him worship Christ. He is not one of 
 those who say that religion is good for the 
 people at large. He does not admit such a 
 shade of contempt in a question touching so 
 near the human heart. He knows that every 
 one is a man in the presence of sorrow and 
 the conundrum of fate, contradiction of jus- 
 tice, tearing of death, and uneasiness of hope. 
 He believes that the only way to cross the 
 precipice is the flight with the wings of faith, 
 the precipice made between the submission to 
 general and absolute laws and the confidence 
 in the infinite goodness of the Father. 
 
 The time passes and carries with it people 
 and doctrines and systems. Many authors 
 left as the heritage to civilization rows of 
 books, and in those books scepticism, indiffer- 
 ence, doubt, lack of precision and decision. 
 
 But the last symptoms in the literature 
 show us that the Stoicism is not sufficient for 
 our generation, not satisfied with Marcus
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 37 
 
 Aurelius's gospel, which was not sufficient 
 even to that brilliant Sienkiewicz's Roman 
 arbiter elegant iarum, the over-refined patri- 
 cian Petronius. A nation which desired to 
 live, and does not wish either to perish in the 
 desert or be drowned in the mud, needs such 
 a great help which only religion gives. The 
 history is not only magister vita, but also it is 
 the master of conscience. 
 
 Literature has in Sienkiewicz a great poet 
 epical as well as lyrical. 
 
 I shall not mourn, although I appreciate the 
 justified complaint about objectivity in belles 
 lettres. But now there is no question what 
 poetry will be ; there is the question whether 
 it will be, and I believe that society, being 
 tired with Zola's realism and its caricature, 
 not with the picturesqueness of Loti, but with 
 catalogues of painter's colors; not with the 
 depth of Ibsen, but the oddness of his imita- 
 tors it seems to me that society will hate the
 
 38 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 poetry which discusses and philosophizes, 
 wishes to paint but does not feel, makes 
 archeology but does not give impressions, 
 and that people will turn to the poetry as it 
 was in the beginning, what is in its deepest 
 essence, to the flight of single words, to the 
 interior melody, to the song the art of 
 sounds being the greatest art. I believe that 
 if in the future the poetry will find listeners, 
 they will repeat to the poets the words of Paul 
 Verlaine, whom by too summary judgment 
 they count among incomprehensible originals : 
 
 " De la musiquc encore et toujours." 
 
 And nobody need be afraid, from a social 
 point of view, for Sienkiewicz's objectivity. 
 It is a manly lyricism as well as epic, made 
 deep by the knowledge of the life, sustained 
 by thinking, until now perhaps unconscious 
 of itself, the poetry of a writer who walked 
 many roads, studied many things, knew
 
 HENRYK S1ENKIEWICZ. 39 
 
 much bitterness, ridiculed many triflings, 
 and then he perceived that a man like him- 
 self has only one aim : above human affairs 
 "to spin the love, as the silkworm spins its 
 
 web." 
 
 S. C. DE SOISSONS. 
 
 " THE UNIVERSITY," CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
 
 PART SECOND
 
 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 ZOLA. 
 
 I HAVE a great respect for every accom- 
 plished work. Every time I put on the end 
 of any of my works finis, I feel satisfied ; not 
 because the work is done, not on account of 
 future success, but on account of an accom- 
 plished deed. 
 
 Every book is a deed bad or good, but at 
 any rate accomplished and a series of them, 
 written with a special aim, is an accomplished 
 purpose of life ; it is a feast during which the 
 workers have the right to receive a wreath, 
 and to sing: " We bring the crop, the crop!" 
 
 Evidently the merit depends on the result 
 of the work. The profession of the writer has 
 its thorns about which the reader does not 
 dream. A farmer, bringing the crop to his
 
 44 SO ItUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 barn, has this absolute surety, that he brings 
 wheat, rye, barley, or oats which will be use- 
 ful to the people. An author, writing even 
 with the best of faith, may have moments of 
 doubt, whether instead of bread he did not 
 give poison, whether his work is not a great 
 mistake or a great misdeed, whether it has 
 brought profit to humanity, or whether, were 
 it not better for the people and himself, had 
 he not written anything, nothing accom- 
 plished. 
 
 Such doubts are foes to human peace, but at 
 the same time they are a filter, which does 
 not pass any dirt. It is bad when there are 
 too many of them, it is bad when too few; in 
 the first case the ability for deeds disappears, 
 in the second, the conscience. Hence the 
 eternal, as humanity, need of exterior regu- 
 lator. 
 
 But the French writers always had more 
 originality and independence than others, and
 
 ZOLA. 45 
 
 that regulator, which elsewhere was religion, 
 long since ceased to exist for them. There 
 were some exceptions, however. Balzac used 
 to affirm that his aim was to serve religion 
 and monarchy. But even the works of those 
 who confessed such principles were not in 
 harmony with themselves. One can say that 
 it pleased the authors to understand their ac- 
 tivity in that way, but the reading masses 
 could understand it and often understood it as 
 a negation of religious and ethical principles. 
 
 In the last epoch, however, such misun- 
 derstanding became impossible, because the 
 authors began to write, either in the name of 
 their personal convictions, directly opposite 
 to social principles and ties, or with objec- 
 tive analysis, which, in its action of life, 
 marks the good and the evil as manifestations 
 equally necessary and equally justified. 
 France and through France the rest of 
 Europe was overflowed with a deluge of
 
 46 SO ItUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 books, written with such lightheartedness, so 
 absolute and with such daring, not counting 
 on any responsibility toward people, that even 
 those who received them without any scruples 
 began to be overcome with astonishment. It 
 seemed that every author forced himself to go 
 further than they expected him to. In that 
 way they succeeded in being called daring 
 thinkers and original artists. The boldness 
 in touching certain subjects, and the way of 
 interpreting them, seemed to be the best qual- 
 ity of the writer. To that was joined bad 
 faith, or unconscious deceiving of himself 
 and others. Analysis ! They analyzed in the 
 name of truth, which apparently must and has 
 the right to be said, everything, but especially 
 the evil, dirt, human corruption. They did 
 not notice that this pseudo-analysis ceases to 
 be an objective analysis, and becomes a sick- 
 ish liking for rotten things coming from two 
 causes : in the first place from the corruption
 
 ZOLA. 47 
 
 of the taste, then from greater facility of pro- 
 ducing striking effects. 
 
 They utilized the philological faculty of the 
 senses, on the strength of which repulsive 
 impressions appear to us stronger and more 
 real than agreeable, and they abused that 
 property beyond measure. 
 
 There was created a certain kind of travel- 
 ling in putridness, because the subjects being 
 exhausted very quickly, there was a necessity 
 to find something new which could attract. 
 The truth itself, in the name of which it was 
 done, was put in a corner in the presence of 
 such exigencies. Are you familiar with 
 Zola's "La Terre"? This novel is to repre- 
 sent a picture of a French village. Try and 
 think of a French village, or of any other vil- 
 lage. How does it look altogether? It is a 
 gathering of houses, trees, fields, pastures, 
 wild flowers, people, herds, light, sky, sing- 
 ing, small country business, and work. In all
 
 48 SO KUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 that, without any doubt, the manure plays an 
 important part, but there is something more 
 behind it and besides it. But Zola's village 
 looks as if it was composed exclusively of 
 manure and crime. Therefore the picture is 
 false, the truth twisted, because in nature the 
 true relation of things is different. If any one 
 would like to take the trouble of making a list 
 of the women represented in French novels, 
 he would persuade himself that at least ninety- 
 five per cent, of them were fallen women. 
 But in society it is not, and cannot be, so. 
 Probably even in the countries where they 
 worshipped Astarte, there were less Dad 
 women. Notwithstanding this, the authors 
 try to persuade us that they are giving a true 
 picture of society, and that their analysis of 
 customs is an objective one. The lie, exag- 
 geration, liking for rotten things such is the 
 exact picture in contemporary novels. I do 
 not know what profit there is in literature like
 
 ZOLA. 49 
 
 that, but I do know that the devil has not lost 
 anything, because through this channel flows 
 a river of mud and poison, and the moral 
 sense became so dulled that finally they toler- 
 ated such books which a few decades ago 
 would have brought the author to court. To- 
 day we do not wish to believe that the author 
 of " Madame Bovary" had two criminal suits. 
 Had this book been written twenty years later, 
 they would have found it too modest. 
 
 But the human spirit, which does not slum- 
 ber, and the organism that wishes to live, 
 does not suffer excess of poison. Finally 
 there came a moment for hiccoughs of dis- 
 gust. Some voices began to rise asking for 
 other spiritual bread ; an instinctive sentiment 
 awakes and cries that it cannot continue any 
 longer in this way, that one must arise, shake 
 off the mud, clean, change! The people ask 
 for a fresh breeze. The masses cannot say 
 what they want, but they know what they do
 
 50 SO XUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 not want ; they know they are breathing bad 
 air, and that they are suffocating. An un- 
 easiness takes hold of their minds. Even in 
 France they are seeking and crying for some- 
 thing different ; they began to protest against 
 the actual state of affairs. Many writers felt 
 that uneasiness. They had some moments of 
 doubt, about which I have spoken already, 
 and those doubts were stronger on account of 
 the uncertainty of the new roads. Look at 
 the last books of Bourget, Rod, Barres, Des- 
 jardin, the poetry of Rimbaud, Verlaine, 
 Heredia, Mallarme', and even Maeterlinck. and 
 his school. What do you find there? The 
 searching for new essence and new form, fev- 
 erish seeking for some issue, uncertainty 
 where to go and where to look for help in 
 religion or mysticism, in duty outside of 
 faith, or in patriotism or in humanity? 
 Above all, however, one sees in them an im- 
 mense uneasiness. They do not find any
 
 ZOLA. 5* 
 
 issue, because for it one needs two things : a 
 great idea and a great talent, and they did not 
 have either of them. Hence the uneasiness 
 increases, and the same authors who arouse 
 against rough pessimism of naturalistic direc- 
 tion fell into pessimism themselves, and by 
 this the principal importance and aim of a re- 
 form became weaker. What remains then? 
 The bizarre form. And in this bizarre form, 
 whether it is called symbolism or impression- 
 ism, they go in deeper and become more en- 
 tangled, losing artistic equilibrium, common 
 sense, and serenity of the soul. Often they 
 fall into the former corruption as far as the 
 essence is concerned, and almost always into 
 dissonance with one's self, because they have 
 an honest sentiment that they must give to 
 the world something new, and they know not 
 what. 
 
 Such are the present times ! Among those 
 searching in darkness, wandering and weary
 
 52 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 ones, one remained quiet, sure of himself and 
 his doctrine, immovable and almost serious in 
 his pessimism. It was Emile Zola. A great 
 talent, slow but powerful and a potent force, 
 surprising objectivism if the question is about 
 a sentiment, because it is equal to almost com- 
 plete indifference, such an exceptional gift of 
 seeing the entire soul of humanity and things 
 that it approaches this naturalistic writer to 
 mystics all that gives him a very great and 
 unusual originality. 
 
 The physical figure does not always repro- 
 duce the spiritual individuality. In Zola, this 
 relation comes out very strikingly. A square 
 face, low forehead covered with wrinkles, 
 rough features, high shoulders and short 
 neck, give to his person a rough appearance. 
 Looking at his face and those wrinkles around 
 the eyes, you can guess that he is a man who 
 can stand much, that he is persevering and 
 stubborn, not only in his projects but in the
 
 ZOLA. 53 
 
 realization of them ; but what is more impor- 
 tant, he is so in his thinking also. There is 
 no keenness in him. At the first glance of 
 the eye one can see that he is a doctrinarian 
 shut up in himself, who does not embrace 
 large horizons sees everything at a certain 
 angle, narrow-mindedly yet seeing distinctly. 
 
 His mind, like a dark lantern, throws a nar- 
 row light in only one direction, and he goes in 
 that direction with immovable surety. In 
 that way the history of a series of his books 
 called " Les Rougon-Macquart" becomes clear. 
 
 Zola was determined to write the history of 
 a certain family at the time of the Empire, on 
 the ground of conditions produced by it, in 
 consideration of the law of heredity. 
 
 There was a question even about something 
 more than this consideration, because this 
 heredity had to become the physiological foun- 
 dation of the work. There is a certain con- 
 tradiction in the premises. Speaking histori-
 
 54 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 cally Rougon-Macquart had to be a picture 
 of French society during its last times. Ac- 
 cording to their moral manifestations of life, 
 therefore, they ought to be of themselves more 
 or less a normal family. But in such a case 
 what shall one do with heredity? To be sure, 
 moral families are such on the strength of the 
 law of heredity but it is impossible to show 
 it in such conditions one can do it only in 
 exceptional cases of the normal type. There- 
 fore the Rougon are in fact a sick family. 
 They are children of nervousness. It was 
 contracted by the first mother of the family, 
 and since that time the coming generations, 
 one after another, followed with the same 
 stigma on their foreheads. This is the way 
 the author wishes to have it, and one must 
 agree with him. In what way, however, can 
 a history of one family exceptionally attainted 
 with a mental disorder be at the same time a 
 picture of French society, the author does not
 
 ZOLA. 55 
 
 explain to us. Had he said that during the 
 Empire all society was sick, it would be a 
 trick. A society can walk in the perilous road 
 of politics or customs and be sick as a com- 
 munity, and at the same time have healthy in- 
 dividuals and families. These are two differ- 
 ent things. Therefore one of the two : either 
 the Rougon are sick, and in that case the 
 cycle of novels about them is not a picture of 
 French society during the Empire it is only 
 a psychological study or the whole physio- 
 logical foundations, all this heredity on which 
 the cycle is based, in a word Zola's whole 
 doctrine, is nonsense. 
 
 I do not know whether any one has paid at- 
 tention to Zola at this aut aut ! It is sure that 
 he never thought of it himself. Probably it 
 would not have had any influence, as the criti- 
 cisms had no influence on his theory of hered- 
 ity. Critics and physiologists attacked him 
 ofttimes with an arsenal of irrefutable argu-
 
 $6 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 merits. It did not do any good. They af- 
 firmed in vain that the theory of heredity is 
 not proved by any science, and above all it is 
 difficult to grasp it and show it by facts ; they 
 pointed in vain that physiology cannot be fan- 
 tastical and its laws cannot depend on the free 
 conception of an author. Zola listened, con- 
 tinued to write, and in the last volume he 
 gave a genealogical tree of the family of Rou- 
 gon-Macquart, with such a serenity as if no 
 one ever doubted his theory. 
 
 At any rate, this tree has one advantage. 
 It is so pretentious, so ridiculous that it takes 
 away from the theory the seriousness which 
 it would have given to less individual minds. 
 We learn from it that from a nervously sick 
 great-grandmother grows a sick family. But 
 the one who would think that her nervousness 
 is seen in descendants as it is in the physical 
 field, in a certain similar way, in some inclina- 
 tion or passion for something, will be greatly
 
 ZOLA. 57 
 
 mistaken. On the contrary, the marvellous 
 tree produces different kinds of fruit. You 
 can find on it red apples, pears, plums, cher- 
 ries, and everything you might desire. And 
 all that on account of great-grandmother's 
 nervousness. Is it the same way in nature? 
 We do not know. Zola himself does not have 
 any other proofs than clippings from news- 
 papers, describing different crimes; he pre- 
 served these clippings carefully as "human 
 documents," and which he uses according to 
 his fancy. 
 
 It can be granted to him, but he must not 
 sell us such fancy for the eternal and immu- 
 table laws of nature. Grandmother did have 
 nervousness, her nearest friends were in the 
 habit of searching for remedies against ills not 
 in a drug-store, therefore her male and female 
 descendants are such as they must be 
 namely, criminals, thieves, fast women, hon- 
 est people, saints, politicians, good mothers,
 
 58 SO RUNS THE WORLD, 
 
 bankers, farmers, murderers, priests, soldiers, 
 ministers in a word, everything which in the 
 sphere of the mind, in the sphere of health, 
 in the sphere of wealth and position, in the 
 sphere of profession, can be and are men as 
 well as women in the whole world. One is 
 stupefied voluntarily. What then? And all 
 that on account of grandmother's nervousness? 
 "Yes!" answers the author. But if Adelaide 
 Fouque had not had it, her descendants would 
 be good or bad just the same and have the 
 same occupations men and women usually 
 have in this world. "Certainly!" Zola an- 
 swers; "but Adelaide Fouque had nervous- 
 ness." And further discussion is impossible, 
 because one has to do with a man who his own 
 voluntary fancy takes for a law of nature and 
 his brain cannot be opened with a key fur- 
 nished by logic. He built a genealogical tree ; 
 this tree could have been different but if it 
 was different, he would sustain that it can be
 
 ZOLA. 59 
 
 only such as it is and he would prefer to be 
 killed rather than be convinced that his 
 theory was worthless. 
 
 At any rate, it is such a theory that it is not 
 worth while to quarrel about it. A long time 
 ago it was said that Zola had one good thing 
 his talent; and one bad his doctrine. If 
 as a consequence of an inherited nervousness 
 one can become a rascal as well as a good 
 man, a Sister of Charity as well as Nana, a 
 farmer boy as well as Achilles in that case 
 there is an heredity which does not exist. A 
 man can be that which he wishes to be. The 
 field for good will and responsibility is open, 
 and all those moral foundations on which hu- 
 man life is based come out of the fire safely. 
 We could say to the author that there is too 
 much ado about nothing, and finish with him 
 as one finishes with a doctrinarian and count 
 only his talent. But he cares for something 
 else. No matter if his doctrine is empty, he
 
 60 SO KUNS THE WOLD. 
 
 makes from it other deductions. The entire 
 cycle of his books speaks precisely. " No mat- 
 ter what you are, saint or criminal, you are 
 such on the strength of the law of heredity, 
 you are such as you must be, and in that case 
 you have neither merit nor are you guilty." 
 Here is the question of responsibility! But 
 we are not going to discuss it. The philos- 
 ophy has not yet found the proof of the exis- 
 tence of man, and when cogito ergo sum of Car- 
 tesius was not sufficient for it, the question is 
 still open. Even if all centuries of philosophy 
 affirm it or not, the man is intrinsically per- 
 suaded that he exists, and no less persuaded 
 that he is responsible for his whole life, which, 
 without any regard to his theories, is based on 
 such persuasion. And then even the science 
 did not decide the question of the whole re- 
 sponsibility. Against authorities one can 
 quote other authorities, against opinions one 
 can bring other opinions, against deductions
 
 ZOLA. 6 1 
 
 other deductions. But for Zola such opinion 
 is decided. There is only one grandmother 
 Adelaide, or grandfather Jacques, on whom 
 everything depends. From that point begins, 
 according to my opinion, the bad influence of 
 the writer, because he not only decides diffi- 
 cult questions to be decided once and forever, 
 but he popularizes them and facilitates the 
 corruption of society. No matter if every 
 thief or every murderer can appeal to a grand- 
 mother with nervousness. Courts, notwith- 
 standing the cycle of Rougon-Macquart, will 
 place them behind bars. The evil is not in 
 single cases, but in this, that into the human 
 soul a bad pessimism and depression flows, 
 that the charm of life is destroyed, the hope, 
 the energy, the liking for life, and therefore all 
 effort in the direction of good is shattered. 
 
 A quoi bon ? Such is the question coming 
 by itself. A book is also an activity, forming 
 human souls. If at least the reader would
 
 62 SO XUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 find in Zola's book the bad and good side of 
 human life in an equal proportion, or at least 
 in such as one can find it in reality! Vain 
 hope ! One must climb high in order to get 
 colors from a rainbow or sunset but every- 
 body has saliva in his mouth and it is easy to 
 paint with it. This naturalist prefers cheap 
 effects more than others do; he prefers mil- 
 dew to perfumes, la b$te humaine to Fame 
 humaint ! 
 
 If we could bring an inhabitant of Venus 
 or Mars to the earth and ask him to judge of 
 life on the earth from Zola's novels, he would 
 say most assuredly: "This life is sometimes 
 quite pure, like ' Le Reve, ' but in general it is 
 a thing which smells bad, is slippery, moist, 
 dreadful." And even if the theories on which 
 Zola has based his works were, as they are not, 
 acknowledged truths, what a lack of pity to 
 represent life in such a way to the people, who 
 must live just the same! Does he do it in
 
 ZOLA. 63 
 
 order to ruin, to disgust, to poison every 
 action, to paralyze every energy, to discourage 
 all thinking? In the presence of that, we are 
 even sorry that he has a talent. It would 
 have been better for him, for France, that he 
 had not had it. And one wonders that he is 
 not frightened, that when a fear seizes even 
 those who did not lead to corruption, he alone 
 with such a tranquillity finishes his Rougon- 
 Macquart as if he had strengthened the capac- 
 ity for life of the French people instead of 
 having destroyed it. How is it possible that 
 he cannot understand that people brought up 
 on such corrupted bread and drinking, such bad 
 water, not only will be unable to resist the 
 storm, but even they will not have an inclina- 
 tion to do so ! Musset has written in his time 
 this famous verse : " We had already your 
 German Rhine." Zola brings up his society 
 in such a way that, if everything that he 
 planted would take root, the second of Mus-
 
 64 SO KUNS THE WORLD, 
 
 set's verses would be: "But to-day we will 
 give you even the Seine." But it is not as 
 bad as that. " La Debacle" is a remarkable 
 book, notwithstanding all its faults, but the 
 soldiers, who will read it, will be defeated by 
 those who in the night sing: "Glory, Glory, 
 Halleluia!" 
 
 I consider Zcla's talent as a national misfor- 
 tune, and I am glad that his times are passing 
 away, that even the most zealous pupils aban- 
 don the master who stands alone more and 
 more. 
 
 Will humanity remember him in literature? 
 Will his fame pass? We cannot affirm, but 
 we can doubt! In the cycle of Rougon- 
 Macquart there are powerful volumes, as 
 " Germinal" or " La Debacle." But in general, 
 that which Zola's natural talent made for his 
 immortality was spoiled by a liking for dirty 
 realism and his filthy language. Literature 
 cannot use such expressions of which even
 
 ZOLA. 65 
 
 peasants are ashamed. The real truth, if the 
 question is about vicious people, can be at- 
 tained by other means, by probable reproduc- 
 tion of the state of their souls, thoughts, 
 deeds, finally by the run of their conversation, 
 but not by verbal quotation of their swearings 
 and most horrid words. As in the choice of 
 pictures, so in the choice of expression, exist 
 certain measures, pointed at by reason and 
 good taste. Zola overstepped it to such a de- 
 gree (" La Terre") to which nobody yet dared 
 to approach. Monsters are killed because 
 they are monsters. A book which is the 
 cause of disgust must be abandoned. It is 
 the natural order of things. From old pro- 
 duction as of universal literature survive the 
 forgetfulness of the rough productions, des- 
 tined to excite laughter (Aristophanes, Ra- 
 belais, etc.), or lascivious things, but written 
 with an elegance (Boccaccio). Not one book 
 
 written in order to excite nausea outlived. 
 5
 
 66 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Zola, for the sake of the renown caused by his 
 works, for the sake of the scandal produced 
 by every one of his volumes, killed his future. 
 On account of that happened a strange thing : 
 it happened that he, a man writing according 
 to a conceived plan, writing with deliberation, 
 cold and possessing his subjects as very few 
 writers are, created good things only when he 
 had the least opportunity to realize his plans, 
 doctrines, means, in a word, when he domi- 
 nated the subject the least and was dominated 
 by the subject most. 
 
 Such was the case in " Germinal" and " La 
 Debacle." The immensity of socialism and 
 the immensity of the war simply crushed Zola 
 with all his mental apparatus. His doctrines 
 became very small in the presence of such di- 
 mensions, and hardly any one hears of them in 
 the noise of the deluge, overflowing the mine 
 and in the thundering of Prussian cannons; 
 only talent remained. Therefore in both
 
 ZOLA. 67 
 
 those books there are pages worthy of Dante. 
 Quite a different thing happened with " Doc- 
 teur Pascal." Being the last volume of the 
 cycle, it was bound to be the last deduction, 
 from the whole work the synthesis of the doc- 
 trine, the belfry of the whole building. Con- 
 sequently in this volume Zola speaks more 
 about doctrine than in any other previous vol- 
 ume; as the doctrine is bad, wicked, and 
 false, therefore " Docteur Pascal" is the worst 
 and most tedious book of all the cycle of Rou- 
 gon-Macquart. It is a series of empty leaves 
 on which tediousness is hand in hand with lack 
 of moral sense, it is a pale picture full of false- 
 hood such is "Le Dooteur Pascal." Zola 
 wishes to have him an honest man. He is 
 the outcast of the family Rougon-Macquart. 
 In heredity there happens such lucky degen- 
 erations ; the doctor knows about it, he con- 
 siders himself as a happy exception, and it is 
 for him a source of continuous inward pleas-
 
 68 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 ure. In the mean while, he loves people, 
 serves them and sells them his medicine, 
 which cures all possible disease. He is a 
 sweet sage, who studies life, therefore he 
 gathers "human documents," builds labori- 
 ously the genealogical tree of the family of 
 Rougon-Macquart, whose descendant he is 
 himself, and on the strength of his observa- 
 tions he comes to the same conclusion as Zola. 
 To which? It is difficult to answer the ques- 
 tion ; but here it is more or less : if any one is 
 not well, usually he is sick and that heredity 
 exists, but mothers and fathers who come 
 from other families can bring into the blood 
 of children new elements ; in that way hered- 
 ity can be modified to such a degree that 
 strictly speaking it does not exist. 
 
 To all that Doctor Pascal is a positivist. 
 He does not wish to affirm anything, but he 
 does affirm that actual state of science does not 
 permit of any further deductions than those
 
 ZOLA. 69 
 
 which on the strength of the observation of 
 known facts can be deducted, therefore one 
 must hold them, and neglect the others. In 
 that respect his prejudices do not tell us any- 
 thing more than newspaper articles, written 
 by young positivists. For the people, who 
 are rushing forward, for those spiritual needs, 
 as strong as thirst and hunger, by which the 
 man felt such ideas as God, faith, immortal- 
 ity, the doctor has only a smile of commisera- 
 tion. And one might wonder at him a little 
 bit. One could understand him better if he 
 did not acknowledge the possibility of the dis- 
 entangling of different abstract questions, but 
 he affirms that the necessity does not exist by 
 which he sins against evidence, because such 
 a necessity exists, not further than under his 
 own roof, in the person of his niece. This 
 young person, brought up in his principles, at 
 once loses the ground under her feet. In her 
 soul arose more questions than the doctor was
 
 70 SO JtUMS THE WORLD. 
 
 able to answer. And from this moment be- 
 gan a drama for both of them. 
 
 "I cannot be satisfied with that," cries the 
 niece, "I am choking; I must know some- 
 thing, and if your science cannot satisfy my 
 necessity, I am going there where they will 
 not only tranquillize me, not only explain 
 everything to me, but also will make me 
 happy I am going to church." 
 
 And she went. The roads of master and 
 pupil diverge more and more. The pupil 
 comes to the conclusion that the science which 
 is only a slipknot on the human neck is posi- 
 tively bad and that it would be a great merit 
 before God to burn those old papers in which 
 the doctor writes his observations. And the 
 drama becomes stronger, because notwith- 
 standing the doctor being sixty years old, and 
 Clotilde is only twenty years old, these two 
 people are in love, not only as relations are in 
 love, but as a man and woman love each other.
 
 ZOLA. 71 
 
 This love adds more bitterness to the fight 
 and prompts the catastrophe. 
 
 On a certain night the doctor detected the 
 niece in a criminal deed. She opened his 
 desk, took out his papers, and she was ready 
 to burn them up! They began to fight! 
 Beautiful picture ! Both are in nightgowns 
 they pull each other's hair, they scratch each 
 other. He is stronger than she ; although he 
 has bitten her, she feels a certain pleasure in 
 that experiment on her maiden skin of the 
 strength of a man. In that is the whole of 
 Zola. But let us listen, because the decisive 
 moment approaches. The doctor himself, 
 after having rested a while, announces it 
 solemnly. The reader shivers. Will the 
 doctor by the strength of his genius tear the 
 sky and show to her emptiness beyond the 
 stars? Or will he by the strength of his elo- 
 quence ruin her church, her creed, her ec- 
 stasies, her hopes?
 
 72 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 In the quietness the doctor's low voice is 
 heard : 
 
 "I did not wish to show you that, but it 
 cannot last any longer the time has come. 
 Give me the genealogical tree of Rougon - 
 Macquart." 
 
 Yes! The genealogical tree of Rougon - 
 Macquart! The reading of it begins: There 
 was one Adelaide Fouque, who married Rou- 
 gon, Macquart's friend. Rougon had Eugene 
 Rougon, also Pascal Rougon, also Aristides, 
 also Sidonie, also Martha. Aristides had 
 Maxyme, Clotilde, Victor, and Maxyme had 
 Charles, and so on to the end ; but Sidonie had 
 a daughter Angelle, and Martha, who married 
 Mouret, who was from Macquart's family, 
 had three children, etc. 
 
 The night passes, pales, but the reading 
 continues. After Rougons come Macquarts, 
 then the generations of both families. One 
 name follows another. They appear bad,
 
 ZOLA. 73 
 
 good, indifferent, all classes, from ministers, 
 bankers, great merchants, to simple soldiers 
 or rascals without any professions finally the 
 doctor stops reading and looking with his 
 eyes of savant at his niece, asks: "Well, what 
 now?" 
 
 And beautiful Clotilde throws herself into 
 his arms, crying : " Vicisti ! Vicisti /" 
 
 And her God, her church, her flight toward 
 ideals, her spiritual needs disappeared, turned 
 into ashes. 
 
 Why? On the ground of what final conclu- 
 sion? For what good reason? What could 
 there be in the tree that convinced her? How 
 could it produce any other impression than 
 that of tediousness? Why did she not ask 
 the question, which surely must have come to 
 the lips of the reader: "And what then?" it 
 is unknown ! I never noticed that any other 
 author could deduct from such a trifling and 
 insignificant cause such great and immediate
 
 74 SO UNS THE WORLD. 
 
 consequences. It is as much of an astonish- 
 ment as if Zola should order Clotilde's faith 
 and principles to be turned into ashes after the 
 doctor has read to her an almanac, time-table, 
 bill of fare, or catalogue of some museum. 
 The freedom surpasses here all possible limits 
 and becomes absolutely incomprehensible. 
 The reader asks whether the author deceives 
 himself or if he wishes to throw some dust 
 into the eyes of the public? And this climax 
 of the novel is at the same time the downfall 
 of all doctrine. Clotilde ought to have an- 
 swered as follows: 
 
 "Your theory has no connection with my 
 faith in God and the Church. Your heredity 
 is so loose and on the strength of it one can be 
 so much, everything, that it becomes nothing 
 therefore the consequences which you deduct 
 from it also are based upon nothing. Nana, 
 according to you, is a street-walker, and An- 
 gelle is a saint; the priest Mouret is an
 
 ZOLA. 75 
 
 ascetic, Jacques Lantier a murderer, and all 
 that on account of great-grandmother Ade- 
 laide ! But I tell you with more real probabil- 
 ity, that the good are good because they have 
 my faith, because they believe in responsibil- 
 ity and immortality of the soul, and the bad 
 are bad because they do not believe in any- 
 thing. How can you prove that the cause of 
 good and bad is in great-grandmother Ade- 
 laide Fouque? Perhaps you will tell me that 
 it is so because it is so ; but I can tell you that 
 the faith and responsibility were for centuries 
 a stopper for evil, and you cannot deny it, if 
 you wish to be a positivist, because those are 
 material facts. In a word, I have objective 
 proofs where you have your personal views, 
 and if it is so, then leave my faith and throw 
 your fancy into the fire." 
 
 But Clotilde does not answer anything like 
 this. On the contrary, she eats at once the 
 apple from this tree passes soul and body
 
 76 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 into the doctor's camp, and she does it because 
 Zola wishes to have it that way. There is no 
 other reason for it and cannot be. 
 
 Had she done that on account of love for 
 the doctor, had this reason, which in a woman 
 can play such an important part, acted on her, 
 everything would be easy to understand. But 
 there is no such thing! In that case what 
 would become of all of Zola's doctrine? It 
 acts exclusively upon Clotilde, the author 
 wishes to have only such a reason. And it 
 happens as he wishes, but at the cost of logic 
 and common sense. Since that time every- 
 thing would be permitted : one will be allowed 
 to persuade the reader that the man who is 
 not loved makes a woman fall in love with 
 him by means of showing her a price list of 
 butter or candies. To such results a great 
 and true talent is conducted by a doctrine. 
 
 This doctrine conducts also to perfect 
 atrophy of moral sense. This heredity is a
 
 ZOLA. 77 
 
 wall in which one can make as many windows 
 as one pleases. The doctor is such a window. 
 He considers himself as being degenerated 
 from the nervousness of the family ; it means 
 that he is a normal man, and as such he would 
 transmit his health to his descendants. Clo- 
 tilde thinks also that it would be quite a good 
 idea, and as they are in love, consequently 
 they take possession of each other, and they 
 do it as did people in the epoch of caverns. 
 Zola considered it a perfectly natural thing, 
 Doctor Pascal thinks the same, and as Clotilde 
 passed into his camp, she did not make any 
 opposition. This appears a little strange. 
 Clotilde was religious only a little while ago ! 
 Her youth and lack of experience do not jus- 
 tify her either. Even at eight years, girls 
 have some sentiment of modesty. At twenty 
 years a young girl always knows what she is 
 doing, and she cannot be called a sacrifice, and 
 if she departs from the sentiment of modesty
 
 78 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 she does it either by love, which makes noble 
 the raptures, or because she does it by the act 
 of duty, but at the same time she wishes to be 
 herself a legitimated duty. Even if a woman 
 is an irreligious being and she refuses to be 
 blessed by religion, she can desire that her 
 sentiment were legitimated. The priest or 
 monsieur le maire f Clotilde, who loves Doctor 
 Pascal, does not ask for anything. Marriage, 
 accomplished by a maire, seems to her to be a 
 secondary thing. Here also one cannot un- 
 derstand her, because a true love would wish 
 to make the knot lasting. That which really 
 happens is quite different, in the novel, that 
 first separation is the end of the relation be- 
 tween them. Were they married at least by a 
 maire, they would have remained even in the 
 separation husband and wife, they would not 
 cease to belong to each other; but as they 
 were not married, therefore at the moment of 
 her departure he became unmarried, as for-
 
 ZOLA. 79 
 
 merly, Doctor Pascal, she seduced Clotilde. 
 Even during their life in common there hap- 
 pened a thousand disagreeable incidents for 
 both of them. One time, for instance, Clotilde 
 rushes crying and red, and when the fright- 
 ened doctor asks her what is the matter, she 
 answers : 
 
 " Ah, those women ! Walking in the shade, 
 I closed my parasol and I hurt a child. In 
 that moment all of the women fell on me and 
 began to shout such things! Ah, it was so 
 dreadful ! that I shall never have any children, 
 that such things are not for such a dishcloth 
 as I ! and many other things which I cannot 
 repeat ; I do not wish to repeat them ; I do not 
 even understand them." 
 
 Her breast was moved by sobbings ; he be- 
 came pale, and seizing her by the shoulders, 
 commenced to cover her face with kisses, say- 
 ing: 
 
 "It's my fault, you suffer through me!
 
 8o SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Listen, we will go very far from here, where 
 no one knows us, where everybody will greet 
 you and you shall be happy." 
 
 Only one thing does not come to their 
 minds : to be married. When Pascal's mother 
 speaks to him about it, they do not listen to it. 
 It is not dictated to her by woman's modesty, 
 to him by the care for her and the desire to 
 shelter her from insults. Why? Because 
 Zola likes it that way. 
 
 But perhaps he cares to show what tragical 
 results are produced by illegitimate mar- 
 riages? Not at all. He shares the doctor's 
 
 * 
 
 and Clotilde's opinion. Were they married, 
 there would be no drama, and the author 
 wishes to have it. That is the reason. 
 
 Then comes the doctor's insolvency. One 
 must separate. This separation becomes the 
 misfortune of their lives : the doctor will die 
 of it. Both feel that it will not be the end, 
 they do not wish it and they do not think of
 
 ZOLA. 8 1 
 
 any means which would forever affirm their 
 mutual dependence and change the departure 
 for only a momentary separation, but not for 
 eternal farewells: and they do not marry. 
 
 They did not have any religion, therefore 
 they did not wish for any priest ; it is logical, 
 but why did they not wish for a maire ? The 
 question remains without an answer. 
 
 Here, besides lack of moral sense, there is 
 something more, the lack of common sense. 
 The novel is not only immoral, but at the 
 same time it is a bad shanty, built of rotten 
 pieces of wood, not holding together, unable 
 to suffer any contact with logic and common 
 sense. In such mud of nonsense even the 
 talent was drowned. 
 
 One thing remains: the poison flows as 
 usual in the soul of the reader, the mind be- 
 came familiar with the evil and ceased to 
 despise it. The poison licks, spoils the sim- 
 plicity of the soul, moral impressions and that 
 
 6
 
 82 SO KUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 sense of conscience which distinguishes the 
 bad from the good. 
 
 The doctor dies from languishing after Clo- 
 tilde. She conies back under the old roof and 
 takes care of the child. Nothing of that 
 which the doctor sowed in her soul had per- 
 ished. On the contrary, everything grows 
 very well. She loved the life, she also loves 
 it now, she is resigned to it entirely; not 
 through resignation but because she acknowl- 
 edges it and the more she thinks of it, rock- 
 ing in her lap the child without a name, she 
 acknowledges more. Such is the end of Rou- 
 gon-Macquarts. 
 
 But such an end is a new surprise. Here 
 we have before us nineteen volumes, and in 
 those volumes, as Zola himself says, tant de 
 boue, tant de larmes. C' e'tait a se demander si 
 d'un coup de foudre, il n aurait pas mieux valu 
 balayer cette fourmiltire gate"e et miserable. And 
 it is true ! Any one whc will read those vol-
 
 ZOLA. 83 
 
 Times comes to the conclusion that life is a 
 blindly mechanical and exasperating process, 
 in which one must take part because one can- 
 not avoid it. There is more mud in it than 
 green grass, more corruption than wholesome- 
 ness, more odor of corpses than perfume of 
 flowers, more illness, more madness, and more 
 crime than health and virtue. It is a Ge- 
 henna not only dreadful but also abominable. 
 The hair rises on the head, and in the mean 
 while the mouth is wet and the question 
 comes, will it not be better that a thunderbolt 
 destroyed cette fourmiliere gate'e et miserable ? 
 
 There cannot be any other conclusion, be- 
 cause any other would be a madman's mental 
 aberration, the breaking of the rules of sense 
 and logic. And now do you know how the 
 cycle of these novels really ended? By a 
 hymn in the worship of life. 
 
 Here one's hands drop! It will be useless 
 work to show again that the author comes to a
 
 84 SO J?UNS THE WORLD. 
 
 conclusion which is illogical with his whole 
 work. God bless him! But he must not be 
 astonished if he is abandoned by his pupils. 
 The people must think according to rules of 
 logic. And as in the mean while they must 
 live, consequently they wish to get some con- 
 solation in this life. Masters of Zola's kind 
 gave them only corruption, chaos, disgust for 
 life, and despair. Their rationalism cannot 
 prove anything else, and if it did, it would be 
 with too much zeal, it would overstep the 
 limits. To-day the suffocated need some pure 
 air, the doubting ones some hope, tormented 
 by uneasiness, some quietude, therefore they 
 are doing well when they turn therefrom 
 where the hope and peace flow, there where 
 they bless them and where they say to them 
 as to Lazarus : Tolle grabatum tuum et ambula. 
 
 By this one can explain to-day's evolutions, 
 whose waves flow to all parts of the world. 
 
 According to my opinion, poetry as well as
 
 ZOLA. 85 
 
 novels must pass through it even more : they 
 must quicken it and make it more powerful. 
 One cannot continue any longer that way! 
 On an exhausted field, only weeds grow. 
 The novel must strengthen the life, not shake 
 it; make it nobler, not soil it; carry good 
 "news," and not bad. It does not matter 
 whether this which I say here please any one 
 or not, because I believe that I feel the great 
 and urgent need of the human soul, which 
 cries for a change.
 
 PART THIRD
 
 part ttbfrfc. 
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 
 A Dramatic Picture in One Act. 
 
 CHARACTERS: Jadwiga Karlowiecka. 
 
 Leon A Painter. 
 
 A Servant. 
 In the House of Jadwiga Karlowiecka. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Servant. The lady will be here in a minute. 
 
 Leon (alone) . I cannot overcome my emo- 
 tion nor can I tranquillize the throbbing of my 
 heart. Three times have I touched the bell 
 and three times have I wished to retreat. I 
 am troubled. Why does she wish to see me ! 
 (Takes out a letter). " Be so kind as to come
 
 90 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 to see me on a very important matter. In 
 spite of all that has happened I hope you will 
 not refuse to grant the request of a woman. 
 Jadwiga Karlowiecka." Perhaps it would 
 have been better and more honest to have left 
 this letter without an answer. But I see that 
 I have cheated myself in thinking that nothing 
 will happen, and that it would be brutal of me 
 not to come. The soul poor moth flies 
 toward the light which may burn, but can 
 neither warm nor light it. What has attracted 
 me here ? Is it love ? Can I answer the ques- 
 tion as to whether I still love this woman so 
 unlike my pure sweetheart of former years 
 this half lioness, whose reputation has been 
 torn to shreds by human tongues ? No ! It is 
 rather some painful curiosity which has at- 
 tracted me here. It is the unmeasurable grief 
 which in two years I have been unable to ap- 
 pease, that desire for a full explanation : 
 "Why?" has been repeated over and over
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 9! 
 
 during my sleepless nights. And then let her 
 see this emaciated face let her look from 
 nearby on that broken life. I could not re- 
 sist. Such vengeance is my right. I shall 
 be proud enough to set my teeth to stifle all 
 groans. What is done cannot be undone, and 
 I swear to myself that it shall never be done 
 again. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Jadwiga (entering). You must excuse me 
 for keeping you waiting. 
 
 Leon. It is my fault. I came too early, 
 although I tried to be exact. 
 
 Jadwiga. No, I must be frank and tell you 
 how it happened. In former times we were 
 such dear friends, and then we have not seen 
 each other for two years. I asked you to 
 come, but I was not sure that you would grant 
 my request, therefore when the bell rang 
 after two years (smiling) I needed a few mo-
 
 92 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 merits to overcome the emotion. I thought it 
 was necessary for both of us. 
 
 Leon. I am calm, madam, and I listen to 
 you. 
 
 Jadwiga. I wished also that we should 
 greet each other like people who have for- 
 gotten about the past, who know that it will 
 not return, and to be at once on the footing of 
 good friends; I do not dare say like brother 
 and sisters. Therefore, Sir, here is my hand, 
 and now be seated and tell me if you accept 
 my proposition. 
 
 Leon. I leave that to you. 
 
 Jadwiga. If that is so, then I must tell you 
 that such an agreement, based on mutual well- 
 wishing, excludes excessive solemnity. We 
 must be natural, sincere, and frank. 
 
 Leon. Frankly speaking, it will be a little 
 difficult, still. 
 
 Jadwiga. It would be difficult if there were 
 no condition: "Not a word about the past!"
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 93 
 
 If we both keep to this, a good understanding 
 will return of itself and in time we may be- 
 come good friends. What have you been 
 doing during the past two years ? 
 
 Leon. I have been pushing the wheel- 
 barrow of life, as all mortals do. Every Mon- 
 day I have thought that in a week there would 
 be another Monday. I assure you that there 
 is some distraction in seeing the days spin out 
 like a thread from a ball, and how everything 
 that has happened goes away and gradually 
 disappears, like a migratory bird. 
 
 Jadwiga. Such distraction is good for those 
 to whom another bird comes with a song of 
 the future. But otherwise 
 
 Leon. Otherwise it is perhaps better to 
 think that when all threads will be spun out 
 from the ball, there will remain nothing. 
 Sometimes the reminiscences are very painful. 
 Happily time dulls their edge, or they would 
 prick like thorns.
 
 94 SO JtUMS THE WORLD. 
 
 Jadwiga. Or would burn like fire. 
 
 Leon. All-wise Nature gives us some rem- 
 edy for it. A fire which is not replenished 
 must die, and the ashes do not burn. 
 
 Jadwiga. We are unwillingly chasing a 
 bird which has flown away. Enough of it! 
 Have you painted much lately? 
 
 Leon. I do nothing else. I think and I 
 paint. It is true that until now my thoughts 
 have produced nothing, and I have painted a 
 very little. But it was not my fault. Better 
 be good enough to tell me what has caused 
 you to call me here. 
 
 Jadwiga. It will come by itself. In the 
 first place, I should be justified in so doing by 
 a desire to see a great man. You are now an 
 artist whose fame is world- wide. 
 
 Leon. I would appear to be guilty of con- 
 ceit, but I honestly think that I was not the 
 last pawn on the chessboard in the drawing- 
 room, and that is perhaps the reason why I
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 95 
 
 have been thinking during the past two years 
 and could not understand why I was thrown 
 aside like a common pawn. 
 
 Jadwiga. And where is our agreement? 
 
 Leon. It is a story told in a subjective way 
 by a third person. According to the second 
 clause in our agreement " sincerity" I must 
 add that I am already accustomed to my 
 wheelbarrow. 
 
 Jadwiga. We must not speak about it. 
 
 Leon. I warn you it will be difficult. 
 
 Jadwiga. It should be more easy for you. 
 You, the elect of art and the pride of the 
 whole nation, and in the mean while its 
 spoiled child you can live with your whole 
 soul in the present and in the future. 
 From the flowers strewn under one's feet, 
 one can always chose the most beautiful, 
 or not choose at all, but always tread upon 
 them. 
 
 Leon. If one does not stumble.
 
 96 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Jadwiga. No! To advance toward immor- 
 tality. 
 
 Leon. Longing for death while on the road. 
 
 Jadwiga. It is an excess of pessimism for 
 a man who says that he is accustomed to his 
 wheelbarrow. 
 
 Leon. I wish only to show the other side 
 of the medal. And then you must remember, 
 madam, that to-day pessimism is the mode. 
 You must not take my words too seriously. 
 In a drawing-room one strings the words of a 
 conversation like beads on a thread it is only 
 play. 
 
 Jadwiga. Let us play then (after a while). 
 Ah ! How many changes ! I cannot compre- 
 hend. If two years ago some one had told me 
 that to-day we would sit far apart from each 
 other, and chat as we do, and look at each 
 other with watchful curiosity, like two people 
 perfectly strange to each other, I could not 
 have believed. Truly, it is utterly amusing !
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 97 
 
 Leon. It would not be proper for me to 
 remind you of our agreement. 
 
 Jadwiga. But nevertheless you do remind 
 me. Thank you. My nerves are guilty for 
 this melancholy turn of the conversation. But 
 I feel it is not becoming to me. But pray be 
 assured that I shall not again enter that thorny 
 path, if for no other reason than that of self- 
 love. I, too, amuse myself as best I can, and 
 I return to my reminiscences only when 
 wearied. For several days I have been 
 greatly wearied. 
 
 Leon. Is that the reason why you asked, 
 me to come here ? I am afraid that I will not 
 be an abundant source of distraction. My dis- 
 position is not very gay, and I am too proud, 
 too honest, and too costly to become a play- 
 thing. Permit me to leave you. 
 
 Jadwiga. You must forgive me. I did not 
 mean to offend you. Without going back to 
 
 the past, I can tell you that pride is your 
 7
 
 98 SO KUJVS THE WORLD. 
 
 greatest fault, and if it were not for that pride, 
 many sad things would not have happened. 
 
 Leon. Without going back to the past, I 
 must answer you that it is the only sail which 
 remained on my boat. The others are torn 
 by the wind of life. If it were not for this 
 last sail, I should have sunk long ago. 
 
 Jadwiga. And I think that it was a rock on 
 which has been wrecked not only your boat 
 but no matter ! So much the worse for those 
 who believed in fair weather and a smooth 
 sea. We must at least prevent ourselves from 
 now being carried where we do not wish to 
 sail. 
 
 Leon. And where the sandy banks are 
 sure 
 
 Jadwiga. What strange conversation! It 
 seems to me that it is a net, in which the truth 
 lies at the bottom, struggling in vain to break 
 the meshes. But perhaps it is better so. 
 
 Leon. Much better. Madam, you have
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 99 
 
 written me that you wished to see me on an 
 important matter. I am listening. 
 
 Jadwiga. Yes (smiling). It is permitted a 
 society woman to have her fancies and desires 
 sometimes inexplicable fancies, and it is not 
 permitted a gentleman to refuse them. Well, 
 then, I wished to see my portrait, painted by 
 the great painter Leon. Would you be will- 
 ing to paint it? 
 
 Leon . Madam 
 
 Jadwiga. Ah! the lion's forehead frowns, 
 as if my wish were an insult. 
 
 Leon. I think that the fancies of a society 
 woman are indeed inexplicable, and do not 
 look like jokes at all. 
 
 Jadwiga. This question has two sides! 
 The first is the formal side and it shows itself 
 thus: Mme. Jadwiga Karlowiecka most ear- 
 nestly asks the great painter Leon to make 
 her portrait. That is all! The painter Leon, 
 who, it is known, paints lots of portraits, has
 
 ioo SO JfU'JVS THE WORLD. 
 
 no good reason for refusing. The painter 
 cannot refuse to make a portrait any more than 
 a physician can refuse his assistance. There 
 remains the other side the past. But we 
 agreed that it is a forbidden subject. 
 
 Leon. Permit me, madam 
 
 Jadwiga (interrupting). Pray, not a word 
 about the past. (She laughs.) Ah, my wo- 
 man's diplomacy knows how to tie a knot and 
 draw tight the ends of it. How your embar- 
 rassment pleases me. But there is something 
 quite different. Let us suppose that I am a 
 vain person, full of womanly self-love ; full of 
 petty jealousy and envy. Well, you have 
 painted the portrait of Mme. Zofia and of 
 Helena. I wish to have mine also. One does 
 not refuse the women such things. Reports 
 of your fame come to me from all sides. I 
 hear all around me the words: "Our great 
 painter our master!" Society lionizes you. 
 God knows how many breasts sigh for you.
 
 WHOSE FAULT? IOI 
 
 Every one can have your works, every one can 
 approach you, see you, be proud of you. I 
 alone, your playmate, your old friend, I alone 
 am as though excommunicated. 
 
 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
 
 102 SO JZCSJVS THE WORLD. 
 
 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 ac- 
 quaintances, 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 in- 
 tend 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 fa- 
 mily. 
 
 Jadwiga. As for my husband, he is, as 
 usual, in Chantilly. My mother is dead!
 
 WHOSE FAULT 1 103 
 
 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
 
 104 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Leon. And to-day a society woman. 
 
 Jadwiga. To-day, when I see such a scep- 
 tical 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 forgot- 
 ten, despised canvas of the past. It is a curi- 
 ous and old fashion from times when faithful- 
 ness 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 mo- 
 ments, during which I laugh heartily at every- 
 thing (handing him a cigarette). Do you 
 smoke ? 
 
 Leon. No, madam. 
 
 Jadwiga. I do. It is also a distraction.
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 105 
 
 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 hus- 
 band, do you not? 
 
 Leon. I used to know him. 
 
 Jadwiga. He is very fond of hunting 1 , 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 dis- 
 sonances. I do not wish to say that I am un- 
 happy 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
 
 106 SO UNS THE WORLD. 
 
 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 sur- 
 round 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 al- 
 ways. If our century was not sceptical I 
 should think myself wild, romantic, trying to
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 107 
 
 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 pleas- 
 ure. Sometimes I seem to myself so miser- 
 able 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
 
 108 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 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.
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 109 
 
 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 situa- 
 tion. 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? Weari- 
 ness? 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
 
 no SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 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 Skor- 
 zewski. I detest his beauty, I despise his per- 
 verse mind, but I do not drive him away be- 
 cause 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. Every- 
 thing on which other women live everything 
 which constitutes their happiness, sincere sor- 
 row, 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
 
 WHOSE FAULT1 in 
 
 orphan. I am not permitted to yearn for a 
 noble and quiet life ; I may only nurture my- 
 self 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.
 
 112 SO JRUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 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 out- 
 burst). 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
 
 WHOSE FAULT 1 113 
 
 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 thought- 
 less 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 
 8
 
 114 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 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
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 115 
 
 riches in your face you thought I was capa- 
 ble of that? That is why he could not for- 
 give ! 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 humilia- 
 tion, 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 mem- 
 ory. But suppose it was even as you say. 
 Why could you not forgive me? Oh God!
 
 Il6 SO ItUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 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 mas- 
 ter 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 re- 
 turn 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
 
 HOSE FAULT* 117 
 
 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 de- 
 spair 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 empti- 
 ness and exhaustless sorrow, and tears not 
 wept and in my eyes eternal darkness. Oh, 
 by the living God, I loved you with every
 
 n8 SO XUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 drop of my blood, with my every thought 
 and I was not able to love differently. Hav- 
 ing lost you, I lost everything my star, my 
 strength, faith, hope, desire for life, and not 
 only happiness, but the capacity for happi- 
 ness. Woman, do you understand the dread- 
 ful 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,
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 119 
 
 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 pur- 
 posely. 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 be- 
 tween 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 forge tfulness. Here
 
 120 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 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 for- 
 merly 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
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 121 
 
 consent to take me when I shall be free is it 
 not so, Leon ? 
 
 Leon. No, madam! 
 
 Jadwiga. Leon, my dearest, wait! Per- 
 haps 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 saint- 
 ly life. For now it would be forever. But 
 you do not know how happy you your- 
 self 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
 
 122 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 hands to you like a drowning person res- 
 cue 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 mo- 
 ment 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 resusci- 
 tated. Farewell. 
 
 Jadwiga (after a while). Very well. If 
 you think you have humiliated me enough,
 
 WHOSE FAULT? 123 
 
 trampled on me, and are sufficiently avenged, 
 leave me then (to Leon, who wishes to with- 
 draw). 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!
 
 PART FOURTH
 
 fcart ifourtb. 
 
 THE VERDICT. 
 
 APOLLO and Hermes once met toward even- 
 ing on the rocks of Pnyx and were looking on 
 Athens. 
 
 The evening was charming ; the sun was al- 
 ready rolled from the Archipelago toward the 
 Ionian Sea and had begun to slowly sink its 
 radiant head in the water which shone tur- 
 quoise-like. But the summits of Hymettus 
 and Pentelicus were yet beaming as if melted 
 gold had been poured over them, and the 
 evening twilight was in the sky. In its light 
 the whole Acropolis was drowned. The white 
 walls of Propyleos, Parthenon, and Erechtheum 
 seemed pink and as light as though the marble
 
 128 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 had lost all its weight, or as if they were ap- 
 paritions of a dream. The point of the spear 
 of the gigantic Athena Promathos shone in the 
 twilight like a lighted torch over Attica. 
 
 In the space hawks were flying toward their 
 nests in the rocks, to pass the night. 
 
 The people returned in crowds from work 
 in the fields. On the road to Piraeus, mules 
 and donkeys carried baskets full of olives and 
 wine-grapes ; behind them, in the red cloud of 
 dust, marched herds of nannygoats, before 
 each herd there was a white-bearded buck ; on 
 the sides, watchdogs; in the rear, shepherds, 
 playing flutes of thin oat-stems. 
 
 Among the herds chariots slowly passed, 
 carrying holly barlet, pulled by slow, heavy 
 oxen ; here and there passed a detachment of 
 Hoplites or heavy armed troops, corseleted in 
 copper, going to guard Piraeus and Athens 
 during the night. 
 
 Beneath, the city was full of animation.
 
 THE VERDICT. 129 
 
 Around the big fountain at Poikile, young 
 girls in white dresses drew water, singing, 
 laughing, or defending themselves from the 
 boys, who threw over them fetters made of 
 ivy and wild vine. The others, having al- 
 ready drawn the water, with the amphorae 
 poised on their shoulders, were turned home- 
 ward, light and graceful as immortal nymphs. 
 
 A light breeze blowing from the Attic val- 
 ley carried to the ears of the two gods the 
 sounds of laughter, singing, kissing. Apollo, 
 in whose eyes nothing under the sun was fairer 
 than a woman, turned to Hermes and said : 
 
 "O Maya's son, how beautiful are the 
 Athenian women!" 
 
 "And virtuous too, my Radiant," answered 
 Hermes; "they are under Pallas' tutelage." 
 
 The Silver-arrowed god became silent, and 
 listening looked into space. In the mean 
 while the twilight was slowly quenched, move- 
 ment gradually stopped. Scythian slaves shut
 
 130 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 the gates, and finally all became quiet. The 
 Ambrosian night threw on the Acropolis, city, 
 and environs, a dark veil embroidered with 
 stars. 
 
 But the dusk did not last long. Soon from 
 the Archipelago appeared the pale Selene, and 
 began to sail like a silvery boat in the heav- 
 enly space. And then the walls of the Acrop- 
 olis lighted again, only they beamed now with 
 a pale-green light, and looked even more like 
 a vision in a dream. 
 
 "One must agree," said Apollo, "that 
 Athena has chosen for herself a charming 
 home." 
 
 " Oh, she is very clever ! Who could choose 
 better?" answered Hermes. "Then Zeus has 
 a fancy for her. If she wishes for anything 
 she has only to caress his beard and imme- 
 diately he calls her Tritogenia, dear daughter ; 
 he promises her everything and permits every- 
 thing."
 
 THE VERDICT. 131 
 
 " Tritogenia bores me sometimes," grumbled 
 Latona's son. 
 
 " Yes, I have noticed that she becomes very 
 tedious," answered Hermes. 
 
 " Like an old peripatetic ; and then she is 
 virtuous to the ridiculous, like my sister Arte- 
 mis." 
 "Or as her servants, the Athenian women." 
 
 The Radiant turned to the Argo-robber 
 Mercury : " It is the second time you mention, 
 as though purposely, the virtue of the Athe- 
 nian women. Are they really so virtuous?" 
 
 "Fabulously so, O son of Latona!" 
 
 "Is it possible!" said Apollo. "Do you 
 think that there is in town one woman who 
 could resist me?" 
 
 "I do think so." 
 
 "Me, Apollo?" 
 
 "You, my Radiant." 
 
 " I, who should bewitch her with poetry and 
 charm her with song and music!"
 
 132 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 "You, my Radiant." 
 
 "If you were an honest god I would be will- 
 ing to make a wager with you. But you, 
 Argo-robber, if you should lose, you would 
 disappear immediately with your sandals and 
 caduceus." 
 
 " No, I will put one hand on the earth and 
 another on the sea and swear by Hades. Such 
 an oath is kept not only by me, but even by 
 the members of the City Council in Athens." 
 
 " Oh, you exaggerate a little. Very well 
 then! If you lose you must supply me in 
 Trinachija with a herd of long-horned oxen, 
 which you may steal where you please, as you 
 did when you were only a boy, stealing my 
 herds in Perea." 
 
 " Understood ! And what shall I get if I 
 win?" 
 
 "You may choose what you please." 
 
 "Listen, my Far-aiming archer," said 
 Hermes. " I will be frank with you, which
 
 THE VERDICT. 133 
 
 occurs with me very seldom. Once, being 
 sent on an errand by Zeus I don't remember 
 what errand I was playing just over your 
 Trinachija, and I perceived Lampecja, who, 
 together with Featusa, watches your herds 
 there. Since that time I have no peace. The 
 thought about her is never absent from my 
 mind. I love her and I sigh for her day and 
 night. If I win, if in Athens there can be 
 found a virtuous woman, strong enough to 
 resist you, you shall give me Lampecja I 
 wish for nothing more." 
 
 The Silver-arrowed god began to shake his 
 head. 
 
 " It's astonishing that love can nestle in the 
 heart of a merchants-patron. I am willing to 
 give you Lampecja the more so because she 
 is now quarrelling with Featusa. Speaking 
 intra parentheses, both are in love with me 
 that is why they are quarrelling." 
 
 Great joy lighted up the Argo-robber's eyes.
 
 134 SO jRUNS THE WOULD. 
 
 "Then we lay the bet," said he. "One 
 thing more, I shall choose the woman for you 
 on whom you are to try your godly strength." 
 
 "Provided she is beautiful." 
 
 "She will be worthy of you." 
 
 " I am sure you know some one already." 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 "A young girl, married, widow, or di- 
 vorced?" 
 
 " Married, of course. Girl, widow, or di- 
 vorc6e, you could capture by promise of mar- 
 riage." 
 
 "What is her name?" 
 
 " Eryfile. She is a baker's wife." 
 
 "A baker's wife!" answered the Radiant, 
 making a grimace, " I don't like that." 
 
 "I can't help it. It's the kind of people I 
 know best. Eryfile's husband is not at home 
 at present; he went to Megara. His wife is 
 the prettiest woman who ever walked on 
 Mother-Earth."
 
 THE VERDICT. 135 
 
 " I am very anxious to see her." 
 
 "One condition more, my Silver-arrowed, 
 you must promise that you will use only means 
 worthy of you, and that you will not act as 
 would act such a ruffian as Ares, for instance, 
 or even, speaking between ourselves, as acts 
 our common father, the Cloud-gathering 
 Zeus." 
 
 "For whom do you take me?" asked Apollo. 
 
 " Then all conditions are understood, and I 
 can show you Eryfile." 
 
 Both gods were immediately carried through 
 the air from Pnyx, and in a few moments they 
 were over a house situated not far from Stoa. 
 The Argo-robber raised the whole roof with 
 his powerful hand as easily as a woman cook- 
 ing a dinner raises a cover from a saucepan, 
 and pointing to a woman sitting in a store, 
 closed from the street by a copper gate, 
 said: 
 
 "Look!"
 
 136 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Apollo looked and was astonished. 
 
 Never Attica never the whole of Greece, 
 produced a lovelier flower than was this wo- 
 man. She sat by a table on which was a 
 lighted lanrp, and was writing something on 
 marble tables. Her long drooping eyelashes 
 threw a shadow on her cheeks, but from time 
 to time she raised her head and her eyes, as 
 though she were trying to remember what she 
 had to write, and then one could see her beau- 
 tiful eyes, so blue that compared with them 
 the turquoise depths of the Archipelago would 
 look pale and faded. Her face was white as 
 the sea-foam, pink as the dawn, with purplish 
 Syrian lips and waves of golden hair. She 
 was beautiful, the most beautiful being on 
 earth beautiful as the d?wn, as a flower, as 
 light, as song ! This was Eryfile. 
 
 When she dropped her eyes she appeared 
 quiet and sweet; when she lifted them, in- 
 spired. -The Radiant's divine knees began to
 
 THE VERDICT. 137 
 
 tremble; suddenly he leaned his head on 
 Hermes' shoulder, and whispered: 
 
 " Hermes, I love her! This one or none!" 
 
 Hermes smiled ironically, and would have 
 rubbed his hands for joy under cover of his 
 robe if he had not held in his right hand the 
 caduceus. 
 
 In the mean while the golden-haired woman 
 took a new tablet and began to write on it. 
 Her divine lips were disclosed and her voice 
 whispered; it was like the sound of Apollo's 
 lyre. 
 
 " The member of the Areopagus Melanocles 
 for the bread for two months, forty drachmas 
 and four obols ; let us write in round numbers 
 forty-six drachmas. By Athena! let us write 
 fifty; my husband will' be satisfied! Ah, that 
 Melanocles ! If you were not in a position to 
 bother us about false weight, I never would 
 give you credit. But we must keep peace with 
 that locust."
 
 138 SO KUMS THE WORLD. 
 
 Apollo did not listen to the words. He was 
 intoxicated with the woman's voice, the charm 
 of her figure, and whispered : 
 
 " This one or none !" 
 
 The golden-haired woman spoke again, 
 writing further: 
 
 " Alcibiades, for cakes on honey from Hy- 
 mettus for Hetera Chrysalis, three minae. He 
 never verifies bills, and then he once gave me 
 in Stoa a slap on the shoulder we will write 
 four minae. He is stupid ; let him pay for it. 
 And then that Chrysalis ! She must feed with 
 cakes her carp in the pond, or perhaps Alci- 
 biades makes her fat purposely, in order to sell 
 her afterwards to a Phoenician merchant for 
 an ivory ring for his harness." 
 
 Again Apollo paid no attention to the words 
 he was enchanted with the voice alone and 
 whispered to Hermes : 
 
 "This one or none!" 
 
 But Maya's son suddenly covered the house,
 
 THE VERDICT. 139 
 
 the apparition disappeared, and it seemed to 
 the Radiant Apollo that with it disappeared 
 the stars, that the moon became black, and the 
 whole world was covered with the darkness of 
 Chimera. 
 
 "When shall we decide the wager?" asked 
 Hermes. 
 
 " Immediately. To-day !" 
 
 "During her husband's absence she sleeps 
 in the store. You can stand in the street be- 
 fore the door. If she raises the curtain and 
 opens the gate, I have lost my wager." 
 
 "You have lost it already!" exclaimed the 
 Far-darting Apollo. 
 
 The summer lightning does not pass from 
 the East to the West as quickly as he rushed 
 over the salt waves of the Archipelago. There 
 he asked Amphitrite for an empty turtle-shell, 
 put around it the rays of the sun, and returned 
 to Athens with a ready formiga. 
 
 In the city everything was already quiet.
 
 140 SO UNS THE WORLD. 
 
 The lights were out, and only the houses and 
 temples shone white in the light of the moon, 
 which had risen high in the sky. 
 
 The store was dark, and in it, behind a gate 
 and a curtain, the beautiful Eryfile was asleep. 
 Apollo the Radiant began to touch the strings 
 of his lyre. Wishing to awake softly his be- 
 loved, he played at first as gently as swarms 
 of mosquitoes singing on a summer evening on 
 Illis. But the song became gradually stronger 
 like a brook in the mountain after a rain ; then 
 more powerful, sweeter, more intoxicating, 
 and it filled the air voluptuously. 
 
 The secret Athena's bird flew softly from 
 the Acropolis and sat motionless on the near- 
 est column. 
 
 Suddenly a bare arm, worthy of Phidias or 
 Praxiteles, whiter than Pantelican marble, 
 drew aside the curtain. The Radiant's heart 
 stopped beating with emotion. And then 
 Ery file's voice resounded:
 
 THE VERDICT. 141 
 
 " Ha ! You booby, why do you wander 
 about and make a noise during the night? I 
 have been working all day, and now they 
 won't let me sleep!" 
 
 "Eryfile! Eryfile!" exclaimed Silver- 
 arrowed. And he began to sing: 
 
 " From lofty peaks of Parnas where there ring 
 
 In all the glory of light's brilliant rays 
 The grand sweet songs which inspired muses sing 
 
 To me, by turns, in rapture and praise 
 I, worshiped god I fly, fly to thee, 
 
 Eryfile ! And on thy bosom white 
 I shall rest, and the Eternity will be 
 
 A moment to me the God of Light !" 
 
 " By the holy flour for sacrifices," exclaimed 
 the baker's wife, "that street boy sings and 
 makes love to me. Will you go home, you 
 impudent!" 
 
 The Radiant, wishing to pursuade her that 
 he was not a common mortal, threw so much 
 light from his person, that all the earth was 
 lighted. But Eryfile, seeing this, exclaimed :
 
 142 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 "That scurrilous fellow has hidden a lan- 
 tern under his robe, and he tries to make me 
 believe that he is a god. O daughter of 
 mighty Dios! they press us with taxes, but 
 there is no Scythian guard to protect us from 
 such stupid fellows!" 
 
 Apollo, who did not wish yet to acknowledge 
 defeat, sang furth6r: 
 
 " Ah, open thine arms rounded, gleaming, white 
 
 To thee eternal glory I will give. 
 Over goddess of earth, fair and bright, 
 
 Thy name above immortal shall live. 
 I kiss the dainty bloom of thy cheek, 
 
 To thy lustrous eyes the love-light I bring, 
 From the masses of thy silken hair I speak, 
 
 To thy beauty, peerless one, I sing. 
 White pearls are thy ruby lips between 
 
 With might of godly words I thee endow ; 
 An eloquence for which a Grecian queen 
 
 Would gladly give the crown from her brow. 
 
 Ah ! Open, open thine arms ! 
 
 The azure from the sea I will take, 
 Twilight its wealth of purple shall give too ;
 
 THE VERDICT. 143 
 
 Twinkling stars shall add the sparks which they make, 
 And flowers shall yield their perfume and dew. 
 
 By fairy touch, light as a caress, 
 
 Made from all this material so bright, 
 
 My beloved rainbow, in Chipryd's rich dress 
 Thou shalt be clothed by the God of Light." 
 
 And the voice of the God of Light was so 
 beautiful that it performed a miracle, for, be- 
 hold! in the ambrosian night the gold spear 
 standing on the Acropolis of Athens trem- 
 bled, and the marble head of the gigantic 
 statue turned toward the Acropolis in order to 
 hear better. Heaven and Earth listened to it ; 
 the sea stopped roaring, and lay peacefully near 
 the shore ; even the pale Selene stopped her 
 night wandering in the sky and stood motion- 
 less over Athens. 
 
 And when Apollo had finished, a light wind 
 arose and carried the song throughout the 
 whole of Greece, and wherever a child in the 
 cradle heard only a tone of it, that child be- 
 came a poet.
 
 144 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 But before Latona's son had finished his 
 divine singing, the angry Eryfile began ot 
 scream : 
 
 "What an ass! He tries to bribe me -v?' .a 
 flowers and dew ; "do you think that you are 
 privileged because my husband is not at home? 
 What a pity that our servants are not at hand ; 
 I would give you a good lesson ! But wait ; I 
 will teach you to wander during the nigh" 
 with songs!" 
 
 So saying she seized a pot of dough, and> 
 throwing it through the gate, splashed it over 
 the face, neck, robe, and lyre of the Radiant. 
 Apollo groaned, and, covering his inspired 
 head with a corner of his wet robe, he departed 
 in shame and wrath. 
 
 Hermes, waiting for him, laughed, turned 
 somersaults, ana twirled his caduceus. But 
 when the sorrowful son of Latona approached 
 him, the foxy patron of merchants simulated 
 and said:
 
 THE VERDICT. 145 
 
 "I am sorry you have lost, O puissant 
 archer!" 
 
 "Go away, you rascal!" answered the angry 
 Apollo. 
 
 " I shall go when you give me Lampecja." 
 
 " May Cerberus bite your calves. I shall 
 not give you Lampecja, and I tell you to go 
 away, or I will twist your neck." 
 
 The Argo-robber knew that he must not 
 joke when Apollo was angry, so he stood aside 
 cautiously and said : 
 
 " If you wish to cheat me, then in the future 
 be Hermes and I will be Apollo. I know that 
 you are above me in power, and that you can 
 harm me, but happily there is some one who 
 is stronger than you and he will judge us. 
 Radiant, I call you to the judgment of 
 Chronid! Come with me." 
 
 Apollo feared the name of Chronid. He did 
 not care to refuse, and they departed. 
 
 In the mean time day began to break. The 
 
 10
 
 146 SO KUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Attic came out from the shadows. Pink-fin- 
 gered dawn had arisen in the sky from the 
 Archipelago. Zeus passed the night on the 
 summit of Ida, whether he slept or not, and 
 what he did there no one knew, because, Fog- 
 carrying, he wrapped 'himself in such a thick 
 cloud that even Hera could not see through it. 
 Hermes trembled a little on approaching the 
 god of gods and of people. 
 
 " I am right," he was thinking, " but if Zeus 
 is aroused in a bad humor, and if, before hear- 
 ing us, he should take us each by a leg and 
 throw us some three hundred Athenian stadia, 
 it would be very bad. He has some consider- 
 ation for Apollo, but he would treat me with- 
 out ceremony, although I am his son too." 
 
 But Maya's son feared in vain. Chronid 
 waited joyfully on the earth, for he had passed 
 a pleasant night, and was gladsomely gazing 
 on the earthly circle. The Earth, happy be- 
 neath the weight of the gods' and people's
 
 THE VERDICT. 147 
 
 father, put forth beneath his feet green grass 
 and young hyacinths, and he, leaning on it, 
 caressed the curling flowers with his hand, and 
 was happy in his proud heart. 
 
 Seeing this, Maya's son grew quiet, and 
 having saluted the generator, boldly accused 
 the Radiant. 
 
 When he had finished, Zeus was silent a 
 while, and then said : 
 
 " Radiant, is it true?" 
 
 "It is true, father Chronid," answered 
 Apollo, " but if after the shame you will order 
 me to pay the bet, I shall descend to Hades 
 and light the shades." 
 
 Zeus became silent and thoughtful. 
 
 "Then this woman," said he finally, "re- 
 mained deaf to your music, to your songs, and 
 she repudiated you with disdain?" 
 
 " She poured on my head a pot of dough, O 
 Thunderer!" 
 
 Zeus frowned, and at his frown Ida trem-
 
 148 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 bled, pieces of rock began to roll with a great 
 noise toward the sea, and the trees bent like 
 ears of wheat. 
 
 Both gods awaited with beating hearts his 
 decision. 
 
 "Hermes," said Zeus, "you may cheat the 
 people as much as you like the people like to 
 be cheated. But leave the gods alone, for if I 
 become angry I will throw you into the ether, 
 then you will sink so deep into the depths of 
 the ocean that even my brother Poseidon 
 will not be able to dig you out with his 
 trident." 
 
 Divine fear seized Hermes by his smooth 
 knees; Zeus spoke further, with stronger 
 voice : 
 
 " A virtuous woman, especially if she loves 
 another man, can resist Apollo. But surely 
 and always a stupid woman will resist him. 
 
 "Eryfile is stupid, not virtuous; that's the 
 reason she resisted. Therefore you cheated
 
 THE VERDICT. 149 
 
 the Radiant, and you shall not have Lampecja. 
 Now go in peace." 
 
 The gods departed. 
 
 Zeus remained in his joyful glory. For a 
 while he looked after Apollo, muttering: 
 
 "Oh, yes! A stupid woman is able to resist 
 him." 
 
 After that, as he had not slept well the pre- 
 vious night, he called Sleep, who, sitting on 
 a tree in the form of a hawk, was awaiting the 
 orders of the Father of gods and people.
 
 PART FIFTH
 
 part jfiftb, 
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 
 A Drama in Five Acts. 
 
 CHARACTERS: Prince Starogrodzki. 
 Stella, his daughter. 
 George Pretwic, Stella's 
 
 fiance. 
 Karol Count Drahomir, Pret- 
 
 wic's friend. 
 Countess Miliszewska. 
 Jan Count Miliszewski. 
 Anton Zuk, secretary of the 
 
 county. 
 
 Dr. Jozwowicz. 
 Mrs. Czeska. 
 Mr. Podczaski. 
 Servants.
 
 154 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 The stage represents a drawing-room with 
 the principal door leading to the garden. 
 There are also side doors to the other rooms. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Princess Stella. Mrs. Czeska. 
 
 Czeska. Why do you tell me this only 
 now? Really, my dear Stella, I should be 
 angry with you. I live only a mile from 
 here ; I was your teacher before you were put 
 into the hands of English and French gover- 
 nesses. I see you almost every day. I love 
 my darling with all my soul, and still you did 
 not tell me that for several weeks you have 
 been engaged. At least do not torture me 
 any longer, but tell me, who is he? 
 
 Stella. You must guess, my dear mother. 
 
 Szeska. As long as you call me mother, 
 you must not make me wait.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 155 
 
 Stella. But I wish you to guess and tell 
 me. Naturally it is he and not another. 
 Believe me, it will flatter and please me. 
 
 Czeska. Count Drahomir, then. 
 
 Stella. Ah! 
 
 Czeska. You are blushing. It is true. 
 He has not been here for a long time, but 
 how sympathetic, how gay he is. Well, my 
 old eyes would be gladdened by seeing you 
 both together. I should at once think what 
 a splendid couple. Perhaps there will be 
 something in it. 
 
 Stella. There will be nothing in it, because 
 Count Drahomir, although very sympathetic, 
 is not my fiance". I am betrothed to Mr. 
 Pretwic. 
 
 Czeska. Mr. George Pretwic? 
 
 Stella. Yes. Are you surprised? 
 
 Czeska. No, my dear child. May God 
 bless you. Why should I be surprised? But 
 I am so fond of Count Drahomir, so I thought
 
 1 56 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 it was he. Mr. George Pretwic! Oh., I am 
 not surprised at all that he should love you. 
 But it came a little too soon. How long 
 have you known each other? Living at my 
 Berwinek I do not know anything that goes 
 on in the neighborhood. 
 
 Stella. Since three months. My fiance 
 has inherited an estate in this neighborhood 
 from the Jazlowieckis, and came, as you know, 
 from far off. He was a near relation of the 
 Jazlowieckis, and he himself comes of a very 
 good family. Dear madam, have you not 
 heard of the Pretwics? 
 
 Czeska. Nothing at all, my dear Stella. 
 What do I care for heraldry ! 
 
 Stella. In former times, centuries ago, the 
 Pretwics were related to our family. It is a 
 very good family. Otherwise papa would not 
 have consented. Well then, Mr. Pretwic 
 came here, took possession of the Jazlowieckis 
 estate, became acquainted with us, and
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 157 
 
 Czeska. And fell in love with you. I 
 should have done the same if I were in his 
 place. It gives him more value in my eyes. 
 
 Stella. Has he needed it? 
 
 Czeska. No, my little kitten rest easy. 
 You know I am laughed at for seeing every- 
 thing in a rosy hue. He belongs to a good 
 family, he is young, rich, good-looking, well- 
 bred, but 
 
 Stella. But what? 
 
 Czeska. A bird must have sung it, because 
 I cannot remember who told me that he is a 
 little bit like a storm. 
 
 Stella. Yes, his life has been stormy, but 
 he was not broken by it. 
 
 Czeska. So much the better. Listen ! 
 Such people are the best they are true men. 
 The more I think of it, the more sincerely I 
 congratulate you. 
 
 Stella. Thank you. I am glad I spoke to 
 you frankly. The fact is that I am very lone-
 
 158 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 
 
 some here : papa is always ailing and our doc- 
 tor has been away for three months. 
 
 Czeska. Let that doctor of yours alone. 
 
 Stella. You never liked him. 
 
 Czeska. You know that I am not easily 
 prejudiced against any one, but I do not like 
 him. 
 
 Stella. And do you know that he has been 
 offered a professorship at the university, and 
 that he is anxious to be elected a member of 
 parliament? Mother, you are really unjust. 
 You know that he sacrificed himself for us. 
 
 He is famous, rich, and a great student, but 
 notwithstanding all that he remains with us 
 when the whole world is open to him. I would 
 surely have asked his advice. 
 
 Czeska. Love is not an illness but no mat- 
 ter about him. May God help him ! You had 
 better tell me, dear kitten are you very much 
 in love? 
 
 Stella. Do you not see how quickly every
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 159 
 
 
 
 thing has been done ? It is true that Countess 
 Miliszewska came here with her son. I know 
 it was a question about me, and I feared, al- 
 though in vain, that papa might have the same 
 idea. 
 
 Czeska. You have not answered my ques- 
 tion. 
 
 Stella. Because it is a hard matter to speak 
 about. Mother, Mr. Pretwic's life is full of 
 heroic deeds, sacrifices, and dangers. Once he 
 was in great peril, and he owes his life to 
 Count Drahomir. But how dearly he loves 
 him for it. Well, my fiance bears the marks 
 of distant deserts, long solitudes, and deep 
 sufferings. But when he begins to tell me 
 of his life, it seems that I truly love that stal- 
 wart man. If you only knew how timidly, 
 and at the same time how earnestly he told 
 me of his love, and then he added that he 
 knows his hands are too rough 
 
 Czeska. Not too rough for they are hon-
 
 160 SO KUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 est. After what you have told me, I am in 
 his favor with all my soul. 
 
 Stella. But in spite of all that, sometimes 
 I feel very unhappy. 
 
 Czeska. What is the matter? Why? 
 
 Stella. Because sometimes we cannot 
 understand each other. There are two kinds 
 of love one is strong as the rocks, and the 
 other is like a brook in which one can see 
 one's self. When I look at George's love, I 
 see its might, but my soul is not reflected in it 
 like a face in a limpid brook. I love him, it 
 is true, but sometimes it seems to me that I 
 could love still more 'that all my heart is not 
 in that love, and then I am unhappy. 
 
 Czeska. But I cannot understand that. I 
 take life simply. I love, or I do not love. 
 Well Stella, the world is so cleverly construct- 
 ed, and God is so good that there is nothing 
 more easy than to be happy. But one must 
 not make a tangle of God's affairs. Be calm.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 16 1 
 
 You are very much in love indeed. No 
 matter ! 
 
 Stella. That confidence in the future is ex- 
 actly what I need some of your optimism. I 
 knew that you would frown and say : No mat- 
 ter ! I am now more happy. Only I am afraid 
 of our doctor. Well (looking through the 
 window), our gentlemen are coming. Mr. 
 Pretwic and Count Drahomir. 
 
 Czeska (looking through the window.) 
 Your future husband is looking very well, but 
 so is Count Drahomir. Since when is he with 
 Mr. Pretwic? 
 
 Stella (looking through the window). For 
 the past two weeks. Mr. Pretwic has invited 
 him. They are coming. 
 
 Czeska. And your little heart is throb- 
 bing 
 
 Stella. Do not tease me again, 
 ii
 
 1 62 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Mrs. Czeska. Stella. George Pretwic. Count 
 Drahomir. The count has his left arm in 
 a sling. A servant. 
 
 Servant (opening the door). The princess 
 is in the drawing-room. 
 
 Stella. How late you are to-day! 
 
 George. It is true. The sun is already set- 
 ting. But we could not come earlier. Do you 
 not know that there has been a fire in the 
 neighboring village? We went there. 
 
 Czeska. We have heard of it. It seems 
 that several houses were burned. 
 
 George. The fire began in the morning, 
 and it was extinguished only now. Some 
 twenty families are without a roof and bread. 
 We are also late because Karol had an acci- 
 dent. 
 
 Stella (with animation). It is true. Your 
 arm is in a sling!
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 163 
 
 Drahomir. Oh, it is a mere trifle. If there 
 were no more serious wounds in the world, 
 courage would be sold in all the markets. 
 Only a slight scratch 
 
 Stella. Mr. Pretwic, how did it happen? 
 
 George. When it happened I was at the 
 other end of the village, and I could not see 
 anything on account of the smoke. I was 
 only told that Karol had jumped into a burn- 
 ing house. 
 
 Stella. Oh, Lord! 
 
 Drahomir (laughing). I see that my deed 
 gains with distance. 
 
 Czeska. You must tell us about it yourself. 
 
 Drahomir. They told me that there was a 
 woman in a house of which the roof had begun 
 to burn. Thinking that this salamander who 
 was not afraid of fire was some enchanted 
 beauty, I entered the house out of pure curi- 
 osity. It was quite dark owing to the smoke. 
 I looked and saw that I had no luck, because
 
 1 64 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 the salamander was only an old Jewish wo- 
 man packing some feathers in a bag. Amidst 
 the cloud of down she looked like anything 
 you please but an enchantress. I shouted that 
 there was a fire, and she shouted too, evidently 
 taking me for a thief so we both screamed. 
 Finally I seized hold of my salamander, faint- 
 ing with fear, and carried her out, not even 
 through a window, but through the door. 
 
 George. But you omitted to say that the 
 roof fell in and that a spar struck your hand. 
 
 Drahomir. True and I destroyed the dam 
 of my modesty, and will add that one of the 
 selectmen of the village made a speech in my 
 honor. It seems to me that he made some 
 mention of a monument which they would 
 erect for me. But pray believe that the fire 
 was quenched by George and his people. I 
 think they ought to erect two monuments. 
 
 Czeska. I know that you are worthy of each 
 other.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 165 
 
 Stella. Thank God that you have not met 
 with some more serious accident. 
 
 Drahomir. I have met with something very 
 pleasant your sympathy. 
 
 Czeska You have mine also as for Mr. 
 Pretwic, I have a bone to pick with him. 
 
 George Why, dear madam? 
 
 Czeska. Because you are a bad boy. (To 
 Stella and Drahomir.) You had better go to 
 the Prince, and let us talk for a while. 
 
 Stella. Mother, I see you wish to flirt with 
 Mr. Pretwic. 
 
 Czeska. Be quiet, you giddy thing. May 
 I not compete with you? But you must re- 
 member, you Mayflower, that before every 
 autumn there is a spring. Well, be off! 
 
 Stella (to Drahomir). Let us go; Papa is 
 in the garden and I am afraid that he is feel- 
 ing worse. What a pity it is that the doctor 
 is not here.
 
 1 66 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Mrs. Czeska, George, then Stella. 
 
 Czeska. I should scold you, as I have my 
 dear girl, for keeping the secret. But she has 
 already told me everything, so I only say, may 
 God bless you both. 
 
 George (kissing her hand). Thank you, 
 madam. 
 
 Czeska. I have reared that child. I was 
 ten years with her, so I know what a treasure 
 you take, sir. You have said that your hands 
 are too rough. I have answered her not too 
 rough, for they are honest. But Stella is a 
 very delicate flower. She must be loved much, 
 and have good care taken of her. But you 
 will be able to do it will you not? 
 
 George. What can I tell you? As far as 
 it is in human power to make happy that dear-
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 167 
 
 est to me girl, so far I wish to assure her hap- 
 piness with me. 
 
 Czeska. With all my soul, I say: God bless 
 you! 
 
 George. The Princess Stella loves you like 
 her own mother, so I will be as frank with you 
 as with a mother. My life has been a very 
 hard one. There was a moment when my life 
 was suspended by one thread Karol rescued 
 me then, and for that I love him as a brother; 
 and then 
 
 Czeska. Stella told me. You lived far from 
 here? 
 
 George. I was in the empty steppe, half 
 wild myself, among strangers, therefore 
 very sad and longing for the country. 
 Sometimes there was not a living soul 
 around me. 
 
 Czeska. God was over the stars. 
 
 George. That is quite different. But a 
 heart thrown on earth must love some one.
 
 1 68 SO ItUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Therefore, with all this capacity for love, I 
 prayed to God that he permit me to love some 
 one. He has granted my prayer, and has 
 given her to me. Do you understand me 
 now? 
 
 Czeska. Yes, I do understand you! 
 
 George. How quickly everything has 
 changed. I inherited here an estate and am 
 able to settle then I met the princess, and 
 now I love her she is everything in this 
 world to me. 
 
 Czeska. My dear Mr. Pretwic, you are 
 worthy of Stella and she will be happy with 
 you. My dear Stelunia 
 
 Stella (appearing in the doorway leading to 
 the garden. She claps her hands). What 
 good news ! The doctor is coming. He is al- 
 ready in the village. Papa will at once be more 
 quiet and is in better humor. 
 
 Czeska. You must not rush. She is al- 
 ready tired. Where is the prince?
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 169 
 
 Stella. In the garden. He wishes you to 
 come here. 
 
 George. We will go. 
 
 Stella (steps forward then stops). But you 
 must not tell the doctor anything of our affair. 
 I wish to tell him first. I have asked papa 
 also to keep the secret. (They go out.) 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Jozwowicz (enters through the principal 
 door). Jan, carry my trunk up-stairs and 
 have the package I left in the antechamber 
 sent at once to Mr. Anton Zuk, the secretary 
 of the county. 
 
 Servant (bows). Very well, doctor. 
 
 Jozwowicz (advances). At last (servant 
 goes out). After three months of absence, 
 how quiet this house is always ! In a moment 
 I will greet them as a future member of the 
 parliament. I have thrown six years of hard
 
 I/O SO ItUWS THE WORLD. 
 
 work, sleepless nights, fame, and learning into 
 the chasm which separates us and now we 
 shall see ! (He goes toward the door leading 
 to the garden.) They are coming she has 
 not changed at all. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 (Through the door enter Stella, Mrs. Czes- 
 ka, George, followed by Drahomir, arm and 
 arm with the Prince Starogrodzki.) 
 
 Stella. Here is our doctor! Our dear doc- 
 tor! How do you do? We were looking for 
 you! 
 
 Czeska (bows ceremoniously). Especially 
 the prince. 
 
 Jozwowicz (kissing Stella's hand). Good 
 evening, princess. I have also been anxious 
 to return. I have come to stay for a longer 
 time to rest. Ah, the prince ! How is Your 
 Highness's health?
 
 WIN OR LOSE, 171 
 
 Prince (shaking hands). Dear boy. I am 
 not well. You did well to come. You must 
 see at once what is the matter with me. 
 
 Jozwowicz. But now Your Highness will 
 introduce me to these gentlemen. 
 
 Prince. It is true. Doctor Jozwowicz, the 
 minister of my interior affairs I said it well, 
 did I not? For you do look after my health. 
 Count Karol Drahomir. 
 
 Drahomir. Your name is familiar to me, 
 therefore, strictly speaking, I alone ought to 
 introduce myself. 
 
 Doctor. Sir. 
 
 Prince (introducing). Mr. George Pretwic, 
 our neighbor, and (Stella makes a sign) and 
 I wish to say 
 
 George. If I am not mistaken, your school- 
 mate. 
 
 Doctor. I did not wish to be the first to 
 recollect. 
 
 George. I am glad to see you. It is quite
 
 SO JtUMS THE WORLD. 
 
 a long time since then, but we were good com- 
 rades. Truly, I am very glad, especially after 
 what I have heard here about you. 
 
 Drahomir. You are the good spirit of this 
 house. 
 
 Stella. Oh, yes! 
 
 Prince. Let me tell you my opinion of him. 
 
 George. How often the best student, Joz- 
 wowicz, helped Pretwic with his exercises. 
 
 Doctor. You have a good memory, sir. 
 
 George. Very good, indeed, for then we 
 did not call each other "sir." Once more, 
 Stanislaw, I welcome you. 
 
 Doctor. And I return the welcome. 
 
 George. But do I not remember that after 
 you went through college you studied law? 
 Doctor. And afterward I became a doctor 
 of medicine. 
 
 Prince. Be seated. Jan, bring the lights. 
 
 Stella. How charming that you are ac- 
 quainted !
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 173 
 
 Doctor. The school - bench, like misery, 
 unites people. But then, social standing sep- 
 arates them. George's future was assured. I 
 was obliged to search for mine. 
 
 Prince. He has searched also, and found 
 adventures. 
 
 Drahomir. In two parts of the world. 
 
 Czeska. That is splendid. 
 
 Doctor. Well, he followed his instinct. 
 Even in school he broke the horses, went 
 shooting and fenced. 
 
 George. Better than I studied. 
 
 Doctor (laughing). Yes we used to call 
 him the general, because he commanded us 
 in our student fights. 
 
 Drahomir. George, I recognized you 
 there. 
 
 Czeska. But now, I think, he will stop 
 fighting. , 
 
 Stella. Who knows? 
 
 George. I am sure of it.
 
 174 SO XUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Doctor. As for me, I was his worst soldier. 
 I never was fond of playing that way. 
 
 Prince. Because those are the distractions 
 of the nobility and not of a doctor. 
 
 Doctor. We begin to quarrel already. You 
 are all proud of the fact that your ancestors, 
 the knights, killed so many people. But if the 
 prince knew how many people I have killed 
 with my prescriptions! I can guarantee you 
 that none of Your Highness's ancestors can be 
 proud of such great number. 
 
 Drahomir. Bravo. Very good! 
 
 Prince. And he is my doctor! 
 
 Stella. Papa! The doctor is joking. 
 
 Prince. Thanks for such jokes. But it is 
 sure that the world is now upside-down. 
 
 Doctor. Your Highness, we will live a 
 hundred years more. (To George.) Come, 
 tell me, what. became of you? (They go out.) 
 
 Prince. You would not believe how un- 
 happy I am because I cannot get along with
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 175 
 
 that man. He is the son of a blacksmith from 
 Stanislawow. I sent him to school because I 
 wished to make an overseer of him. But 
 afterwards he went to study at the Uni- 
 versity. 
 
 Drahomir. He is twice a doctor he is an 
 intelligent man. One can see that by merely 
 looking at him. 
 
 Stella. Very much so. 
 
 Czeska. So intelligent that I am afraid of 
 him. 
 
 Drahomir. But the prince must be satis- 
 fied. 
 
 Prince. Satisfied, satisfied! He has lost 
 his common sense. He became a democrat 
 a sans culotte. But he is a good doctor, and I 
 am sick. I have some stomach trouble. (To 
 Drahomir.) Have you heard of it? 
 
 Drahomir. The prince complained already 
 some time ago. 
 
 Czeska. For twenty years.
 
 176 SO KUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Prince. Sorrow and public service have 
 ruined my health. 
 
 Czeska. But Your Highness is healthy. 
 
 Prince (angrily). I tell you that I am sick. 
 Stella, I am sick am I not? 
 
 Stella. But now you will feel better. 
 
 Prince. Because he alone keeps me alive. 
 Stella would have died also with heart trouble 
 if it had not been for him. 
 
 Drahomir. If that is so, he is a very pre- 
 cious man. 
 
 Stella. We owe him eternal gratitude. 
 
 Prince (looking at George). He will also 
 be necessary to Pretwic. What, Stella, will he 
 not? 
 
 Stella (laughing). Papa, how can I know 
 that? 
 
 Drahomir. Truly, I sometimes envy those 
 stalwart men. During the battle they strength- 
 en in themselves the force which lessens and 
 disappears in us, because nothing nourishes
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 177 
 
 it. Perhaps we are also made of noble metal, 
 but we are eaten up with rust while they are 
 hardened in the battle of life. It is a sad 
 necessity. 
 
 Czeska. How about Mr. Pretwic? 
 
 Drahomir. George endured much, it is 
 true, and one feels this although it is difficult 
 to describe it. Look at those two men. When 
 the wind blows George resists like a century- 
 old tree, and men like the doctor subdue it 
 and order it to propel his boat. There is in 
 that some greater capacity for life, therefore 
 the result is more easy to be foreseen. The 
 tree is older, and although still strong, the 
 more it is bitten by the storms, the sooner it 
 will die. 
 
 Prince. I have said many times that we die 
 like old trees. Some other thicket grows, but 
 it is composed only of bushes. 
 
 Stella. The one who is good has the right 
 to live we must not doubt about ourselves. 
 
 12
 
 1 78 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Drahomir. I do not doubt, even for the 
 reason that the poet says : " Saintly is the one 
 who knows how to be a friend " (bows to 
 Stella) "with saints." 
 
 Stella. If he has not secured their friend- 
 ship by flattery. 
 
 Drahomir. But I must be permitted not 
 to envy the doctor anything. 
 
 Stella. The friendship is not exclusive, al- 
 though I look upon the doctor as a brother. 
 
 Prince. Stella, what are you talking about ? 
 He is your brother as I am a republican. I 
 cannot suffer him, but I cannot get along with- 
 out him. 
 
 Czeska. Prince, you are joking 
 
 Drahomir (smiling). Why should you hate 
 him? 
 
 Prince. Why? Have I not told you.? He 
 does with us what he pleases. He does as he 
 likes in the house, he does not believe any- 
 thing, and he is ambitious as the deuce. He
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 179 
 
 is already a professor in the University, and 
 now he wishes to be a member of parliament. 
 Do you hear? he will be a member of parlia- 
 ment! But I would not be a Starogrodzki if 
 I had permitted it. (Aloud.) Jozwowicz! 
 
 Doctor (he is near a window). Your High- 
 ness, what do you order? 
 
 Prince. Is it true that you are trying to be- 
 come a member of parliament. 
 
 Doctor. At your service, Your Highness? 
 
 Prince. Mrs. Czeska. Have you heard 
 the world is upside down, Jozwowicz! 
 
 Doctor. What is it, Your Highness? 
 
 Prince. And perhaps you will also become 
 a minister. 
 
 Doctor. It may be. 
 
 Prince. Did you hear? And do you think 
 that I will call you "Your Excellency"? 
 
 Doctor. It would be proper. 
 
 Prince. Jozwowicz, do you wish to give me 
 a stroke of apoplexy?
 
 i8o SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Doctor. Be calm, Your Highness. My Ex- 
 cellency will always take care of your Grace's 
 bile. 
 
 Prince. It is true. The irritation hurts me. 
 What, Jozwowicz does it hurt me? 
 
 Doctor. Yes, it excites the bile, but it gives 
 you an appetite. (He approaches with George. ) 
 
 Stella. What were you talking about? 
 
 Doctor. I have been listening to George. 
 Horrible ! Dreadful ! George made a mistake 
 by coming into the world two hundred years 
 too late. Bayards are not appreciated nowa- 
 days. 
 
 Czeska. Providence is above all. 
 
 Drahomir. I believe it also. 
 
 Doctor. Were I a mathematician, without 
 contradicting you I would say that, as in many 
 cases we do not know what X equals, we must 
 take care of ourselves. 
 
 Prince. What are you saying? 
 
 Stella. Doctor, pray do not talk so scepti-
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 181 
 
 cally, or there will be a war not with papa, 
 but with me. 
 
 Doctor. My scepticism is ended where your 
 words begin, therefore I surrender. 
 
 Stella. How gallant the member of parlia- 
 ment. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 The same Servant. 
 
 Servant. Tea is served. 
 
 George. I must bid you good-bye. 
 
 Stella. Why, why are you going so early 
 to-night? 
 
 Doctor (aside). My old schoolmate is at 
 home here. 
 
 George. You must excuse me. I am very 
 happy with you, but to-night I must be going 
 home. I will leave Drahomir he will replace 
 me. 
 
 Stella. To be angry with you would be to
 
 1 82 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 make you conceited. But you must tell me 
 why you are going. 
 
 George. The people who have lost their 
 homes by fire are in my house. I must give 
 some orders and provide for their necessities. 
 
 Czeska (aside). He is sacrificing pleasure 
 to duty. (Aloud.) Stella! 
 
 Stella. What is it? 
 
 Czeska. To-morrow we must make some 
 collections for them, and provide them with 
 clothing. 
 
 Doctor. I will go with you, ladies. It will 
 be the first case in which misery did not search 
 for the doctor, but the doctor searched for 
 misery. 
 
 Czeska. Very clever. 
 
 Prince (rapping with the stick). Pretwic! 
 
 George. Your Highness, what do you 
 order ? 
 
 Prince. You say that this rabble is very 
 poor?
 
 WIN OR LOSE, 183 
 
 George. Very poor, indeed. 
 
 Prince. You say that they have nothing to 
 eat? 
 
 George. Almost nothing, my prince. 
 
 Prince. God punishes them for voting for 
 such a man (he points to Jozwowicz) as that 
 one. 
 
 Doctor (bows). They have not elected me 
 yet. 
 
 Stella. Papa. 
 
 Prince. What did I want to say? Aha! 
 Pretwic ! 
 
 George. I listen to you, my prince. 
 
 Prince. You said that they were starving? 
 
 George. I said almost. 
 
 Prince. Very well, then. Go to my cash- 
 ier, Horkiewicz, and tell him to give that rab- 
 ble a thousand florins. (He raps with the 
 stick.) They must know that I will not per- 
 mit any one to be hungry. 
 
 Stella. Dear father!
 
 1 84 SO UNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Drahomir. I knew it would end that way. 
 
 Prince. Yes, Mr. Jozwowicz! Noblesse 
 oblige! Do you understand, your Excel- 
 lency, Mr. Jozwowicz? 
 
 Doctor. I understand, Your Highness. 
 
 Prince (giving his arm to Mrs. Czeska). 
 And now let us take some tea. (George takes 
 leave and goes out.) 
 
 Doctor. I must also be going. I am tired 
 and I have some letters to write. 
 
 Prince. Upon my honor, one might think 
 that he was already a minister. But come to 
 see us I cannot sleep without you. 
 
 Doctor. I will be at the service of Your 
 Highness. 
 
 Prince (muttering). As soon as this Robes- 
 pierre arrived, I immediately felt better. 
 
 Stella. Doctor, wait a moment. I do not 
 take any tea. I will only put papa in his 
 place, and then I will be back immediately. I 
 must have a talk with you.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 185 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 Jozwowicz alone then Stella. 
 
 Doctor. What are these people doing here, 
 and what does she wish to tell me? Is it pos- 
 sible But no, it is impossible. I am un- 
 easy, but in a moment everything will be 
 cleared up. What an ass I am ! She simply 
 wishes to talk to me about the prince's health. 
 It is this moonlight that makes me so dreamy 
 I ought to have a guitar. 
 
 Stella (entering). Mr. Jozwowicz? 
 
 Doctor. I am here, princess. 
 
 Stella. I did my best not to make you wait 
 too long. Let us be seated and have a talk, 
 as formerly, when I was small and not well 
 and you took care of my health. I remember 
 sometimes I used to fall asleep, and you car- 
 ried me in your arms to my room. 
 
 Doctor. The darling of every one in the 
 house was very weak then.
 
 1 86 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Stella. And to-day, if she is well, it is 
 thanks to you. If she has any knowledge, it 
 is also thanks to you. I am a plant of which 
 you have taken good care. 
 
 Doctor. And my greatest pride. There 
 were few calm, genial moments in my life 
 and peace I found only in that house. 
 
 Stella. You were always good, and for that 
 reason I look upon you as an older brother. 
 
 Doctor. Your words form the only smile in 
 my life. I not only respect you, but I also love 
 you dearly like a sister, like my own child. 
 
 Stella. Thank you. I have not the same 
 confidence in any one else's judgment and hon- 
 esty as I have in yours, so I wished to speak 
 to you about an important matter. I hope 
 even that what I am going to tell you will 
 please you as much as it pleases me. Is it 
 true that you are going to become a member 
 of parliament? 
 
 Doctor (with uneasiness). No, it is only
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 187 
 
 probable. But speak of what concerns 
 you. 
 
 Stella. Well, then ah, Lord! But you 
 will not leave papa, will you? 
 
 Doctor (breathing heavily). Oh, you wish 
 to speak of the prince's health? 
 
 Stella. No, I know that papa is getting 
 better. I did not expect that it would be diffi- 
 cult I am afraid of the severe opinion 
 
 that you have of people. 
 
 Doctor (with simulated ease). Pray, do not 
 torture my curiosity. 
 
 Stella. Then I will close my eyes and tell 
 you, although it is not easy for any young 
 girl. You know Mr. George Pretwic well, do 
 you not? 
 
 Doctor (uneasily). I know him. 
 
 Stella. How do you like him? He is my 
 fiance. 
 
 Doctor (rising). Your fiance"? 
 
 Stella. Good gracious! then you do not
 
 1 88 SO UNS THE WORLD. 
 
 approve of my choice? (A moment of si- 
 lence.) 
 
 Doctor. Only one moment. Your choice, 
 princess, if it is of your heart and will, must 
 be good only it was unexpected news to me ; 
 therefore, perhaps, I received it a little too 
 seriously. But I could not hear it with indif- 
 ference owing to the affection I have for your 
 family. And then, my opinion does not amount 
 to anything in such a matter. Princess, I con- 
 gratulate you and wish you all happiness. 
 
 Stella. Thank you. Now I shall be more 
 easy. 
 
 Doctor. You must return to your father. 
 Your news has been so sudden that it has 
 shocked me a little. I must collect my wits 
 I must familiarize myself with the thought. 
 But in any event, I congratulate you. 
 
 Stella. Good night. (She stops in the door, 
 looks at the Doctor and goes in.)
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 189 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 Jozwowicz (alone). Too late! 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 The stage represents the same drawing- 
 room. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Jozwowicz. Anton. 
 
 Doctor. Anton, come here. We can talk 
 quietly, for they are preparing my room. 
 What news from the city? 
 
 Anton. Good news. In an hour or so a 
 delegation of the voters will be here. You 
 must say something to them you understand? 
 Something about education public roads, 
 heavy taxes. You know what to say better 
 than I do.
 
 190 SO KUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Doctor. I know, I know; and how do they 
 like my platform? 
 
 Anton. You have made a great hit. I con- 
 gratulate you. It is written with scientific ac- 
 curacy. The papers of the Conservative party 
 have gone mad with wrath. 
 
 Doctor. Very good. What more? 
 
 Anton. Three days ago your election was 
 doubtful in the suburbs. I learned about it, 
 however gathered the electors and made a 
 speech. "Citizens," I said, in the end, "I 
 know only one remedy for all your misery 
 it is called Jozwowicz. Long live Progress!" 
 I also attacked the Conservative party. 
 
 Doctor. Anton, you are a great boy. Then 
 there is a hope of victory? 
 
 Anton. Almost a surety. And then, even 
 if we do not win now, the future is open to 
 us. And do you know why? Because leav- 
 ing out the details of the election, you and I, 
 while talking of our business affairs, need not
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 191 
 
 laugh at each other, like Roman augurs. 
 Progress and truth are on our side, and every 
 day makes a new breach in the old wall. We 
 are only aiding the centuries and we must con- 
 quer. I am talking calmly: Our people, our 
 electors are merely sheep, but we wish to 
 make men of them, and therein lies our 
 strength. As for me, if I were not persuaded 
 that in my principles lie truth and progress, 
 I would spit on everything and become a 
 monk. 
 
 Doctor. But it would be a dreadful thing if 
 we do not win this time. 
 
 Anton. I am sure we will win. You are 
 a fearful candidate for our adversaries. You 
 have only one antagonist who is at all danger- 
 ous Husarski, a rich and popular noble- 
 man. 
 
 Doctor. Once I am in parliament, I will try 
 to accomplish something. 
 
 Anton. I believe in you, and for that rea-
 
 192 SO XUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 son I am working for you. Ha! ha! "They 
 have already taken from us everything," said 
 Count Hornicki at the club yesterday, " impor- 
 tance, money even good manners." Well, 
 at least I have not tafken their good manners 
 from them. To the devil with them! 
 
 Doctor. No, you have truly not taken their 
 good manners from them. 
 
 Anton. But it is said in the city that your 
 prince has given a thousand florins to those 
 whose houses were burned. This may be bad 
 for us. You must do something also. 
 
 Doctor. I did what I could. 
 
 Anton. I must also tell you that yester- 
 day . What is the matter with you? I 
 
 am talking to you and you are thinking about 
 something else. 
 
 Doctor. Excuse me. I am in great trouble. 
 I cannot think as calmly as usual. 
 
 Anton. The idea! 
 
 Doctor. You could not understand it.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 193 
 
 Anton. I am the coachman of the carriage 
 in which you are riding I must know every- 
 thing. 
 
 Doctor. No. It does not concern you. 
 
 Anton. It does concern me, because you 
 are losing your energy. We have no need of 
 any Hamlets. 
 
 Doctor (gloomily). You are mistaken. I 
 have not given up. 
 
 Anton. I see. You close your mouth on 
 this subject. It is not in your character to 
 give up. 
 
 Doctor. No. You must work to have me 
 elected. I would lose doubly if we were bit- 
 ten. 
 
 Anton. They must have burned you like 
 the deuce, for you hiss dreadfully. 
 
 Doctor. An old story. A peasant did not 
 sleep for six years, did not eat, bent his neck, 
 wounded his hands, and carried logs for a hut. 
 After six years a lord came along, kicked the 
 
 '3
 
 194 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 hut and said : " My castle shall stand here. " We 
 are sceptical enough to laugh at such things. 
 
 Anton. He was a real lord! 
 
 Doctor. A lord for generations. He car- 
 ried his head so high that he did not notice 
 what cracked beneath his feet. 
 
 Anton. I like the story. And what about 
 the peasant? 
 
 Doctor. According to the peasant tradition, 
 he is thinking of a flint and tinder. 
 
 Anton. Glorious idea! Truly we despise 
 tradition too much. There are good things 
 in it. 
 
 Doctor. Enough. Let us talk of something 
 else. 
 
 Anton (looking around). An old and rich 
 house. It would make a splendid cabin. 
 
 Doctor. What do you say? 
 
 Anton. Nothing. Has the old prince a 
 daughter? 
 
 Doctor. Yes. Why?
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 195 
 
 Anton (laughing). Ha, ha! Your trouble 
 has the scent of a perfume used by a lady. I 
 smell here the petticoat of the princess. Be- 
 hind the member of parliament is Jozwowicz, 
 just as behind the evening dress there is the 
 morning gown. What a strong perfume! 
 
 Doctor. You may sell your perspicacity at 
 another market. It is my personal affair. 
 
 Anton. Not at all, for it means that you 
 put only half your soul into public affairs. To 
 the deuce with such business! Look at me. 
 They howl at me in the newspapers, they 
 laugh at me but I do not care. I will tell 
 you more ! I feel that I shall never rise, al- 
 though I am not lacking in strength nor intel- 
 ligence. I could try to get the first place in 
 camp to command, but I do not do it. Why? 
 Because I know myself very well. Because I 
 know that I am lacking in order, authority, 
 tact. I have been and I am a tool, used by 
 such as you, and which to-morrow may be
 
 ig6 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 kicked aside when it is no more needed. But 
 my self-love does not blind me. I do not care 
 most for myself I am working for my con- 
 victions that is all. Any day I may be ousted 
 from my position. There is often misery in 
 my house, and although I love my wife and 
 children no matter. When it is a question 
 of my convictions, I will work, act, agitate. I 
 put my whole soul in it. And for you, the 
 petticoat of a princess bars your way. I did 
 not expect this from you. Tfu ! spit on every- 
 thing and come with us. 
 
 Doctor. You are mistaken. I have no de- 
 sire for martyrdom, but for victory. And the 
 more personal ties there are between me and 
 public affairs, the more I will serve them 
 with my mind, heart, and deeds with all that 
 constitutes a man. Do you understand? 
 
 Anton. Amen. His eyes shine like the 
 eyes of a wolf now I recognize you. 
 
 Doctor. What more do you wish?
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 197 
 
 Anton. Nothing more. I will only tell 
 you that our motto should be: Attack the 
 principles, and not the people. 
 
 Doctor. Your virginal virtue may rest as- 
 sured. I shall not poison any one. 
 
 Anton. I believe you, but I must tell you 
 that 1 know you well. I appreciate your 
 energy, your learning, your common sense, 
 but I should not like to cross you in any- 
 thing. 
 
 Doctor. So much the better for me. 
 
 Anton. But if it is a question of the nobil- 
 ity, notwithstanding our programme I make 
 you a present of them. You shall not cut 
 their heads off. 
 
 Doctor. To be sure. And now go and get 
 to work for me or rather, for us. 
 
 Anton. For us, Jozwowicz. Do not forget 
 that. 
 
 Doctor. I will not swear it to you, but I 
 promise you that I will not forget.
 
 198 SO HUMS THE WORLD. 
 
 Anton. But how will you manage that no- 
 bleman? 
 
 Doctor. Do you require that I make you 
 my confidant? 
 
 Anton. In the first place, I do not need 
 your confidence, because in our camp we have 
 sufficient perspicacity. There is the matter of 
 the prince's daughter that is all. But I am 
 always afraid that for her sake you will aban- 
 don public affairs. As I am working for you, 
 I am responsible for you, therefore we must 
 be frank. 
 
 Doctor. Let us be frank. 
 
 Anton. Therefore you have said to your- 
 self: I shall get rid of that nobleman. Do it 
 then. It is your business but I ask you once 
 more: Do you wish to become a member of 
 parliament for us, or for the princess ? That 
 is my business. 
 
 Doctor. I throw my cards on the table. I, 
 you, we are all new people, and all of us have
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 199 
 
 this quality we are not dolls, painted with 
 the same color. There is room in us for con- 
 victions, love, hatred in a word, as I told 
 you, for everything of which a man of com- 
 plex nature is composed. Nature has given 
 me a heart and the right to live, therefore I 
 desire for happiness; it gave me a mind, 
 therefore I serve my chosen idea. One does 
 not exclude the other. Why should you mix 
 the princess with our public affairs you, an 
 intelligent man ? Why do you wish to replace 
 life by a phrase? I have the right to be hap- 
 py, and I shall achieve it. And I shall know 
 how to harmonize the idea with the life, like 
 a sail with a boat. I shall sail more surely 
 then. You must understand me; in that is 
 our strength that we know how to harmo- 
 nize. In that lies our superiority over others, 
 for they do not know how to live. What I 
 will amount to with that woman, I do not 
 know. You call me a Hamlet perhaps I
 
 200 SO ItUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 may become a Hamlet, but you have no need 
 of it. 
 
 Anton. It seems to me that you are again 
 right. But thus you will fight two battles, 
 and your forces will have to be divided. 
 
 Doctor. No! I am strong enough. 
 
 Anton. Say frankly she is betrothed. 
 
 Doctor. Yes. 
 
 Anton. And she loves her fianc6. 
 
 Doctor. Or she deceives herself. 
 
 Anton. At any rate, she does not love you. 
 
 Doctor. In the first place, I must get rid of 
 him. In the mean while, go and work. 
 
 Anton (consulting watch). In a few mo- 
 ments the committee will be here to see you. 
 
 Doctor. Very well. The prince is coming 
 with the Countess Miliszewska and her son, 
 my opponent. Let us be going.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 201 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Prince, Stella, Mrs. Czeska, Countess Mili- 
 szewska, Jan Miliszewski, Podczaski. 
 
 Countess. It is impossible to understand. 
 The world grows wild nowadays. 
 
 Prince. I say the same. Stella, do I not 
 say so? 
 
 Stella. Very often. 
 
 Countess (low to her son). Sit near the 
 princess and entertain her. Go ahead ! 
 
 Jan. I am going, mamma. 
 
 Countess. There is too much of that au- 
 dacity. I have sent Mr. Podczaski to the elec- 
 tors, and they say: "We do not need represen- 
 tatives without heads." I am only surprised 
 that the prince is not more indignant. I rush 
 here and there, I pray and work, and they 
 dare to oppose to my son Mr. Jozwowicz. 
 
 Prince. But madam, what can I do?
 
 202 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Countess. And who is Mr. Jozwowicz a 
 physician? What does a doctor amount to? 
 Jan has influence, importance, social position, 
 relatives and what has the doctor? From 
 whence did he come here? Who ever heard 
 of him? Really, I cannot speak calmly, and 
 I think it must be the end of the world. Is 
 it not, Mr. Podczaski? 
 
 Podczaski (saluting). Yes, countess, God's 
 wrath. There were never such loud thunders. 
 
 Prince. Thunders? Mrs. Czeska, what? 
 Have your heard thunder? 
 
 Czeska. It is a very usual thing at the end 
 of spring. Do not mind it. 
 
 Countess (in a low voice). Jan, go ahead. 
 
 Jan. Yes, mamma, I am going. 
 
 Countess. Prince, you will see that Jan will 
 not be elected purely on account of the hatred 
 against us. They say that he does not know 
 the country, and does not understand its needs. 
 But before all we must not allow such people
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 203 
 
 as Jozwowicz to become important in the coun- 
 try. Prince, is it not so? 
 
 Prince. He will not ask your permission. 
 
 Countess. That is exactly why the world 
 must be coming to an end that such people 
 can do as they please ! They dare to say that 
 Jan will not be able to make a good represen- 
 tative, and that Mr. Jozwowicz will. Jan was 
 always an excellent student in Metz. Jan, 
 were you not a good student? 
 
 Jan. Yes, mamma. 
 
 Podczaski. Countess, you are perfectly 
 right. It is the end of the world. 
 
 Stella. What did you study especially? 
 
 Jan. I, madam? I studied the history of 
 heresy. 
 
 Princess. Mrs. Czeska what? Have stud- 
 ied what? 
 
 Countess. They reproach us with not hav- 
 ing talent, but for diplomacy one must have 
 talent.
 
 204 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Podczaski. The count does even look like 
 a diplomat. 
 
 Prince (aside). Well, not very much. 
 
 Czeska. The count does not have much to 
 say. 
 
 Jan. No, madam, but sometimes I speak 
 quite enough. 
 
 Countess. For my part, I declare that if 
 Jan is not elected, we will leave the country. 
 
 Podczaski. They will be guilty of it. 
 
 Countess. It will be the fault of the prince. 
 
 Prince. Mine? 
 
 Countess. How can you permit such as 
 Jozwowicz to compete with society people? 
 Why do you retain him ? 
 
 Prince. Frankly speaking, it is not I who 
 keep him it is he who keeps me. If it were 
 not for him, I should long since be (he makes 
 a gesture). 
 
 Countess (angrily). By keeping him, you 
 serve the democracy.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 205 
 
 Prince. I I serve the democracy? Stella, 
 do you hear? (He raps with his stick.) 
 
 Countess. Every one will say so. Mr. Joz- 
 wowicz is the democratic candidate. 
 
 Prince. But I am not, and if it is so I will 
 not allow him to be. I have enough of Mr. 
 Jozwowicz's democracy. They shall not say 
 that I am the tool of democracy. (He rings 
 the bell. A servant enters.) Ask the doctor 
 to come here. 
 
 Countess. Now the prince is a true prince. 
 
 Prince. I serve democracy, indeed ! 
 
 Stella. Papa, dear. 
 
 Countess. We must bid the prince good- 
 bye. Jan, get ready. Good-bye, dear Stella. 
 Good-bye, my child. (To her son.) Kiss the , 
 princess's hand.
 
 206 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 The same. 
 
 Jozwowicz. Your Highness must excuse 
 me if I am too late, but I was obliged to re- 
 ceive the delegates. 
 
 Countess. What delegates are here? Jan, 
 go ahead. 
 
 Doctor (saluting). Count, you must hasten, 
 they are leaving. 
 
 Podczaski. I am Your Highness's servant. 
 (Countess, Jan, Podczaski go out. Stella and 
 Mrs. Czeska follow them.) 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Jozwowicz. Prince. (A moment of silence.) 
 
 Prince (rapping with his stick). I forbid 
 you to become a member of parliament. 
 
 Doctor. I shall not obey. 
 
 Prince. You make me angry.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 207 
 
 Doctor. Your Highness closes to me the 
 future. 
 
 Prince (angrily). I have brought you up. 
 
 Doctor. I preserve Your Highness's life. 
 
 Prince. I have been a second father to 
 you. 
 
 Doctor. Your Highness, let us speak calm- 
 ly. If you have been to me a father, I have 
 until now been to you a son. But the father 
 must not bar to his son the road to distinc- 
 tion. 
 
 Prince. Public distinction is not for such 
 people as you, sir. 
 
 Doctor (laughing). A moment ago Your 
 Highness called me a son. 
 
 Prince. What son? 
 
 Doctor. Your Highness, were I your son I 
 would be rich and have a title in a word ev- 
 erything Your Highness possesses. But being 
 a poor man, I must make my way, and no one 
 has the right to bar it to me, especially if my
 
 208 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 road is straight and honest. (Laughing.) Un- 
 less Your Highness would like to adopt me in 
 order to preserve the family. 
 
 Prince. What nonsense you are talking. 
 
 Doctor. I am only joking. Well, Your 
 Highness, let us cease this irritation. 
 
 Prince. It is true, it hurts me. Why will 
 you not give up the idea of becoming a mem- 
 ber of parliament? 
 
 Doctor. It is my future. 
 
 Prince. And in the mean time I am vexed 
 by every one on that account. When I was 
 young I was in many battles and I did not 
 fear. I can show my decorations. I was not 
 afraid of death on the battlefield, but those 
 
 Latin illnesses of yours Why do you look 
 
 at me in that way? 
 
 Doctor. I am looking as usual. As for 
 your illness, I will say that it is more the im- 
 agination of Your Highness than anything else. 
 The constitution is strong, and with my as-
 
 WIN OR LOSE, 209 
 
 sistance Your Highness will live to the age of 
 Methusaleh. 
 
 Prince. Are you sure of it? 
 
 Doctor. Positive. 
 
 Prince. Good boy ! And you will not leave 
 me? 
 
 Doctor. Your Highness may be assured of 
 that. 
 
 Prince. Then you may become a member 
 of parliament or whatever you please. Stella! 
 Oh, she is not here ! Upon my honor, that 
 Miliszewski is an ass. Don't you think so? 
 
 Doctor. I cannot contradict Your Highness. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 The same. Stella and Mrs. Czeska. 
 Stella. I came because I was afraid you 
 would quarrel. Well, what is the end of the 
 discussion ? 
 
 Prince. Well, that good-for-nothing man 
 
 will do what he pleases. 
 14
 
 210 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Doctor. The fact is that the prince has ap- 
 proved of my plans and has granted me per- 
 mission to try my luck at the election. 
 
 Mrs. Czeska. We had better all go to the 
 garden. Mr. Pretwic and Count Drahomir 
 are waiting we are going for a sail on the 
 lake. 
 
 Prince. Then let us be going (they go 
 out). You see, madam, that Miliszewska! 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 Jozwowicz, Stella. Then Drahomir. 
 
 Stella. How is my father's health? 
 
 Doctor. All that can be expected. But 
 you are pale, princess. 
 
 Stella. Oh, I am well. 
 
 Doctor. It is the consequence of the be- 
 trothal. 
 
 Stella. It must be. 
 
 Doctor. But health requires one to be merry 
 to enjoy life.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 211 
 
 Stella. I do not wish for any other dis- 
 traction. 
 
 Doctor. If not distraction, at least enjoy- 
 ment. We here are too grave for you. Per- 
 haps we cannot understand you. 
 
 Stella. You are all too good. 
 
 Doctor. At least solicitous. If you have a 
 moment to spare let us be seated and have a 
 talk. My solicitude must explain my bold- 
 ness. With the dignity of a fiance, serenity 
 and happiness generally go hand in hand. 
 When the heart is given willingly, all longing 
 ceases and the future is viewed with serenity. 
 
 Stella. My future contains something 
 which might cause even the most valiant to 
 fear. 
 
 Doctor. Of what are you talking? You 
 have called me a sceptic, but it is I who says: 
 who loves, believes. 
 
 Stella. What then? 
 
 Doctor. Who doubts?
 
 212 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Stella. Doctor. 
 
 Doctor. Princess, I do not inquire. There 
 are moments when the serenity visibly de- 
 parts from your face, therefore I question you, 
 which is my duty as a physician and a friend. 
 Be calm. Pray, remember that this is asked 
 by a man whom a while ago you called 
 "brother," and who knows how dear to him is 
 the happiness of such a sister! I have no one 
 in this world all my love of family is centred 
 in your house. My heart has also its sorrows. 
 Pray, quiet my apprehensions that is all I ask 
 you. 
 
 Stella. What apprehensions? 
 
 Doctor. Apprehensions of which I dare not 
 speak. Since my return I have watched you 
 constantly, and the more I watch you the 
 more do I fear. You fear the future you do 
 not look into it with confidence and hope. 
 
 Stella. Permit me to go. 
 
 Doctor. No, madam. I have the right to
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 213 
 
 ask, and if you fear to look into the bottom of 
 your heart, then I have the right to say that 
 you lack courage, and for such sinful weak- 
 ness one pays later with his own happiness 
 and the happiness of others. I suffer also 
 but I must I must. Madam, listen to me. 
 If in your heart there is even the shadow of a 
 doubt, you have mistaken your sentiments. 
 
 Stella. Is it possible to make such a mis- 
 take? 
 
 Doctor. Yes. Sometimes often one mis- 
 takes sympathy, pity, commiseration for love. 
 
 Stella. What a dreadful mistake! 
 
 Doctor. Which one recognizes as soon as 
 the heart flies in another direction. The dig- 
 nity of a fiance is a hidden pain. If I am 
 mistaken, pray forgive me. 
 
 Stella. Doctor, I do not wish to think of 
 such things. 
 
 Doctor. Then I am not mistaken. Do not 
 look on me with fear. I wish to save you,
 
 214 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 my dear child. Where is your heart? The 
 moment that you recognize you do not love 
 Mr. Pretwic, that moment will tell you whom 
 you do love. No, I shall not withdraw my 
 question. Where is your heart? By God, if 
 he is not equal to you, he shall rise to your 
 height! But no, I have become a madman. 
 
 Stella. I must be going. 
 
 Doctor (barring the way). No, you shall 
 not go until you have given me an answer. 
 Whom do you love? 
 
 Stella. Doctor, spare me otherwise I shall 
 doubt everything. Have pity on me. 
 
 Doctor (brutally) Whom do you love ? 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 The same. Drahomir 
 
 Drahomir. Princess. 
 
 Stella. Ah! 
 
 Drahomir. What! Have I frightened
 
 WIN OR LOSE, 215 
 
 you? I came to tell you that the boats are 
 waiting. What is the matter with you? 
 
 Stella. Nothing. Let us be going. 
 
 (Drahomir offers his arm they go out. ) 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 Doctor (alone looking after them). Oh! 
 I under stand ! 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 The same Drawing-room. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 (Mr. Podczaski enters, followed by a servant.) 
 Podczaski. Tell the Doctor that Mr. Pod- 
 czaski wishes to see him on an important 
 matter. 
 
 Servant. The Doctor is very busy. The 
 princess is ill. But I will tell him (goes out).
 
 216 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Podczaski (alone). I have enough of this 
 work for nothing. The countess sends me 
 about to agitate for her, but when I ask her 
 for some money, she answers: We shall see 
 about it after the election. She is an aristo- 
 crat and she refuses a hundred florins to a 
 nobleman. To the deuce with such business. 
 I had better try elsewhere, to serve the 
 Doctor. He pays because he has common 
 sense. And as he will bite them, then I will 
 rise in consideration. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Podczaski. Jozwowicz. 
 Podczaski. Your servant, sir. 
 Doctor. What can I do for you? 
 Podczaski. Well, sir, I am going to come 
 right to the point. You know what services I 
 have rendered the Countess Miliszewski? 
 
 Doctor, Yes, you have been agitating 
 against me in favor of Count Miliszewski.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 217 
 
 Podczaski. No, not at all, sir. Well, sir, 
 it was so, but I am going to change that, and 
 you may be certain 
 
 Doctor. In a word, what do you wish, sir? 
 
 Podczaski. God sees, sir, that I served the 
 countess faithfully, and it cost me quite a 
 little, but on consulting my conscience I have 
 concluded not to act any more against such 
 a man as you, sir, for the sake of the coun- 
 try. 
 
 Doctor. I appreciate your sentiments, 
 which are those of a good citizen. You do 
 not wish to act against me any longer? 
 
 Podczaski. No, sir! 
 
 Doctor. You are right. Then you are with 
 me? 
 
 Podczaski. If I may offer my services 
 
 Doctor. I accept. 
 
 Podczaski (aside). He is a man I have a 
 hundred florins in my pocket already. 
 (Aloud) My gratitude
 
 218 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Doctor. Mine will be shown after the elec- 
 tion. 
 
 Podczaski. Oh ! 
 
 SCENE III. 
 The same. Jan Miliszewski then Anton. 
 
 Jan. Good-morning, doctor. Is my moth- 
 er here? 
 
 Doctor. The countess is not here. 
 
 Jan. We came together, but mamma went 
 directly to the prince's apartment. I re- 
 mained alone and I cannot find my way to the 
 prince's apartment. (Seeing Podczaski, who 
 bows to him) Ah! Mr. Podczaski, what are 
 you doing here? 
 
 Podczaski. Your servant, sir. Well, I 
 came to consult the doctor I have rheu- 
 matism in my feet. 
 
 Jan. Doctor, will you be kind enough to 
 show me to the Prince's apartment?
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 219 
 
 Doctor. They are in the left wing of the 
 chateau. 
 
 Jan. Thank you. But later I would like 
 to have a talk with you. 
 
 Doctor. I will be at your service, sir. 
 
 (Jan goes toward the door. He knocks 
 against Anton.) 
 
 Anton. I beg your pardon, sir. 
 
 Jan. Pardon (he adjusts his monocle and 
 looks at Anton then goes out). 
 
 Anton (to Doctor). I was told you were 
 here and I rushed. Listen, a matter of great 
 importance. (Seeing Podczaski) What! You 
 are here? Our adversary here? 
 
 Podczaski (speaking in Anton's ear). I am 
 no longer your adversary. 
 
 Anton (looking at him). So much the 
 better then but leave us alone just the same. 
 
 Podczaski (aside). Bad. ^Aloud) Gentle- 
 man, do not forget me. (Aside) The devil 
 has taken my hundred florins. (He goes out.)
 
 220 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Anton. What did he wish? 
 
 Doctor. Money. 
 
 Anton. Did you give it to him? 
 
 Doctor. No. 
 
 Anton. You did well. We do not bribe. 
 But no matter about that. What good luck 
 that they put up Miliszewski for a candidate. 
 Otherwise you would be lost because Husarski 
 would have had the majority. 
 
 Doctor. Anton, I am sure that we will be 
 defeated. 
 
 Anton. No! What am I for? Uf! How 
 tired I am. Let me rest for five minutes (he 
 sits down). Good gracious! how soft the fur- 
 niture is here. We must donate some money 
 for some public purpose. Have you any 
 money? 
 
 Doctor. I have some. 
 
 Anton. We* are going to give that money 
 to build a school. 
 
 Doctor. Here is the key of my desk you
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 221 
 
 will find some ready money there, and some 
 checks. 
 
 Anton. Very well, but I must rest a mo- 
 ment. In the mean while what is the news 
 here? You are not looking well. Your eyes 
 have sunken. Upon my word, I was not so 
 much in love with my wife. Speak I will 
 rest in the mean while but speak frankly. 
 
 Doctor. I will be frank with you. 
 
 Anton. What more? 
 
 Doctor. That marriage will be broken off. 
 
 Anton. Why. 
 
 Doctor. Because there are times when 
 these people do not succeed in anything. 
 
 Anton. To the garret with those peacocks. 
 And what about that cannibal Pretwic? 
 
 Doctor. A long story. The princess has 
 mistaken the sympathy which she feels for 
 him for something more seriouS. To-day she 
 knows that she does not love him. 
 
 Anton. That is good. Truly, it looks as
 
 222 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 though they were pursued by fate. It is the 
 lot of races that have lived too long. 
 
 Doctor. Implacable logic of things. 
 
 Anton. Then she is not going to marry 
 him. I pity them, but to the deuce with sen- 
 timentality ! 
 
 Doctor. She would marry him if it killed 
 her to keep her word. But there is a third 
 person entangled in the matter Count Draho- 
 mir. 
 
 Anton. At every step one meets a count! 
 He betrays Pretwic? 
 
 Doctor. What a blockhead you are. 
 
 Anton. Well, frankly speaking, I do not 
 care one whit for your drawing-room af- 
 fairs. 
 
 Doctor. Drahomir and she do not know 
 that they love each other. But something at- 
 tracts them to each other. What is that 
 force? They do not ask. They are like chil- 
 dren.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 223 
 
 Anton. And how will you profit from all 
 this? 
 
 Doctor. Listen, you democrat. When two 
 knights are in love with one noble damsel, that 
 love usually ends dramatically and the third 
 party usually gets the noble damsel. 
 
 Anton. And the knights? 
 
 Doctor. Let them perish. 
 
 Anton. What then do you suppose will 
 happen ? 
 
 Doctor. I do not know. Pretwic is a pas- 
 sionate man. He does not foresee anything 
 I see only the logic of things which is favor- 
 able to me, and I shall not be stupid enough 
 to place any obstacles to my happiness. 
 
 Anton. I am sure you will help it along in 
 case of need. 
 
 Doctor. Well, I am a physician. It is my 
 duty to assist nature. 
 
 Anton. The programme is ready. I know 
 you. I only wish to ask you how you know
 
 224 SO KUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 what you say is so. Maybe it is only a 
 story. 
 
 Doctor. I can have verification of it 
 through the princess's ex-governess. 
 
 Anton. You must know as soon as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 Doctor. Mrs. Czeska will be here in a mo- 
 ment. I asked her to come here. 
 
 Anton. Then 1 am going. Do you know 
 what? Do not help nature too much, because 
 it would be 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 The same. Mrs. Czeska. 
 Czeska (entering). You wished to speak to 
 me? 
 
 Doctor. Yes, madam. 
 
 Anton (bows to Mrs. Czeska, then speaks to 
 Joswowicz). I am going to get the money 
 and I will be back in a moment. 
 
 Doctor. Very well. (Anton goes out.)
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 22 5 
 
 Czeska. Who is that gentleman? 
 
 Doctor. A pilot. 
 
 Czeska. What do you mean? 
 
 Doctor. He guides the boat in which I am 
 sailing. As for the rest, he is a horribly hon- 
 est man. 
 
 Czeska. I do not understand very well. 
 What did you wish to speak to me about? 
 
 Doctor. About the princess. You are both 
 like mother and daughter, and you should 
 have her entire confidence. What is the 
 matter with her? She conceals something 
 some sorrow. Asa doctor I must know every- 
 thing, because in order to cure physical dis- 
 ease one must know the moral cause. (Aside) 
 The spirit of ^Esculapius forgive me this 
 phrase. 
 
 Czeska. My good sir, what are you asking 
 about ? 
 
 Doctor. I have told you that the princess 
 conceals some sorrow.
 
 226 SO 1?UNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Czeska. I do not know. 
 
 Doctor. We both love her; let us then 
 speak frankly. 
 
 Czeska. I am willing. 
 
 Doctor. Then, does she love her fiance"? 
 
 Czeska. How can you ask me such a ques- 
 tion? If she did not, she would not be be- 
 trothed to him. It is such a simple thing that 
 even I do not talk to her about it any more. 
 
 Doctor. You say: "I do not talk about it 
 any more"; so you have already talked about 
 it. 
 
 Czeska. Yes. She told me that she was 
 afraid she did not love him enough. But 
 every pure soul fears that it does not fulfil its 
 duty. Why did you ask me that? 
 
 Doctor (saluting her). I have my reasons. 
 I wished to know. (Aside) I am wasting my 
 time with her.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 227 
 
 SCENE V. 
 The same. Jan Miliszewski. 
 
 Jan. I could not find mamma. Good- 
 morning, madam. Do I intrude? 
 
 Czeska. Not at all, sir. (To Jozwowicz) 
 She will do her duty ; rest assured of that. 
 
 Doctor. Thank you. (Czeska goes out.) 
 
 Jan. Doctor. 
 
 Doctor. I am listening to you, sir. 
 
 Jan. Let us speak frankly. Mamma 
 wishes me to become a member of parliament, 
 but I do not care for it. 
 
 Doctor. You are too modest, sir. 
 
 Jan. You are sneering, and I do not know 
 how to defend myself. But I am frank with 
 you I would not care a bit about being 
 elected to parliament if it were not for my 
 mamma. When mamma wishes for some- 
 thing it must be accomplished. All women
 
 228 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 of the family of Srokoszynski are that "way, 
 and mamma is of that family. 
 
 Doctor. But, count, you have a will of your 
 own. 
 
 Jan. That is the trouble the Miliszewskis 
 are all ruled by the women. It is our family 
 characteristic, sir. 
 
 Doctor. A knightly characteristic indeed! 
 But what can I do for you ? 
 
 Jan. I am not going to oppose you. 
 
 Doctor. I must be as frank with you as 
 you are with me. Until now you have helped 
 me. 
 
 Jan. I don't know how, but if it is so, then 
 you must help me in your turn. 
 
 Doctor. In what? 
 
 Jan. It is a very delicate question. But 
 you must not tell mamma anything about it. 
 
 Doctor. Certainly not. 
 
 Jan. Mamma wishes me to marry the 
 princess, but 1, sir, I do not want
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 229 
 
 Doctor. You do not want? 
 
 Jan. It astonishes you? 
 
 Doctor. I must be frank 
 
 Jan. I do not wish to because I do not 
 wish to. When a man does not feel like 
 marrying, then he does not feel like it. You 
 will suppose that I am in love with some one 
 else? It may be. But it is not with the prin- 
 cess. Naturally, when mamma says: "Jan, 
 go ahead," I go ahead, because I cannot help 
 it. The Miliszewskis knew how to manage 
 the men, but not the women. 
 
 Doctor. I do not understand how can I 
 be useful to you? 
 
 Jan. You can do anything in this house, so 
 you must help me secretly, to be refused. 
 
 Doctor. Count, you may rely on me in that 
 matter. 
 
 Jan. Thank you. 
 
 Doctor. And it will be so much the easier 
 done because the princess is betrothed.
 
 230 SO ItUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Jan. I did not know that any one dared to 
 compete with me. 
 
 Doctor (aside). What an idea! (Aloud) 
 It is Mr. George Pretwic. 
 
 Jan. Then they wished to make sport of 
 me. 
 
 Doctor. Mr. Pretwic is an audacious man. 
 You were perfectly right when you said the 
 question was a delicate one. The people are 
 afraid of Mr. Pretwic; if you were to give 
 up, people would say that 
 
 Jan. That I am also afraid? Then I will 
 not give up. My dear sir, I see you do not 
 know the Miliszewskis. We do not know how 
 to handle the women, but there is not a 
 coward in our family. I know that people 
 laugh at me, but the one who would dare to 
 call me a coward would not laugh. I will 
 show them at once that I am not a coward. 
 Where is Mr. Pretwic? 
 
 Doctor. He is in the garden (pointing
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 231 
 
 through the window). Do you see him there, 
 near the lake? 
 Jan. Good-bye. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 Jozwowicz alone then Anton. 
 
 Doctor. The men who have not such sons 
 are great ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Anton (rushing in). You are here? Here 
 are your receipts for the money. Why are 
 you laughing? 
 
 Doctor. Miliszewski has gone to challenge 
 Pretwic. 
 
 Anton. Are they crazy? 
 
 Doctor. What an opinion she would have 
 of Pretwic if he were to quarrel with such an 
 idiot ! 
 
 Anton. You have done it. 
 
 Doctor. I told you that I shall assist na- 
 ture.
 
 232 SO It VMS THE WORLD. 
 
 Anton. Do as you please; I withdraw. 
 
 Doctor. Good-bye. Or no, I am going also. 
 I must prevent the adventure from going too 
 far. 
 
 Anton. I wanted to tell you that I must 
 buy some food for my children. I will return 
 the money later on. Is it all right? 
 
 Doctor. How can you ask? (Goes out.) 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Stella and Drahomir. (They enter from the 
 garden.) 
 
 Stella. That walk tired me. See how 
 weak I am (sits down). Where is Mr. Pret- 
 wic? 
 
 Drahomir. Young Miliszewksi asked to 
 speak to him a moment. The countess is 
 speaking to the prince. It seems that their 
 conversation is very animated because the 
 countess did not know that you were be- 
 trothed, and she had some designs on you.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 233 
 
 But pray excuse me ; I laugh and you suffer 
 by it. 
 
 Stella. I would laugh too if I did not know 
 how much it troubles my father. And then, 
 I pity Count Miliszewski. 
 
 Drahomir. I understand how a similar sit- 
 uation would be painful to a man who was in 
 love, but such is not the case with the count. 
 He will console himself if his mother orders 
 it. 
 
 Stella. Sometimes one may be mistaken 
 about people. 
 
 Drahomir. Do you speak about me or Mil- 
 iszewski? 
 
 Stella. Let us say it is about you. They 
 told me that you were a mirror of all perfec- 
 tions. 
 
 Drahomir. And have you discovered that I 
 am the personification of all faults? 
 
 Stella. I did not say so. 
 
 Drahomir. But you think so. But I am
 
 234 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 not deceived. Your portrait drawn by Mr. 
 Pretwic and the Doctor is exactly like you. 
 
 Stella. How was the portrait? 
 
 Drahomir. With wings at the shoulders. 
 
 Stella. That means that I have as much 
 dignity as a butterfly. 
 
 Drahomir. Angels' wings are in harmon)' 
 with their dignity. 
 
 Stella. True friendship should speak the 
 truth. Tell me some bitter one. 
 
 Drahomir. Very bitter? 
 
 Stella. As wormwood or as is sometimes 
 the case with life. 
 
 Drahomir. Then you are kind to me. 
 
 Stella. For what sin shall I begin peni- 
 tence ? 
 
 Drahomir. For lack of friendship for 
 me. 
 
 Stella. I was the first to appeal for friend- 
 ship in what respect am I untrue to it? 
 
 Drahomir. Because you share with me
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 235 
 
 your joys, sports, laughter, but when a mo- 
 ment of sorrow comes, you keep those thorns 
 for yourself. Pray share with me your 
 troubles also. 
 
 Stella. It is not egotism on my part. I do 
 not wish to disturb your serenity. 
 
 Drahomir. The source of my serenity does 
 not lie in egotism either. George told me of 
 you when I came here : " I know only how to 
 look at her and how to pray to her; you are 
 younger and more mirthful, try to amuse 
 her." Therefore I brought all my good 
 spirits and laid them at your feet. But I 
 notice that I have bored you. I see a cloud 
 on your face I suspect some hidden sorrow, 
 and being your best friend, I am ready to give 
 my life to dispel that cloud. 
 
 Stella (softly). You must not talk that 
 way. 
 
 Drahomir (clasping his hands). Let me 
 talk. I was a giddy boy, but I always fol-
 
 236 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 lowed my heart, and my heart guessed your 
 sorrow. Since that moment a shadow fell 
 across my joy, but I overcame it. One cannot 
 recall a tear which has rolled down the cheek, 
 but a friendly hand can dry it. Therefore I 
 overcame that cloud in order that the tears 
 should not come to your eyes. If I have been 
 mistaken, if I have chosen the wrong path, 
 pray forgive me. Your life will be as beauti- 
 ful as a bouquet of flowers, therefore be 
 mirthful be mirthful. 
 
 Stella (with emotion, giving him her hand). 
 I shall be; being near you, I am capricious, 
 spoiled, and a little bit ill. Sometimes I do 
 not know myself what is the matter with me, 
 and what I wish. I am happy; truly I am 
 happy. 
 
 Drahomir. Then, no matter, as Mrs. 
 Czeska says. Let us be merry, laugh, and 
 run in the garden and play pranks with the 
 countess and her son.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 237 
 
 Stella. I have discovered the source of 
 your mirth ; it is a good heart. 
 
 Drahomir. No, madam. I am a great 
 good-for-nothing. But the source of true 
 happiness is not in this. 
 
 Stella. Sometimes I think that there is 
 none in this world. 
 
 Drahomir. We cannot grasp it with our 
 common sense, and will not fly after that 
 winged vision. Sometimes perhaps it flies 
 near us, but before we discover it, before we 
 stretch out our hands, it is too late ! 
 
 Stella. What sad words too late! 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 The same. Jozwowicz. 
 
 Doctor (entering, laughs). Ha! ha! Do 
 you know what has happened? 
 Stella. Is it something amusing? 
 Doctor. A dreadful, tragic, but before a
 
 238 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 ridiculous thing. Miliszewski wished to chal- 
 lenge Pretwic. 
 
 Stella. For Heaven's sake! 
 
 Doctor. You must laugh with me. If 
 there were anything dreadful I would not 
 frighten you, princess. 
 
 Drahomir. And what has been the end of 
 it? 
 
 Doctor. I was angry with Mr. Pretwic for 
 taking the matter so seriously. 
 
 Drahomir. How could he help it? 
 
 Doctor. But it would be shameful for a 
 man like Mr. Pretwic to fight with such a poor 
 thing. 
 
 Stella. The doctor is right. I do not un- 
 derstand Mr. Pretwic. 
 
 Doctor. Our princess must not be irritated. 
 I have made peace between them. Mr. Pret- 
 wic did not grasp the real situation and his 
 naturally sanguine disposition carried him 
 away. But now that I have explained to him,
 
 WIN OR LOSE, 239 
 
 he agrees that it would be too utterly ridic- 
 ulous. 
 
 Drahomir. And what about Miliszewski? 
 
 Doctor. I have sent him to his mamma. 
 He is a good boy. 
 
 Stella. I shall scold Mr. Pretwic, never- 
 theless. 
 
 Drahomir. But you must not be too severe. 
 
 Stella. You are laughing, gentlemen. I 
 am sorry that it was necessary to explain the 
 matter to Mr. Pretwic. I must scold him im- 
 mediately (she goes out). 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 Drahomir. Doctor. 
 
 Drahomir. The princess is a true angel. 
 Doctor. Yes, there is not a spot in the 
 crystalline purity of her nature. 
 
 Drahomir. It must be true when even you, 
 
 a sceptic, speak of her with such enthusiasm. 
 
 Doctor. I have been here six years.
 
 240 SO Jff/JVS THE WORLD. 
 
 When I came she wore short dresses. She 
 grew by my side. Six years have their 
 strength it was impossible not to become at- 
 tached to her. 
 
 Drahomir. I believe you. (After a while 
 of silence) Strange, however, that you self- 
 made people have no hearts. 
 
 Doctor. Why? 
 
 Drahomir. Because I know what you 
 would say about her social position, but hearts 
 are equal, so it does not matter. Then how 
 did it happen that you, being so near the prin- 
 cess, did not 
 
 Doctor (interrupting). What? 
 
 Drahomir. I cannot find an expression. 
 
 Doctor. But I have found it. You are 
 asking me why I did not fall in love with 
 her? 
 
 Drahomir. I hesitated to pronounce the 
 too bold word. 
 
 Doctor. Truly, if you, count, are lacking
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 241 
 
 in boldness, I am going to help you out, and I 
 ask you: And you, sir? 
 
 Drahomir. Doctor, be careful. 
 
 Doctor. I hear some lyrical tone. 
 
 Drahomir. Let us finish this conversation. 
 
 Doctor. As you say, although I can speak 
 quietly, and in order to change the conversa- 
 tion, I prefer to ask you : Do you think she 
 will be happy with Mr. Pretwic? 
 
 Drahomir. What a question ! George 
 loves her dearly. 
 
 Doctor. I do not doubt it, but their na- 
 tures are so different. Her thoughts and 
 sentiments are as delicate as cobweb and 
 George? Have you noticed how hurt she was 
 that he accepted the challenge? 
 
 Drahomir. Why did you tell her about it? 
 
 Doctor. I was wrong. Therefore 
 
 George 
 
 Drahomir. Will be happy with her. 
 
 Doctor. Any one would be happy with her, 
 16
 
 242 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 and to every one one might give the advice to 
 search for some one like her. Yes, count, 
 search for some one like her (he goes out). 
 
 Drahomir (alone). Search for some one like 
 her and if there is some one like her too 
 late (he sits down and covers his face with 
 his hand). 
 
 SCENE X. 
 Stella. Drahomir. 
 
 Stella (seeing Drahomir, looks at him for a 
 while). What is the matter with you? 
 
 Drahomir. You here? (A moment of 
 silence.) 
 
 Stella (confused). I am searching for papa. 
 Excuse me, sir, I must go. 
 
 Drahomir (softly) Go, madam. (She goes 
 out. At the door she stops, hesitates for a 
 while and then disappears.) I must get away 
 from here as soon as possible.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 243 
 
 SCENE XL 
 Drahomir. Prince. Finally Joswowicz. 
 
 Prince (rushing in). She has tormented me 
 until now. Good gracious! Ah, it is you, 
 Drahomir. 
 
 Drahomir. Yes, prince. Who tormented 
 you? 
 
 Prince. The Countess Miliszewski. My 
 dear boy, how can he be a member of parlia- 
 ment when he is so densely stupid ! 
 
 Drahomir. It is true. 
 
 Prince. Don't you see! And then she 
 proposed to marry him to Stella. The idea! 
 She is already betrothed. But of course they 
 did not know. 
 
 Drahomir. How did you get rid of her? 
 
 Prince. The doctor helped me out. Jos- 
 wowicz is a smart man he has more intelli- 
 gence than all of us together. 
 
 Drahomir. It is true.
 
 244 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Prince. But you, Drahomir, you are smart 
 also, are you not? 
 
 Drahomir. How can I either affirm or 
 deny? But Joswowicz is very intelligent, 
 that much is certain. 
 
 Prince. Yes. I do not like him, and I am 
 afraid of him and I am fond of him, but I tell 
 you I could not live without him. 
 
 Drahomir. He is an honest man, too. 
 
 Prince. Honest? Very well, then, but 
 you are better because you are not a demo- 
 crat. Drahomir, I love you. Stella, I love 
 him Ah ! She is not here. 
 
 Drahomir. Thank you, prince. 
 
 Prince. If I had another daughter, I would 
 well 
 
 Drahomir. Prince, pray do not speak that 
 way. (Aside) I must run away. 
 
 Prince. Come, have a cigar with me. We 
 will call the others and have a talk. Joswo- 
 wicz ! Pretwic !
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 245 
 
 Doctor (entering). What are your orders, 
 Your Highness? 
 
 Prince. You, Robespierre, come and have 
 a cigar. Thank you, my boy. You have rid 
 me of the countess. 
 
 Doctor. I will send for Pretwic, and we 
 will join you. (He rings the bell. A servant 
 comes in the prince and Drahomir go out.) 
 Ask Mr. Pretwic to come here. (The servant 
 goes out.) 
 
 Doctor (alone). Anton was right. I am 
 helping along the logic. But I do not like 
 the sap because I am accustomed to break. 
 (Pretwic enters.) 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 Pretwic. Jozwowicz. 
 George. I was looking for you. 
 Doctor. The prince has invited us to 
 smoke a cigar with him. 
 
 George. Wait a moment. For God's sake
 
 246 SO XUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 tell me what it means. Stella changes while 
 looking at her there is something heavy in 
 the air. What does it mean? 
 
 Doctor. That melancholy is the mode 
 now. 
 
 George. You are joking with me. 
 
 Doctor. I know nothing. 
 
 George. Excuse me. The blood rushes to 
 my head. I see some catastrophe hanging 
 over me. I thought you would say something 
 to pacify me. I thought you were my friend. 
 
 Doctor. Do you doubt it? 
 
 George. Shake hands first. Then give 
 me some advice. 
 
 Doctor. Advice? Are you ill? 
 
 George (with an effort). Truly, you play 
 with me as a cat with a mouse. 
 
 Doctor. Because I know nothing of pre- 
 sentiments. 
 
 George. Did you not tell me that she is 
 not ill?
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 247 
 
 Doctor. No, she is wearied. 
 
 George. You speak about it in a strange 
 way and you have no conception of the pain 
 that your words cause me. 
 
 Doctor. Then try to distract her. 
 
 George. What? Who? 
 
 Doctor. Who? Count Drahomir, for in- 
 stance. 
 
 George. Is she fond of him? 
 
 Doctor. And he of her also. Such poeti- 
 cal souls are always fond of each other. 
 
 George. What do you mean by that? 
 
 Doctor (sharply). And you how do you 
 take my words? 
 
 George (rises.) Not another word. You 
 understand me, and you must know that I do 
 not always forgive. 
 
 Doctor (rises also, approaches George and 
 looks into his eyes). I believe you wish to 
 frighten me. Besides this, what more do you 
 wish?
 
 248 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 George (after a moment of struggle with 
 himself). You must ask me what I did wish, 
 because I do not now wish for anything. 
 You have known her longer than I have, 
 therefore I came to you as her friend and 
 mine, and for answer you banter with me. 
 In your eyes there shone hatred for me, al- 
 though I have never wronged you. Be the 
 judge yourself! I would be more than right 
 in asking you : What do you wish of me, if it 
 were not for the reason (with pride) that it is 
 immaterial to me. (He goes out.) 
 
 Doctor. We shall see. 
 
 SCENE XIII. 
 Jozwowicz. Servant. 
 
 Servant. A messenger brought this letter 
 from Mr. Anton Zuk. 
 
 Doctor. Give it to me. (The servant goes 
 out. Doctor looks at the door through which 
 George went out.) Oh, I can no longer con-
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 249 
 
 trol my hatred. I will crush you into dust; 
 and now I shall not hesitate any longer. 
 (Opens letter feverishly) Damnation, I must 
 be going there at once. 
 
 SCENE XIV. 
 Jozwowicz. Mrs. Czeska. 
 
 Czeska (enters swiftly). Doctor, I am look- 
 ing for you. 
 
 Doctor. What has happened? 
 
 Czeska. Stella is ill. I found her weep- 
 ing. 
 
 Doctor (aside.) Poor child! (Aloud) I will 
 
 go to see her at once. (They go out.) 
 
 i 
 
 END OF ACT III.
 
 250 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 The same Drawing Room. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Jozwowicz. Drahomir. 
 (Joswowicz sits at table writing in note- 
 book. Drahomir enters.) 
 
 Drahomir. Doctor, I came to bid you fare- 
 well. 
 
 Doctor (rising suddenly). Ah, you are 
 going away? 
 
 Drahomir. Yes. 
 
 Doctor. So suddenly? For long? 
 
 Drahomir. I am returning to-day to Swiet- 
 
 * 
 
 lenice, to George; to-morrow I leave for 
 Paris. 
 
 Doctor. One word have you said anything 
 to any one of your plans? 
 
 Drahomir. Not yet. I only made up my 
 mind an hour ago.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 251 
 
 Doctor. Then Mr. Pretwic knows nothing 
 about it as yet? 
 
 Drahomir. No; but why do you ask? 
 
 Doctor (aside). I must act now otherwise 
 everything is lost. (Aloud) Count, I have not 
 much time to speak to you now, because in a 
 moment I expect Anton in regard to a matter 
 on which my whole future depends. Listen 
 to me. I beseech you, for the sake of the 
 peace and health of the princess, not to men- 
 tion to any one that you are going away. 
 Neither to the Prince nor to Mr. Pretwic. 
 
 Drahomir. I do not understand you. 
 
 Doctor. You will understand me. Now I 
 cannot tell you anything more. In a half 
 hour pray grant me a moment of conversa- 
 tion. Then you will understand me that I 
 guarantee you. Here is Anton. You see I 
 cannot explain now. 
 
 Drahomir. I will see you again. (He goes 
 out.)
 
 252 SO JZUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Anton. Jozwowicz. 
 
 Anton. The fight is very hot. Have you 
 the address? 
 
 Doctor. Here it is. How goes it? 
 
 Anton. Up to now everything is well, but 
 I repeat the fight is very hot. If you had 
 not come the last time, you would have lost 
 the battle, because Miliszewski has withdrawn 
 and his partisans vote for Husarski. Pod- 
 czaski is good for nothing. Your speech in 
 the city hall was splendid. May thunder 
 strike you ! Your address was admired even 
 by your enemies. Oh, we will at last be 
 able to do something. For three days I have 
 not slept I have not eaten I work and I 
 have plenty of time, because I have lost my 
 position. 
 
 Doctor. You have lost your position?
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 253 
 
 Anton. On account of the agitation against 
 Husarski. 
 
 Doctor. Have you found any means 
 against him? 
 
 Anton. I have written an article. I have 
 brought it to you. Read it. He sues me 
 he will beat me. They will put me in prison, 
 but it will be only after the election, and my 
 article wronged him very much. 
 
 Doctor. Very well. 
 
 Anton. But when I am in prison you must 
 take care of my wife and children. I love 
 them dearly. I have three of them. It is too 
 much but natura lex dura. 
 
 Doctor. Be assured. 
 
 Anton. You would not believe me if I 
 were to tell you that I am almost happy. 
 Sometimes it seems to me that our country is 
 a moldy room and that I open the window and 
 let in the fresh air. We will work very hard. 
 I believe in you, because you are an iron man.
 
 254 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Doctor. I shall either perish or gain two 
 victories. 
 
 Anton. Two? 
 
 Doctor. Yes; the other one even to-day, 
 here. The events have surprised me in some 
 way. The facts turned against me, and I was 
 obliged to build my plans of action only a 
 short while ago. 
 
 Anton. Eh! If we win only there. Do 
 you know what I would prefer that you 
 abandon the idea of the other victory. 
 
 Doctor. Anton, you are mistaken. 
 
 Anton. Because you worry a great deal. 
 You have grown awfully thin. Look in the 
 mirror. 
 
 Doctor. No matter ; after I have sprung the 
 mine I shall be calmer and the mine is ready. 
 
 Anton. But it will cost you too much. 
 
 Doctor. Yes, but I shall not retract. 
 
 Anton. At least be careful and do not 
 smear your hands with the powder.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 255 
 
 SCENE III. 
 The same. Stella. 
 
 Stella (entering, notices Anton). Ah, ex- 
 cuse me. 
 
 Doctor. Mr. Anton Zuk, a friend of mine. 
 (Anton bows.) What is your wish, princess? 
 
 Stella. You told me to stay in bed and it 
 is so hard to lie down. Mrs. Czeska went to 
 tne chapel and I escaped. Do you approve? 
 
 Doctor. I cannot help it, princess, although 
 I would like to scold you like a disobedient 
 child. A few moments ago some one else 
 begged for you also. 
 
 Stella. Who was it? 
 
 Doctor. Count Drahomir. And he begged 
 so earnestly that I promised him that I would 
 allow you to leave the bed. He wishes to 
 have a talk with you to-day, because he will 
 not be able to see you again.
 
 256 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Stella (aside). What does it mean? 
 
 Doctor. He will be here at five o'clock. 
 
 Stella. Very well. 
 
 Doctor. And now, pray, return to your 
 room. Your dress is too thin and you might 
 catch cold. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Jozwowicz. Anton. 
 
 Anton. Ah, that is the princess. 
 
 Doctor. Yes, it is she. 
 
 Anton. Very pretty, but looks as though 
 she was made of mist. As for me, I prefer 
 women like my wife. From such as your 
 princess you cannot expect sturdy democrats. 
 
 Doctor. Enough of that. 
 
 Anton. Then I will weigh anchor and sail. 
 I will distribute the pamphlet with your ad- 
 dress, and then I will write another article 
 against Husarski. If they put me in prison
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 257 
 
 they shall at least have a reason for it. Good- 
 bye. 
 
 Doctor. If you meet a servant, tell him 
 that I am waiting for Count Drahomir. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Jozwowicz then Drahomir. 
 
 Doctor (alone). Let that golden -haired page 
 go, but he must see her before he goes. This 
 leave-taking shall be the red flag for the bull. 
 (Drahomir enters.) I am waiting for you, sir. 
 Is Mr. Pretwic in the chateau? 
 
 Drahomir. He is with the prince. 
 
 Doctor. Count, be seated, and let us talk. 
 
 Drahomir (uneasily). I am listening, sir. 
 
 Doctor. You are in love with the princess. 
 
 Drahomir. Mr. Jozwowicz! 
 
 Doctor. On your honor yes or no? 
 
 Drahomir. Only God has the right to ask 
 me such a question. I do not dare to ask my- 
 self. 
 
 17
 
 258 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Doctor. And your conscience? 
 
 Drahomir. And no one else. 
 
 Doctor. Then let us turn the question. 
 She loves you. 
 
 Drahomir. Be silent, sir. Oh, God! 
 
 Doctor. Your pride is broken. You knew 
 of it? 
 
 Drahomir. I did not wish to know it. 
 
 Doctor. But now you are aware of it. 
 
 Drahomir. That is the reason why I am 
 going away from here forever. 
 
 Doctor. It is too late, sir. You have tan- 
 gled her life and now you leave her. 
 
 Drahomir. For God's sake, what shall I do, 
 then? 
 
 Doctor. Go away, but not forever, and not 
 without telling her good-bye. 
 
 Drahomir. Why should I add the last drop 
 to an already overflowing cup? 
 
 Doctor. A beautiful phrase. Can you not 
 understand that it will hurt her good name if
 
 W 'IN OR LOSE. 259 
 
 you should go away suddenly without taking 
 leave of her? And she she is ill and she 
 may not be able to bear your departure. 
 
 Drahomir. I do not see any remedy 
 
 Doctor. There is only one. Find some 
 pretext, bid her good-bye quietly, and tell her 
 that you will be back. Otherwise it will be a 
 heavy blow for her strength. You must leave 
 her hope. She must not suspect anything. 
 Perhaps later she will become accustomed to 
 your absence perhaps she will forget 
 
 Drahomir. It will be better for her to for- 
 get. 
 
 Doctor. I will do my best, but I shall first 
 throw a handful of earth on your memory. 
 
 Drahomir. What shall I do, then? 
 
 Doctor. To find a pretext to bid her good- 
 bye, tell every one that you are going. Then 
 come back and go away. Mr. Pretwic also 
 must not know anything. 
 
 Drahomir. When shall I bid her good-bye?
 
 260 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Doctor. In a moment. I told her. I will 
 manage to be with Pretwic during that time. 
 She will be here presently. 
 
 Drahomir. I would prefer to die. 
 
 Doctor. No one is certain of to-morrow'. 
 Be off now. (Drahomir goes out.) 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 Jozwowicz. Then a servant. 
 
 Doctor. How warm it is here ! My head is 
 splitting. (He rings a servant enters.) Ask 
 Mr. Pretwic to come here. (The servant goes 
 out.) My head is bursting but then I will 
 have a long peace. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 Jozwowicz. George Pretwic. 
 
 George (entering). What do you wish with 
 me?
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 261 
 
 Doctor. I wish to give you good advice 
 about the princess's health. 
 
 George. How is she? 
 
 Doctor. Better. I allowed her to leave bed 
 because she and Drahomir asked me to. 
 
 George. Drahomir? 
 
 Doctor. Yes. He wishes to talk with her. 
 They will be here in a quarter of an hour. 
 
 George. Jozwowicz, I am choking with 
 wrath and pain. Drahomir avoids me. 
 
 Doctor. But you do not suspect him. 
 
 George. I swear to you that I have defended 
 myself from suspicions as a man dying on the 
 steppe defends himself from the crows that I 
 have bitten my hands with pain and despair 
 that I still defend myself. But I cannot any 
 more. I cannot. The evidence pounds on 
 my brain. He avoids me. He tells me that 
 I have become an idiot that I have become a 
 madman, because 
 
 Doctor. Keep your temper. Even if he
 
 262 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 were in love with the princess, nobody rules 
 his own heart. 
 
 George. Enough! You were right when 
 you coupled his name with hers. At that 
 moment I repulsed the thought, but it was 
 there just the same (he strikes his breast). 
 The fruit is ripened. Oh, what a ridiculous 
 and dreadful part I am playing here 
 
 Doctor. But he saved your life. 
 
 George. In order to take it when it began 
 to have a certain value. His service is paid 
 with torture, with a- slain happiness, with a 
 broken hope, with destroyed faith in myself, 
 in him and in her. 
 
 Doctor. Be easy. 
 
 George. I loved that man. Tell me that 
 I am a madman and I shall be calmed. How 
 dreadful to think that it is he ! Forgive me 
 everything I said to you before and help me. 
 Evil thoughts are rushing through my head. 
 
 Doctor. Be calm you are mistaken.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 263 
 
 George. Prove to me that I am mistaken 
 and I will kneel before you. 
 
 Doctor. You are mistaken, because Draho- 
 mir is going away. 
 
 George. He is going away. (A moment of 
 silence.) Oh, Lord! Then I can live without 
 such tortures, I may hope ! 
 
 Doctor (coolly and slowly). But he is not 
 going away forever. He said he would re- 
 turn. 
 
 George. You put me on the cross again. 
 
 Doctor. Come to your senses and do not 
 let yourself be carried away by madness. At 
 any rate you gain time. You can win her 
 heart back again. 
 
 George. No it is done. I am sinking into 
 a precipice. 
 
 Doctor. Everything will be straightened 
 out by his absence. 
 
 George (with an outburst). But did you not 
 tell me that he will return?
 
 264 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Doctor. Listen : I agree with you that you 
 have repaid Drahomir for the services of sav- 
 ing your life with your tortures. Drahomir 
 has betrayed you and has broken the friend- 
 ship between you by winning her heart. But 
 I do not think that he is going away in order 
 to avoid your vengeance. 
 
 George. And to give her time to break her 
 engagement! Yes, yes! I am cursed. I sus- 
 pect him now of everything. He avoids me. 
 
 Doctor. Mr. Pretwic. 
 
 George. Enough. I am going to ask him 
 when he will be back. He has saved my life 
 once, and slain me ten times. (He tries to 
 leave.) 
 
 Doctor. Where are you going? 
 
 George. To ask him how long he is going 
 away. 
 
 Doctor. Wait a moment. How could you 
 ask him such a question ? Perhaps he is inno- 
 cent, but pride will shut his mouth and every-
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 265 
 
 thing will be lost. Stay here you can leave 
 only over my corpse. I am not afraid of you! 
 do you understand? In a moment they will 
 be here. You wish for proof s you shall have 
 them. From the piazza, you cannot hear them, 
 but you can see them. You shall be persuaded 
 with your own eyes perhaps you will regret 
 your impetuosity. 
 
 George (after a while). Very well, then. 
 May God grant that I was mistaken ! Thank 
 you but you must not leave me now. 
 
 Doctor. One word more. No matter what 
 happens I shall consider you a villain if you 
 place her life in peril by any outburst. 
 
 George. Granted. Where shall we go? 
 
 Doctor. On the piazza. But you have 
 fever you are already shaking. 
 
 George. I am out of breath. Some one is 
 coming. Let us be going.
 
 266 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 Drahomir. Then Stella. 
 
 Drahomir. The last evening and the last 
 time. (After a while.) O Lord, thy will be 
 done! 
 
 Stella (enters). The Doctor told me that 
 you wished to see me. 
 
 Drahomir. Yes, madam. Pray forgive my 
 boldness. A very important affair calls me 
 home. I come to bid you good-bye. 
 
 Stella. You are going away? 
 
 Drahomir. To day I am going to Swietle- 
 nice, to-morrow still further. (A moment of 
 silence.) 
 
 Stella. Yes, it is necessary. 
 
 Drahomir. Life has flown like a dream it 
 is time to wake up. 
 
 Stella. Shall we see each other again? 
 
 
 Drahomir. If God permits it. 
 
 Stella. Then let us shake hands in fare-
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 267 
 
 well. I can assure you that you have a friend 
 in me. Friendship is like an immortal it is 
 a pale flower, but does not wither. May God 
 guide you and protect you. The heart of a 
 sister will follow you everywhere. Remem- 
 ber 
 
 Drahomir. Farewell. 
 
 Stella. Farewell. (She goes toward the 
 door. Then suddenly turns. With a sob in 
 her voice.) Why do you deceive me? You 
 are going forever. 
 
 Drahomir. Have mercy on me. 
 
 Stella. Are you going away forever? 
 
 Drahomir. Yes, then. 
 
 Stella. I guessed it. But perhaps it is better 
 for both of us. 
 
 Drahomir. Oh, yes. There are things 
 which cannot be expressed, although the 
 heart is bursting. A while ago you told me 
 that you will remember it will be better for 
 you to forget.
 
 268 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Stella. I cannot. (She weeps.) 
 Drahomir (passionately). Then I love you, 
 my dearest, and that is the reason why I es- 
 cape. (He presses her to his breast.) 
 
 Stella (awakening). Oh, God! (She rushes 
 out.) 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 Drahomir. Jozwowicz. George. 
 (George stops with Jozwowicz near the door.) 
 
 Drahomir. Ah, it is you, George. 
 
 George. Do not approach me. I have seen 
 all. You are a villain and a coward. 
 
 Drahomir George ! 
 
 George. In order not to soil my hand, I 
 throw in your face our broken friendship, my 
 trampled happiness, lost faith in God and man, 
 endless contempt for you and myself. 
 
 Drahomir. Enough. 
 
 George. Do not approach me, because I 
 will lose my self-command and will sprinkle
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 269 
 
 these walls with your brains. No, I shall not 
 do that- -because I have promised. But I slap 
 your face, you villain. Do you hear me? 
 
 Drahomir (after struggling with himself for 
 a moment). Such an insult I swear before 
 God and man I will wash out with blood. 
 
 George. Yes, with blood (pointing to the 
 doctor). Here is the witness of these words. 
 
 Doctor. At your service, gentlemen. 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 
 ACT V. 
 The same drawing-room. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Jozwowicz enters reading a dispatch. 
 
 The result of the ballotting until now: Joz- 
 wowicz, 613; Husarski, 604. At ten o'clock: 
 Jozowwicz, 700 ; Husarski, 700. At n o'clock:
 
 270 SO JtUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Jozwowicz, 814; Husarski, 750. The fight is 
 hot. The final results will be known at three 
 o'clock. (He consults his watch.) 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Jozwowicz. George. 
 
 Doctor. You are here? 
 
 George. You are as afraid of me as of a 
 ghost. 
 
 Doctor. I thought you were elsewhere. 
 
 George. I am going directly from here to 
 fight. I have still an hour. The duel will 
 take place at Dombrowa, on the Miliszewski's 
 estate not far from here. 
 
 Doctor. Too near from here. 
 
 George. Miliszewski insisted. And then 
 you will be here to prevent the news from 
 being known until as late as possible. 
 
 Doctor. Doctor Krzycki will be with you? 
 
 George. Yes.
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 2/1 
 
 Doctor. Ask him to send me the news at 
 once. I would go with you, but I must be 
 here. 
 
 George. You are right. If I am killed? 
 
 Doctor. You must not think of that. 
 
 George. There are some people who are 
 cursed from the moment they are born, and 
 for whom death is the only redemption. I 
 belong to that class. I have thought every- 
 thing over quietly. God knows that I am 
 more afraid of life than of death. There is 
 no issue for me. Suppose I am not killed 
 tell me what will become of me, if I kill the 
 man whom she loves? Tell me! I will live 
 without her, cursed by her. Do you know 
 that when I think of rny situation, and what 
 has happened, I think some bad spirit has 
 mixed with us and entangled everything so 
 that only death can disentangle it. 
 
 Doctor. A duel is very often ended by a 
 mere wound.
 
 272 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 George. I insulted Drahomir gravely, and 
 such an insult cannot be wiped out by a 
 wound. Believe me, one of us must die. 
 But I came to talk with you about something 
 else. 
 
 Doctor. I am listening to you. 
 
 George. Frankly speaking, as I do not 
 know what will become of me, and whether in 
 an hour I shall be alive or not, I came to have 
 one more look at her. Because I love her 
 dearly. Perhaps I was too rough for her too 
 stupid but I loved her. May God punish 
 me if I have not desired her happiness. As 
 you see me here it is true that at this moment 
 I pity her the most and feel miserable about 
 her future. Listen: whether I am killed or 
 not, she cannot be mine. Drahomir cannot 
 marry her, because he could not marry the 
 woman whose fiance he has killed. Of the 
 three of us you alone will remain near her. 
 Take care of her guard her. Into your
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 273 
 
 hands I give her, the only treasure I ever 
 possessed. 
 
 Doctor (quietly). I shall carry out your 
 wishes. 
 
 George. And now I may be killed. I 
 wish to die like a Christian. If ever I have 
 offended you, forgive me. (They shake 
 hands. George goes out.) 
 
 Doctor (alone). Yes, of the three of us I 
 alone shall remain near her. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Jozwowicz. Anton. 
 
 Anton (rushing in). Man, have you be- 
 come an idiot? When every moment is valu- 
 able, you remain here. The results are un- 
 certain. They have put up big posters Hu- 
 sarski's partisans are catching the votes in the 
 streets. For God's sake come with me. A 
 carriage is waiting for us. 
 
 Doctor. I must remain here, I cannot go 
 18
 
 274 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 under any consideration in the world. Let 
 be what may. 
 
 Anton. I did not expect such conduct 
 from you. Come and show yourself, if only 
 
 for a moment, and the victory is ours. I can- 
 
 / 
 
 not speak any more. I am dead tired. Have 
 you become a madman? There we have 
 worked for him, and he clings to a petticoat 
 and stays here. 
 
 Doctor. Anton ! Even if I should lose 
 there I would not stir one step from here. I 
 cannot and I will not go. 
 
 Anton. So? 
 
 Doctor. Yes. 
 
 Anton. Do what you please, then. Very 
 well. My congratulations. (He walks up 
 and down the room ; then he puts his hands 
 in his pockets and stands before Jozwowicz.) 
 What does it mean? 
 
 Doctor. It means that I must remain here. 
 At this moment Drahomir stands opposite
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 275 
 
 Pretwic with a pistol. If the news of the 
 fight should come to the princess, she would 
 pay for it with her life. 
 
 Anton. They are fighting! 
 
 Doctor. For life or death. In a moment 
 the news will come who is killed. (A mo- 
 ment of silence.) 
 
 Anton. Jozwowicz, you have done all this. 
 
 Doctor. Yes, it is I, I crushed those who 
 were in my way, and I shall act the same al- 
 ways. You have me such as I am. 
 
 Anton. If so, I am no longer in a hurry. 
 Do you know what I am going to tell you? 
 
 Doctor. You must go for a while. The 
 princess is coming. (He opens the door of a 
 side room.) Go in there for a moment. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Jozwowicz and Stella. 
 
 Stella. Doctor, what is the matter in this 
 house ?
 
 276 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Doctor. What do you mean, princess? 
 
 Stella. Mr. Pretwic came to tell me good- 
 bye. He was very much changed and asked 
 me to forgive him if he ever offended 
 me. 
 
 Doctor (aside). A sentimental ass. 
 
 Stella. He said that he might be obliged 
 to go away in a few days. I have a presenti- 
 ment that you are hiding something from me. 
 What does it mean? Do not torture me 
 any longer. I am so miserable that you 
 should have pity on me. 
 
 Doctor. Do not let anything worry you. 
 What can there be the matter? An idle 
 fancy, that is all ! The care of loving hearts 
 surrounds you. Why should you have such a 
 wild imagination ? You had better return to 
 your apartment and do not receive anyone. I 
 will come to see you in a moment. 
 
 Stella. Then truly there is nothing bad? 
 
 Doctor. What an idea! Pray believe me,
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 277 
 
 I should be able to remove anything which 
 would threaten your happiness. 
 
 Stella (stretching out her hand to him). 
 Oh, Mr. Jozwowicz, happiness is a very diffi- 
 cult thing to take hold of. May only the 
 peace not leave us. (She goes to enter the 
 room in which Anton is.) 
 
 Doctor. This way, princess. Some one is 
 waiting for me in that room. In a moment I 
 will come to see you. Pray do not receive 
 any one. Anton ! (The princess goes out.) 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Anton, Jozwowicz, then a Servant. 
 
 Anton. Here I am. Poor child! 
 
 Doctor. I cannot go for her sake. I must 
 be here and not let the bad news reach her, 
 for it would kill her. 
 
 Anton. What! and you, knowing this, 
 you still expose her, and sacrifice her for 
 yourself?
 
 278 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 . Doctor (passionately). I love her and I 
 must have her, even if the walls of this house 
 should crumble around our heads. 
 
 Anton. Man, you are talking nonsense. 
 
 Doctor. Man, you are talking like a nin- 
 compoop, and not like a man. You have 
 plenty of words in your mouth, but you lack 
 strength you cannot face facts. Who would 
 dare say: You have no right to defend your- 
 self? 
 
 Anton (after a while). Good-bye. 
 
 Doctor. Where are you going? 
 
 Anton. I return to the city. 
 
 Doctor. Are you with me or against me? 
 
 Anton. I am an honest man. 
 
 A servant (enters). A messenger brought 
 this letter from Miliszewski. 
 
 Doctor. Give it to me. Go (tears the en- 
 velop and reads) " Pretwic is dead." (After a 
 while) Ah 
 
 Anton. Before I go I must answer your
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 279 
 
 question as to why I am going. I have 
 served you faithfully. I served you like a 
 dog because I believed in you. You knew 
 how to use me, or perhaps to use me up. I 
 knew that I was a tool, but I did not care for 
 that, because But now 
 
 Doctor. You give up the public affair? 
 
 Anton. You do not know me. What 
 would I do if I were to give up my ideas? 
 And then, do you think that you personify 
 public affairs? I will not give up because I 
 have been deceived by you. But I care about 
 something else. I was stupid to have cared 
 for you, and I regret now that I must tell 
 you that you have heaped up the measure 
 and used badly the strength which is in you. 
 Oh, I know that perhaps it would be better 
 for me not to tell you this, perhaps to hold 
 with you would mean a bright future for such 
 a man as I, who have hardly the money to 
 buy food for my wife and children. But I
 
 280 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 cannot. Before God, I cannot ! I am a poor 
 man and I shall remain poor, but I must at 
 least have a clear conscience. Well, I loved 
 you almost as much as I loved my wife and 
 children, but from to-day you are only a 
 political number for friendship you must 
 look to some one else. You know I have no 
 scruples ; a man rubs among the people and 
 he rubs off many things ; but you have heaped 
 up the measure. May I be hanged if I do not 
 prefer to love the people than pound them ! 
 They say that honesty and politics are two 
 different things. Elsewhere it may be so, but 
 in our country we must harmonize them. 
 Why should they not go together? I do not 
 give up our ideas, but I do not care for our 
 friendship because the man who says he loves 
 humanity, and then pounds the people threat- 
 eningly on their heads that man is a liar; do 
 you understand me? 
 
 Doctor. I shall not insist upon your giving
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 281 
 
 me back your friendship, but you must listen 
 to me for the last time. If there shall begin 
 for me an epoch of calamity, it will begin at 
 the moment when such people as you begin to 
 desert me. The man who was killed was in 
 my way to happiness he took everything 
 from me. He came armed with wealth, good 
 name, social position, and all the invincible 
 arms which birth and fortune give. With 
 what arms could I fight him? What could I 
 oppose to such might? Nothing except the 
 arms of a new man that bit of intelligence 
 acquired by hard work and effort. He de- 
 clared a mute war on me. I have defended 
 myself. With what? With the arms which 
 nature has given me. When you step on a 
 worm you must not take it amiss if the .worm 
 bites you; he cannot defend himself other- 
 wise. It is the law of nature. I placed 
 everything on one card, and I won or rather 
 it is not I, but intelligence which has con-
 
 282 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 quered. This force the new times have 
 conquered the old centuries. And you take 
 that amiss? What do you want? I am faith- 
 ful, to the principle. You are retreating. I 
 am not! That woman is necessary for my 
 happiness because I love her. I need her 
 wealth and her social position for my aims. 
 Give me such weapons and I will accomplish 
 anything. Do you know what an enormous 
 work and what important aims I have before 
 me? You wish me to tear down the wall of 
 darkness, prejudice, laziness, you wish me to 
 breathe new life into that which is dead. I 
 cry: "Give me the means." You do not have 
 the means, therefore I wish to get them, or I 
 shall perish. But what now? Across the 
 road to my plans, to my future not only 
 mine but everybody's there stands a lord, a 
 wandering knight, whose whole merit lies in 
 the fact that he was born with a coat of arms. 
 And have I not the right to crush him? And
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 283 
 
 you wish me to fall down on my knees before 
 him? Before his lordship to give up" every- 
 thing for his sake? No! You do not know 
 me. Enough of sentiment. A certain force 
 is necessary and I have it, and I shall make a 
 road for myself and for all of you even if I 
 should be obliged to trample over a hundred 
 such as Pretwic. 
 
 Anton. No, Jozwowicz, you have always 
 done as you wanted with me, but now you 
 cannot do it. As long as there was a question 
 of convictions I was with you, but you have 
 attacked some principles which are bigger 
 than either you or I, more stable and immu- 
 table. You cannot explain this to me, and 
 you yourself must be careful. At the slight- 
 est opportunity you will fall down with all 
 your energy as a man. The force you are 
 attacking is more powerful than you are. Be 
 careful, because you will lose. One cannot 
 change a principle: straight honesty is the
 
 284 SO RUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 same always. Do what you please, but be 
 careful. Do you know that human blood 
 must always be avenged? It is only a law of 
 nature. You ask me whether I am going to 
 leave you? Perhaps you would like to be 
 given the right to fire on the people from be- 
 hind a fence when it will suit you. No, sir. 
 From to-day there must be kept between us a 
 strict account. You will be a member of par- 
 liament, but if you think we are going to 
 serve you, and not you us, you are greatly 
 mistaken. You thought that the steps of the 
 ladder on which you will ascend are com- 
 posed of rascals? Hold on! We, who have 
 elected you we, in whose probity you do 
 not believe we will watch you and judge 
 you. If you are guilty we will crush 
 you. We have elected you; now you must 
 serve. 
 
 Doctor (passionately). Anton! 
 
 Anton. Quiet. In the evening you must
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 285 
 
 appear before the electors. Good-bye, Mr. 
 Jozwowicz. (He goes out.) 
 
 Doctor (alone). He is the first. 
 
 ' SCENE VI. 
 Jozwowicz. Jan Miliszewski. 
 
 Jan (appears in the half -open door). Pst! 
 
 Doctor. Who is there? 
 
 Jan. It is I, Miliszewski. Are you alone? 
 
 Doctor. You may enter. What then? 
 
 Jan. Everything is over. He did not live 
 five minutes. I have ordered them to carry 
 the body to Miliszewo. 
 
 Doctor. Your mother is not here? 
 
 Jan. I sent her to the city. To-day is 
 election day and mamma does not know that 
 I have withdrawn, therefore she will wait for 
 the evening papers in the hope that she will 
 find my name among those elected. 
 
 Doctor. Did no one see?
 
 286 SO XUNS THE WORLD. 
 
 Jan. I am afraid they will see the blood. 
 He bled dreadfully. 
 
 Doctor. A strange thing. He was such a 
 good marksman. 
 
 Jan. He permitted himself to be killed. I 
 saw that very plainly. He did not fire at 
 Drahomir at all. He did not wish to kill Dra- 
 homir. Six steps it was too near. It was 
 dreadful to look at his death. Truly, I would 
 have preferred to be killed myself. They 
 had to fire on command one! two! three! 
 We heard the shot, but only one. We rushed 
 Pretwic advanced two steps, knelt and tried 
 to speak. The blood flowed from his mouth. 
 Then he took up the pistol and fired to one 
 side. We were around him and he said to 
 Drahomir : " You have done me a favor and I 
 thank you. This life belonged to you, be- 
 cause you saved it. Forgive me," he said, 
 "brother!" Then he said: "Give me your 
 hand" and expired. (He wipes his forehead
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 287 
 
 with a handkerchief.) Drahomir threw him- 
 self on his breast it was dreadful. Poor 
 Princess Stella. What will become of her 
 now? 
 
 Doctor. For God's sake, not a word in her 
 presence. She is ill. 
 
 Jan. I will be silent. 
 
 Doctor. You must control your emotion. 
 
 Jan. I cannot. My knees are trembling. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 The same. The prince leaning on Stella's 
 
 shoulder, and Mrs. Czeska. 
 Prince. I thought Pretwic was with you. 
 Jozwowicz, where is Pretwic? 
 Doctor. I do not know. 
 Stella. Did he tell you where he was 
 going ? 
 
 Doctor. I know nothing about it. 
 Czeska (to Jan). Count, what is the matter 
 with you? You are so pale. <
 
 288 SO RUMS THE WORLD. 
 
 Jan. Nothing. It is on account of the 
 heat. 
 
 Prince. Jozwowicz, Pretwic told me 
 
 SCENE VTTI. 
 
 (The door opens suddenly. Countess Mili- 
 szewska rushes in). 
 
 Countess. Jan, where is my Jan? O God, 
 what is the matter? How dreadful! 
 
 Doctor (rushing toward her). Be silent, 
 madam. 
 
 Stella. What has happened? 
 
 Countess. Then you have not killed Pret- 
 wic? You have not fought? 
 
 Doctor. Madam, be silent. 
 
 Stella. Who is killed? 
 
 Countess. Stella, my dearest, Drahomir 
 has killed Pretwic. 
 
 Stella. Killed! OGod! 
 
 Doctor. Princess, it is not true. 
 
 Stella. Killed ! (She staggers and falls.)
 
 WIN OR LOSE. 289 
 
 Doctor. She has fainted. Let us carry 
 her to her chamber. 
 
 Prince. My child! 
 
 Czeska. Stelunia! (The prince and Joz- 
 wowicz carry Stella. The countess and 
 Czeska follow them.) 
 
 Jan (alone). It is dreadful. Who could 
 have expected that mamma would return! 
 (The countess appears in the door.) Mamma, 
 how is the princess? * 
 
 Countess. The doctor is trying to bring 
 her to her senses. Until now he has not suc- 
 ceeded. Jan, let us be going. 
 
 Jan (in despair). I shall not go. Why did 
 you return from the city? 
 
 Countess. For you. To-day is election 
 day have you forgotten it? 
 
 Jan. I do not wish to be a member of par- 
 liament. Why did you tell her that Pretwic 
 
 was killed ? 
 19
 
 290 SO RUMS THE WORLD. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 The same. Jozwowicz. 
 
 Countess and Jan together. What news? 
 
 Doctor. Everything is over. (The bell is 
 heard tolling in the chapel of the chateau.) 
 
 Jan (frightened). What, the bell of the 
 chapel? Then she is dead! (Jozwowicz 
 comes to the front of the stage and sits down.) 
 
 SCENE X. 
 The same. Podczaski. 
 
 Podczaski (rushing in suddenly). Victory! 
 Victory! The deputation is here. (Voices 
 behind the stage) Hurrah! Hurrah! for vic- 
 tory! 
 
 Jozwowicz. I have lost! 
 
 FINIS.
 
 FACING THE FLAG. 
 
 By JULES VERNE. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY JOHN W. HARDING. 
 Cloth, i.oo; paper, asc. 
 
 This is a story of the marvelous in the great French 
 writer's happiest vein. It hinges upon the extraordinary 
 adventures of a mad French inventor who has imagined 
 a diabolical engine of war, that in its explosive effects 
 surpasses anything in this direction ever conceived by 
 mortal man. The scene is laid first in the United States 
 and then on an imaginary island in the Bermuda group, 
 and the story is of a most exciting character throughout. 
 It has an added and highly piquant interest from the fact 
 (as announced in the New York Herald of Sunday, 
 December 6th) that Turpin, the celebrated and excitable 
 inventor, declares that he has been libeled in the person 
 of the mad hero of "Facing the Flag," and is bringing 
 an action against Jules Verne that soon comes before the 
 Paris courts and promises some very sensational develop- 
 ments. Turpin is the chemist who claimed that he dis- 
 covered melinite (the explosive now used for shells in the 
 French army and. navy). The claim was denied by the 
 military authorities. Turpin in his resentment pub- 
 lished the formula of the explosive in a book, together 
 with an account of his alleged wrongs, and drawings of 
 certain mechanical inventions that the government de- 
 sired to keep secret. For this he was thrown into prison, 
 but, owing to the persistent agitation kept up by the 
 French press of all parties, was released after several 
 months' incarceration. 
 
 Those who are devoted admirers of the great French 
 author will enjoy a treat in this book. 
 
 By the same author 
 
 Around the World in Eighty Days. Paper, 25c. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 90 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York,
 
 A Fascinating Sinner. 
 
 By "DELTA." 
 
 Neely's Popular Library Paper, 250. 
 
 This is certainly one of the brightest and 
 most sparkling travesties ever written upon 
 modern "society" in England. There is not a 
 dull line in it, and the author has handled the 
 various characters with rare skill, giving us such 
 strong delineations that we have no difficulty in 
 recognizing counterfeit resemblances of people 
 to be met with in other walks of life besides the 
 "four hundred." It is the story of a luxurious 
 and high-spirited young woman, who, married to 
 an English nobleman, gives the worthy man 
 serious cause for anxiety. Her luxurious tastes, 
 her greedy desire to make the most of life, and 
 the colloquial animation of the narrative give an 
 agreeable raciness to this bright and cheery book 
 that is full of constant sparkle and brightness. 
 It will not require more than ordinary penetra- 
 tion to discover that the author paints her char- 
 acters and introduces colloquial arguments with 
 a distinct and commendable purpose in view. 
 The moral of the book is so manifest that it can 
 hardly fail of its purpose with the general reader. 
 It is evidently no amateur hand that guides these 
 various characters to their destiny, but one long 
 practiced in the art of catering to the great pub< 
 lie of omnivorous readers. 
 
 Pof sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 9<S Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York.
 
 The Passing of Alix. 
 
 By MRS. MARJORIE PAUL. 
 
 Neely's Popular Library Paper, 250: 
 
 Newspaper comment may in some minds 
 count for little in settling the value of a novel, 
 but it at least shows the drift of public opinion. 
 Nothing but praise has been spoken of "The 
 Passing of Alix." To show the general trend of 
 this commendation we beg leave to publish a 
 single literary notice from a prominent journal : 
 
 " A capital little book, that of Mrs. Marjorie Paul, just the light, 
 breezy sort one delights in reading when swinging idly in a 
 zephyr-tossed hammock in the early fall days, or before the crack- 
 ling wood fire of the winter hearth of a country house. Doubtless 
 many a copy will find its way into the satchel or handbag of 
 tourist and commercial traveler, to whom the weighty novel, writ- 
 ten with the evident intention of reforming this wicked and 
 ignorant world, seldom appeals." 
 
 " It is a story of a sensational character, but clean in thought 
 and pathetic in its conclusion. It is the story of a woman, and a 
 good one. It contains nothing that is sensational, but is full of 
 human interest, and holds the attention of the reader from start 
 to finish. Besides telling the story, it teaches a lesson, but does 
 not sermonize. It is a book, in fact, which will interest all, and 
 furnishes the very best sort of light reading." 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York..
 
 Thomas B. Connery's Novels. 
 
 From many flattering press notices those 
 given below will indicate the favor with which 
 Mr. Connery's writings are received by the 
 public : 
 
 " ALL THE DOG'S FAULT is a capital book to pass away an hour 
 or two, full of incident, love, and humor. The author has long 
 been known as a substantial figure in New York banking circles, 
 and occupied a prominent position in politics during the Garfield- 
 Arthur dynasty, his name being mixed with the Conkling im- 
 broglio at the time the Empire State senators withdrew so dra- 
 matically from the United States Senate. Mr. Connery has given 
 us a delightful romance, which will be read with pleasure by all 
 those who desire to be entertained without the necessity of hav- 
 ing some musty logic generated for the reformation of the world 
 thrust down their unwilling throats. He writes to amuse, and 
 certainly fulfils his mission to the Queen's taste." 
 
 " BLACK FRIDAY : A STORY OF LOVE AND SPECULATION, by 
 Thos. B. Connery. When a man as prominent as Thos. B. Con- 
 nery has shown himself in the financial world takes up the pen to 
 write a romance of love and speculation under such a significant 
 title as ' Black Fdday,' we have a right to expect something out 
 of the beaten track. Nor does the book bring disappointment. 
 It is fresh and vigorous. The financier wields a trenchant pen. 
 His pictures are excellent, and the love passages worthy of com- 
 mendation. Some men excel in one field, but Mr. Connery bids 
 fair to make a name for himself ia literature as well as among 
 the bulls and bears of Wall Street." 
 
 "THAT NOBLE MEXICAN, Mr. Connery's latest book, even 
 excels the preceding volumes in interest and must add to hi* 
 already enviable reputation." 
 
 Neely's Popular Library. 
 
 ALL THE DOG'S FAULT. Paper, 25 cents. 
 BLACK FRIDAY. Paper, 25 cents. 
 
 NOBLE MEXICAN. Paper, 25 cents. 
 
 For sal* everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York.
 
 URANIA. 
 
 By CAMILLE FLAMMARION. 
 
 Profusely Illustrated with Half-tone Engravings. 
 Cloth, $1.25 ; paper, soc. 
 
 The celebrated French astronomer is seen at 
 his best in this work of science and fiction, and 
 his admirers, who number legion in this country, 
 may well be satisfied to sound his praises anew. 
 The work is certainly pleasing to a degree bor- 
 dering on the marvelous. No writer of the 
 present day wields such a wizard pen as Camille 
 Flammarion, when dealing with scenes that 
 touch upon the possibilities of science in relation 
 to our world and its manifest destiny. The 
 touch of a master is apparent in almost every 
 line. Nor has the mechanical part of the book 
 been slighted in the least degree. The paper, the 
 letter-press, the beautiful half-tone engravings 
 scattered lavishly all through the volume unite 
 to form a most pleasing result. There can 
 rarely be found a more handsome book from a 
 New York press, and " Urania " adds another 
 link to that pleasant chain with which Mr. 
 Neely is fast binding the reading public to his 
 triumphant chariot. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New
 
 Two Books by Helen Davies. 
 
 THE MILLS OF GOD. 
 
 i2mo, cloth, $1.25 ; paper, 500. 
 
 Reveries of a Spinster. 
 
 Neely's Prismatic Library. 
 
 Gilt Top, soc. 
 
 In "The Mills of God," a story of Dorcas, 
 she paints with a master-hand scenes in the lives 
 of those who belong to the "four hundred;" and 
 under the gay surface one who seeks may find 
 the warning the author wishes to convey con- 
 cerning the misery that sooner or later is certain 
 to follow the conventional marriage for con- 
 venience. It is a breezy book, full of crisp 
 dialogue and bright descriptions, and should add 
 new lustre to the author's reputation. 
 
 Since Ik Marvel's recollections of a bachelor 
 became a classic, no one has apparently con- 
 sidered it worth while to touch upon the other 
 side of the case. This charming writer, however, 
 has dared to lay bare to the public eye that 
 " holiest of holies," a spinster's heart, and in some 
 of the most entertaining sketches imaginable has 
 woven the warp and woof of a narrative that is 
 bound to meet with great popular favor. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York.
 
 Lunar Caustic* 
 
 By CHARLES H. ROBINSON. 
 
 Neely's Popular Library, Paper, 25c. 
 
 If ever a book was well named this one 
 certainly deserves commendation in that line, 
 for the humor and satire within its covers are as 
 cutting as the strongest caustic ever applied to 
 the human skin. Sparkling epigrammatic wit 
 is a rare quality in these latter days, and Mr. 
 Robinson undoubtedly possesses this sterling 
 gift to no mean degree. We commend the book 
 as one well worthy of perusal and study, for 
 much philosophy is contained in its burning 
 satire. In fact there does not appear to be a dull 
 line between the covers. The talented author 
 has been successful as journalist, lawyer and 
 dramatist, and bids fair to carve his name among 
 the leading satirists of the day. It is not a book 
 to be read from cover to cover at one sitting; 
 but like highly spiced food or the condiments 
 themselves, a small amount taken at a time will 
 be highly relished. Few persons can dip into 
 these pages without being deeply impressed with 
 the wide range of subjects treated by the author, 
 and the masterly, convincing manner in which 
 he carries out his self-allotted task. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York.
 
 UTOPIA. 
 
 By FRANK ROSEWATER. 
 
 Neely's Popular Library. 
 Paper, 250. 
 
 When one ventures to write upon that puz- 
 zle of the day, a solution of the capital and labor 
 problem, together with their relations to each 
 other, it is necessary that the subject be thor- 
 oughly studied in advance, since it presents many 
 peculiar points that demand close attention. 
 Mr. Rosewater is a journalist who has been 
 given rare opportunities for seeing beneath the 
 surface. He also possesses the gift or faculty 
 for describing what he desires to paint in glow- 
 ing language. " Utopia " may seem far-fetched 
 in many minds, but candor compels us to admit 
 that it is what we are all seeking after, though 
 with but scant hope of ever finding it. Those 
 who are interested in the labor question will find 
 much to commend in this book just as Edward 
 Bellamy's " Looking Backward " stirred those 
 who longed for a condition of affairs wherein 
 every man, woman, and child will pass under the 
 control of the State. ' Utopia " is winning new 
 friends every day. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 06 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York.
 
 SfiOKING FLAX. 
 
 A Story of Dixie's Latest Problem. 
 By HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES. 
 
 Neely's Prismatic Library. Gilt top, 50 cents. 
 
 Stories of the South, dealing with its familiar types 
 and lighter scenes, are of ordinary occurrence. Somber 
 essays, descanting wisely upon its social problems are 
 not rare. But seldom, indeed, has any writer succeeded 
 in decking a sectional sermon in the garb of romance or 
 of tragedy and sketching with the bold crayon of realistic 
 circumstance, the trenchant lines of a condition against 
 which theoretic logi cians inveigh in vain. In " Smoking- 
 Flax " Miss Rives has done this her story deals with that 
 grave question of southern social economy, the lynching. 
 
 Miss Rives needs no introduction, since "A Fool in 
 Spots " and numerous short stories gained for this beau- 
 tiful daughter of Dixie a young popularity. She is a 
 cousin of Amelia Rives, now the Princess Troubepkoi, 
 and has much of the poetic feeling which distinguished 
 that vivid authoress. Her present book is a fierce 
 arraignment of the northern societies which see in Judge 
 Lynch only the law] ess and unreasoning arbiter of a blind 
 and passion-led mob. And yet the arraignment is before 
 no court, and the briefs are all drawn up by the reader. 
 
 Upon the stern and rigid warp of brutal and bloody 
 fact, Miss Rives, with the hand of a practised workman, 
 and with a shuttle wound with the bright hues and 
 odorous warmths of the south-land has woven a woof of 
 romance, of woman's tenderest love and man's manliest 
 devotion. The lights and shades are closely mingled, 
 and through all the story, from its opening in the calm 
 of peace and content, to its tragic close in the storm of 
 death and bitterness and despair, the reader is held in an 
 interest which grows steadily more real and more en- 
 thralling. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York.
 
 In the 
 
 Day of Battle. 
 
 A Romance. 
 BY J. A. STEUART. 
 
 Author of " Kilgroom; a Story of Ireland," etc. 
 
 Neely's Library of Choice Literature. 
 Cloth, $1.25 ; paper, 500. 
 
 London Globe " There is not a dull page. Narrative and descriptive power 
 of a high order is shown in all, and the tale as a whole will be voted striking 
 and absorbing in the extreme." 
 
 National Observer " The author has not been afraid to break new ground 
 The story moves. It carries the reader on from page to page under the influ- 
 ence of an excitement which rarely fails, and it leaves him at the end a little 
 breathless perhaps, but in no sense exhausted. To say this is to say 
 that Mr. Steuart has succeeded in his object." 
 
 Daily Telegram " A good, honest, wholesome novel. In the ranks of our new 
 school of romance the author deserves to find a prominent place." 
 
 World " A bold and stirring story, full of color incident and strife." 
 
 Sun " A splendid^ story. '1 he book must be read in its entirety to be fairly ap- 
 preciated. It raises its author to a high rank among contemporary novel- 
 ists." 
 
 Observer " A book to read and to enjoy." 
 
 Court Journal " An altogether exceptional book. Full of romance and ex- 
 citement. Well written and of unflagging interest from the title-page tu the 
 end." 
 
 Author " Has succeeded in giving- his tale an almost breathless realism, and if 
 it is success to drive his reader on from page to page until one readies tae last 
 he has certainly succeeded." 
 
 St. James Budget " It is a strong, stirring, and attractive story, promising well 
 for what Mr. Steuart may give us in the future." 
 
 Liverpool Post "Mr. Steuart has a lively and flowing style. His invention is 
 never at fault and his book may safely be put in the hands of the juveniles." 
 
 St. Paul's " A book of this kind cannot be too highly recommended." 
 
 Literary World " Whether Mr. John Steuart sat down to the task of writing a 
 novel that should, as far as bounty of adventures goes, out-Stevenson Steven- 
 son, out- Weyman Weyman, out-Haggard Haggard, we cannot pretend to say; 
 but whatever his intentions may have been ; it is quite certain that the author 
 yields to no individual of this trio in administrating to his readers a dose of 
 events stirring enough to make old blood run with the impetus of youth." 
 
 Gnarillan " Exceedingly good." 
 
 Cincinnati Times-Star " It is not lacking in exciting adventures and pictur- 
 esque descriptions." 
 
 Denver Times " The mind reverts to Weyman and Haggard and Stevenson in 
 the reading of this story." 
 
 Cincinnati Tribino " Told in good style and intensely interesting." 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF A 
 HUNDRED MILLIONS. 
 
 By VIRGINIA NILES LEEDS. 
 
 ** 
 Neely's International Library. 
 
 Cloth, J2mo, $1.25. 
 
 A cynical public has long since decided the status of the usual 
 Anglo-American marriage. She weds for position and an honor- 
 able name that can be traced far back to the days of chivalry ; 
 while milord seeks a colossal fortune, it does not matter how 
 acquired, with which to free his noble chateau from debt and 
 the moldy hand of decay. This state of affairs has gone on from 
 year to year, until the American public wearies of the story, and 
 raises its sceptical hands in disdain at the mere mention of love 
 ever entering into the calculations of these high-contracting par- 
 ties. And yet there have been frequent cases of romantic attach- 
 ments between even the rulers of Europe and those they espoused. 
 While improbable, such a love-match is far from impossible. 
 Virginia Niles Leeds has seized upon an occurrence of this sort to 
 weave among the stern facts a most subtle and fascinating thread 
 of love. The beautiful and proud heiress to millions is betrothed 
 to an English lord. She has reasons for believing his estates to 
 be in a bad way, and that he has come to America for the sole 
 purpose of buying a wealthy bride with his title. On his part, 
 he has been so long angled after by designing British maids and 
 matrons that he quite despairs of having anyone love the man who 
 bears this illustrious name. When the fact is disclosed that each 
 of them is, in reality, madly in love with the other, it is easy for 
 the reader to realize the strong possibilities for dramatic scenes. 
 Miss Leeds rises to the occasion heroically, nor does she allow the 
 deep interest to flag for a moment up to the very closing chapter. 
 Through the book there runs a quaint vein of comedy that 
 relieves some of its more sombre situations. 
 
 "The Daughter of a Hundred Millions" gives evidence of 
 proving the most popular novel of the season, and will without 
 doubt create a decided sensation among those upper circles in 
 which the fair authoress, as a New York society girl, is evidently 
 at home. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York.
 
 flONTRESOR, 
 
 An English-American Love-Story. 
 
 By LOOTA." 
 Neely's Prismatic Library. 
 
 Gilt top, soc. 
 
 In "Montresor" we have a readable little 
 volume, airily written, and dealing with the fan- 
 cies of the heart. Our author introduces us to 
 charming society, and we follow the fortunes of 
 the heroine with more than passing interest. 
 " Montresor" is hardly in the line of sensational 
 novels, but one finds running through the story 
 a most delightful vein of love, and the conclusion 
 reached is so pleasant that we close the book 
 with the sensation of having been very pleasant- 
 ly entertained. The author's views upon divorce 
 are in line with the ideas of those who have most 
 seriously pondered upon this grave question. 
 " Montresor " is a book that can be safely placed 
 in the hands of the most exacting, which is more 
 than can be said of most new novels. 
 
 For Bale everywhere, or sent post-paid en receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York.
 
 Through Field and Fallow. 
 
 A Choice Collection of Original Poems. 
 
 By JEAN HOOPER PAGE. 
 
 CLOTH, GILT TOP, $1.00. 
 
 IT IS NOT always the brilliant work which appeals 
 to us most keenly. Sarcasm and rhetoric have their 
 place, but the book that lies on the desk and is 
 found in the mending-basket is the book, nine times out 
 of ten, that deals with every-day life and sweeps across 
 the strings of the heart. While Mrs. Page's work* 
 " Through Field and Fallow," often touches the subtle 
 minor chords, it invariably swells to the triumphant 
 major and rings clear and true in the sweetness of undy- 
 ing hope and unquenchable faith. 
 
 Much of Mrs. Page's work has appeared first in our 
 great daily newspapers, but its life has been less ephem- 
 eral than theirs. Here and there a woman has treasured 
 some bit in her scrap book ; a man has clipped a verse 
 and put it away in the drawer of his desk marked 
 "private." Sooner or later in this little volume the 
 reader will find the poem that was written for him. 
 
 Father Ryan once wrote : "To uplift the downcast, 
 to sweeten any life, to feel that we in some way have 
 helped to lighten the great burden that rests upon 
 mankind this is the only real compensation that comes 
 to the poet." This recompense will be Mrs. Page's. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 9*6 Qaesa Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York.
 
 Imola. 
 The Palmetto. 
 
 By Francis S. Heffernan, 
 Neely's Popular Library, Paper, 250. 
 
 "Imola" is a stirring story of love and adventure 
 more than a century ago when New York was 
 a shadow of its present metropolitan size. From 
 America the scene shifts to France and then to 
 Corsica, that Island where the vendetta has flour- 
 ished for centuries. On the whole the story is very 
 readable, and in places the author carries his read- 
 ers with an enthusiasm that is refresing. 
 
 "The Palmetto," as its name might indicate, 
 takes us to the south long before the war. Mr. 
 Heffernan is a southern lawyer, and is very famil- 
 iar with the scenes he describes with so much zeal. 
 Stories of the slave times are always deservedly 
 popular, and in "The Palmetto" we find many 
 scenes that must bring memories of those old days 
 vividly before the minds of older residents living be- 
 low the borders of Dixie. Both books are published 
 in Neely's Popular Library, at 25 cents. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York.
 
 A 000 041 801 2