“I hate women!” exclaimed Svirski, raising his hands toward heaven.
“Do you not see that you are making Panna Castelli a common little goose?”
“I gave her lessons in painting, but I have never been occupied in her education.”
Marynia, hearing all this, said, threatening Svirski,—
“It is wonderful that such a kind man should have such a wicked tongue.”
“There is a certain justice in that,” answered Svirski; “and more than once have I asked, am I really a kind man? But I think that I am. For there are people who calumniate their neighbors through a love for digging in the mud, and that is vile; there are others who do this through jealousy, and that is equally vile. Such a man as Bukatski talks even for a conceit; but I, first of all, am talkative; second, a human being, and especially a woman, interests me more than aught else in existence; and finally, the shabbiness and flatness and petty vanities of human nature pain me terribly. And, as God lives, it is because I could wish that all women had wings; but since I see that many of them have only tails, I begin, from amazement alone, to shout in a heaven-piercing voice—”
“But why do you not shout in the same way against men?” inquired Pani Bigiel.
“Oh, let the men go! What do I care for them? Though, to speak seriously, we deserve perhaps to be shouted at more than the ladies.”
Here Pani Bigiel and Marynia attacked the unfortunate artist; but he defended himself, and continued,—
“Well, ladies, take such a man as Pan Ignas, and such a woman as Panna Castelli: he has worked hard since his childhood; he has struggled with difficulties, thought hard, given something to the world already,—but what is she? A real canary in a cage. They give the bird water, sugar, and seed; it has only to clean its yellow plumage with its little bill, and twitter. Or is this not true? We work immensely, ladies. Civilization, science, art, bread, and all on which the world stands is absolutely our work. And that is a marvellous work. Oh, it is easy to talk of it, but difficult to do it. Is it right, or is it natural, that men push you aside from this work? I do not know, and at this moment it is not for me a question; but taking the world in general, only one thing has remained to you,—loving; therefore you should know, at least, how to love.”