that would have been dangerous. I, bring my former rival in here for a friend? Oh, Cilka, what an idealist you are! (He laughs.) Child—oh, child!
Cilka (moved).—But for these reasons you need not persecute him.
Karel—Well, did some feeling for him remain in the inner nook of your heart? (Suddenly serious.) Women, women—If I did not know you so well, Cilka, I should think over what you have said, but I will leave undisturbed. Good-bye, I have staid too long, anyhow. (About to go.) Good-bye, Bohdan.
Bohdan.—Say whatever you please, but you wrong Bystrina. You always judge a work of art by your physical and mental disposition. You are proud of being a normal, healthy man, and you transpose this to every work of art. You think that because you have a good digestion—everybody must have one. You would be a very bad physician, because instead of helping a person to a healthy stomach you would kill him with your sermonizing and reasoning why his stomach is not as good as yours.
Karel (in doorway).—All right, all right, enough of that! The observation of a work of art is also a kind of digestion, and I cannot digest sickly stuff, that is all there is to it. As long as sickly people will go to observe the 'Triumph of Death,' it will be all right.
Cilka.—The pearl is also the offspring of illness, and it still is the most beautiful of gems.
Karel (angrily).—Also a fine phrase. I'll be thinking about it on my way. Good-bye. (Exit Karel.)
(After departure of Karel, Bohdan gets up from sofa and lights a cigarette and with a sigh goes over to the hearth where Karel was standing previously. Cilka sits down to a table and buries her head deeply into her palms. A long pause.)
Cilka (looking up).—And such is my life.
Bohdan.—But, Cilka, are you again so sensitive?
Cilka.—Didn’t you hear it? Nothing but irony, sarcasm and bitterness the whole day long. How can love exist among these thorns?
Bohdan.—Why don't you try to understand Karel? In his essence he is good and pure. His sarcasm is only his self defence. Rather than to become gushy, rather than to wear out love by commonplace sentiments, he makes it more lasting by adding to it his irony.
Cilka.—And perhaps a little too much.
Bohdan—Sometimes, I myself am inclined to think so—but his essence is splendid and what is more important is that he loves you immensely.
