She was given a small room on the third floor, with a window looking out upon the red roofs of the old city, extending in crooked and irregular lines. It was such an ugly view that, on returning from Lazienki, with her eyes and soul still full of the green of the verdure and the golden sunlight, she immediately pulled down the shades and began to unpack her trunk.
She had not yet had time to think of her father. The city, the hubbub and bustle which engulfed her immediately upon her arrival at the station, the weariness caused by the journey and by the last moments at Bukowiec, and afterwards those feverish hours at the theater, the rehearsal, the park, the waiting for evening and her own coming rehearsal all this had so completely absorbed her that she forgot almost entirely about home.
She dressed carefully, for she wished to appear at her best.
When she arrived at the garden-theater the lights were already turned on and the public was beginning to assemble. She went boldly behind the scenes. The stage hands were arranging the decorations; of the company, no one was as yet present.
In the dressing-rooms the gaslights flared brightly. The costumer was preparing gaudy costumes, and the make-up man sat whistling and combing a wig with long, bright tresses.
In the ladies' dressing-room an old woman was standing under the gaslight, sewing something.
Janina explored all the corners, examining everything, emboldened by the fact that no one paid the slightest attention to her. The walls behind the huge canvas decorations were dirty, with their plaster broken off, and covered with sticky dampness. The floors, the moldings, the shabby furniture and decorations, that seemed to her like beggarly rags, were thick with dust and filth. The odor of mastic, cosmetics, and burnt hair, floating over the stage, nauseated her.
She viewed the canvas scenes of what were supposed to be magnificent castles, the chambers of the kings of operetta, gorgeous landscapes and beheld at close view a cheap smear of colors which could satisfy only the grossest of senses and then only from a distance. In the storeroom she saw cardboard crowns; the satin robes were poor imitations, the velvets were cheap taffeta, the ermines were painted cambric, the gold was gilded paper, the armor was of cardboard, the swords and daggers of wood.
She gazed at that future kingdom of hers as though wishing to convince herself of its worthiness. And, though it was sham, tinsel, lies, and comedy she tried to see above it all something infinitely higher—art.
The stage was not yet set, and was only dimly lighted. Janina crossed it a few times with the stately stride of a heroine, then again, with the light, graceful airiness of an ingenue, or with the quick feverish step of a woman who carries with her death and destruction; and with each new impersonation, her face assumed the appropriate expression, her eyes glowed with the flame of the Eumenides, with storm, desire, conflict, or, kindling with the mood of love, longing, anxiety they shone like stars on a spring night.
She passed through these various transformations unconsciously, impelled by the memory of the plays and roles she had read, and so great was her abstraction, that she forgot about everything and paid no attention to the stagehands, who were moving about her.
"My Al used to act the same way … the same way!" said a quiet voice from behind the scenes near the ladies' dressing-room.
Janina paused in confusion. She saw standing there a middle-aged woman of medium height, with a withered face and stern demeanor.
"You have joined our company, miss?" she inquired with a sharp energetic voice, piercing Janina with her round, owl-like eyes.
"Not quite. … I am about to have a trial with the musical director. Ah, yes, Mr. Cabinski even said that it was to take place before the performance! … " she cried, recalling what he had told her.
"Aha! with that drunkard … "
Janina glanced at her, surprised.
"Have you set your heart on being with us, miss?"
"In the theater? … yes! … I journeyed here for that very purpose."
"From whence?" asked the elderly woman abruptly.
"From home," answered Janina, but more quietly and with a certain hesitation.
"Ah … I see … you are entirely new to the profession! …
Well, well! that is curious! … "
"Why? … why should it be so strange for one who loves the theater to try to join it? … "
"Oh, that's what all of them say! … while in truth, each of them runs away either from something … or for something. … "
Janina was conscious of an accent of hidden malice in her voice. "Do you know, madam, how soon the musical director will arrive?" she asked.
"I don't!" snapped back the elderly woman, and walked away.
Janina moved back a little, for just then the workmen were spreading a huge waxed canvas over the stage. She was gazing at this absent-mindedly, when the elderly woman reappeared and addressed her in a milder tone, "I will give you a piece of advice, miss. … It is necessary for you to win over the musical director."
"But how am I to do it?"
"Have you money?"
"I have, but—"
"If you will listen to me, I will advise you."
"Certainly."
"You must get him a little drunk, then the rehearsal will come off splendidly."
Janina glanced at her in amazement.
"Ha! ha!" laughed the other quietly. "Ha! ha! she is a real moon-calf!"
After a moment she whispered, "Let us go to the dressing-room. I will enlighten you a little … "
She pulled Janina after her, and afterwards, busying herself with pinning a dress on a mannikin, she remarked, "We must get acquainted."
"Tell me, madam, how about that musical director?" asked Janina.
"It's necessary to buy him some cognac. Yes!" she added after a moment, "Cognac, beer, and sandwiches will, perhaps, be sufficient."
"How much would that cost?"
"I think that for three rubles you can give him a decent treat. Let me have the money and I will order everything for you. I had better go right away."
Janina gave her the money.
Sowinska left and in about a quarter of an hour returned, breathless.
"Well, everything is settled! Come along, miss, the director is waiting."
Behind the restaurant hall there was a room with a piano. "Halt," flushed and sleepy, was already waiting there.
"Cabinski spoke to me about you, miss!" he began. "What can you sing? … Whew! how warm I feel! … Perhaps you will raise the window?" he said, turning to Sowinska.
Janina felt disturbed
