Page:Poet Lore, volume 27, 1916.djvu/27

 Dušek.—Just consider, Láda, what have I accomplished in those six years? Where am I today when I am thirty-two years old? In order not to disturb myself from the madness of my youth I vegetated—like a mere hired clerk who plans out his day to fit the occupation of his sweetheart. (Puts his hands to his temples.) How I could have grown elsewhere and how I have buried myself here to no purpose! In the moments when I was nearest the inspiration of my thoughts, I had to throw down my palette because it happened that the hour was drawing near when Stáza was leaving and when I was to wait for her. What did she say to me, how did she uplift me? We talked about her companions, about the troubles they had in the shop, we rambled the streets—and we welcomed Sunday as our salvation because we could ride out by steamer to Chuchle or to Závist.

Hlaváček.—You didn’t say a word of this even in our last year at the Academy.

Dušek.—Indeed, I didn’t. I was a madcap boy. On the strength of a little warm water at the coffee-house, I babbled about the Bohemian life and I wanted to copy scenes from Murger. And I wanted to have in this Prague puddle of ours my own petite femme— you know in what a crazy state I returned from Paris? Made giddy by the frivolity and recklessness of a superficial life I wanted to enhance my supposed genius.

Hlaváček.—And who then is to blame? I? Or we? Or your surroundings, the atmosphere which you breathed, the soil into which you grew? (Waves his hand.) Kamilo, Kamilo,—everywhere on earth it’s the same! Except that it may have some other form.

Dušek.—Aha, some other form! Larger and freer; a form which does not strangle and lace you in. (Clasps his hands.) Lord, Lord,—how petty it all is and how useless! And you sit at the bottom—at the very bottom—and roll your eyes—and moralize!

Hlaváček (Surprised).—I?

Dušek (Cuttingly).—You, too!

Hlaváček.—It appears, then, that—(The bell in the front hall sounds.) Here you have them, go and open the door! We can finish telling each other another time.

Dušek (In the meantime goes to the front hall and opens the door).—My deepest respects, gracious lady—my deepest respects, Miss! (A rustle in the hall.) Enter, please. (He leads the ladies into the atelier.) My friend, the painter Hlaváček. (Mutual bows.)