The Comedienne. Władysław Stanisław ReymontЧитать онлайн книгу.
them. We will have a splendid farce, for you see that gentleman friend of hers will be present at to-day's rehearsal. Yesterday she boasted to him that you had her in mind when you announced in the papers that the role of Nitouche will be played by the beautiful and dashing Mme. X.X."
Cabinski began to laugh quietly.
"Only don't breathe a word about it. You'll see what will happen. Before him she will pretend to accept the part to show off. Halt will immediately begin to rehearse her and will make a fool of her before everyone. You will then take away her part and give it to whomever you like."
"You women are terrible in your malice."
"Bah, therein lies our strength."
They went out into the garden hall where several members of the company were already waiting for the rehearsal to begin. They sat about on chairs in little groups laughing, joking, telling tales, and complaining while the tuning of the orchestra furnished an accompaniment to the buzz of voices.
On the veranda an increasing number of guests was assembling and the hum of voices, the clatter of plates and the noisy shifting of chairs grew ever louder. The smoke of cigarettes ascended in clouds to the iron roof beams.
Janina Orlowska entered. She sat down at one of the tables and inquired of the waiter:
"Can you tell me if the director of the theater has already arrived?"
"There he is!"
"Which one of them."
"What will you have, madame?"
"I beg your pardon, which of those gentlemen is Mr. Cabinski?"
"A seven! … four whiskies!" someone called to the waiter from a nearby table.
"Just a minute, just a minute!"
"Beer!" came another voice.
"Which of those gentlemen is the director?" patiently asked Janina for the second time.
"I will serve you in a minute, madam!" said the waiter bowing on all sides.
To Janina it seemed that they were all staring at her and that the waiters, as they passed with their hands full of beer-glasses and plates, cast such strange glances that she blushed in spite of herself.
Presently the waiter returned, bringing the coffee she had ordered.
"Do you wish to see the director, madame?"
"Yes."
"He is sitting there in the first row of seats. That short man in a white vest … there! Do you see him?"
"I do. Thank you!"
"Shall I tell him you wish to speak to him?"
"No. Anyway he seems to be busy."
"He is only chatting."
"And who are those gentlemen with whom he is talking?"
"They are also members of our company—actors."
She paid for the coffee, giving the waiter a ruble. He fumbled about a long time, as though looking for change, but, seeing that she was gazing in another direction, he bowed and thanked her.
Having finished her coffee, Janina went into the hall. She passed by the director and took a cursory look at him. All that she saw was a large, pale, anaemic face, covered with grayish splotches.
A few actors standing near him impressed her as handsome people. She noticed in their gestures, their smooth shaven faces, their easy, smiling airs something so superior to the men whom she had hitherto known, that she listened to their conversation with rapt attention.
The uncurtained stage, wrapt in darkness, drew her with its hidden mystery.
For the first time Janina saw the theater at close range and the actors off stage. The theater seemed to her like a Grecian temple and those people, whose profiles she had before her, and whose eloquent voices sounded in her ears, seemed like true priests of art.
She was regarding everything about her with interest, when she suddenly noticed that the waiter who had served her was whispering something to the director and pointing to her with a slight gesture.
There ran through Janina a tremor of fear, strange and depressing. She did not look up again, but felt that someone was approaching, that someone's glances were resting on her head and encircling her figure.
She was still at a loss how to begin and what to say, but felt that she must speak.
She arose when she noticed Cabinski standing before her.
"I am Mr. Cabinski, the director."
She stood there unable to utter a word.
"You deigned to ask for me, madame?" he queried with a courteous bow, signifying that he was ready to listen to her.
"Yes … if you please … Mr. Director. I wished to ask you … perhaps you could," she stuttered, unable for the moment to find the right words to express what she wished to say.
"Pray rest a little, madame, and calm yourself. Is it something very important?" he whispered, bending toward her and at the same time winking significantly to the actors who were looking on.
"Oh, it is very important!" she answered, meeting his gaze. "I wish to ask you, Mr. Director, if you would accept me as a member of your company."
This last sentence she uttered quickly as though fearing that her courage and voice might fail her ere it was spoken.
"Ah! … is that all? … You wish to be engaged, miss?" He stiffened suddenly, studying her with a critical gaze.
"I journeyed here especially for that purpose. You will not refuse me, Mr. Director, will you?"
"With whom did you appear before?"
"Pardon me, but I don't quite understand."
"With what company? … Where?"
"I have never before appeared in the theater. I came here straight from the country for the express purpose of joining it."
"You have never appeared before? … Then, I have no place for you!" and he turned to go.
Janina was seized with a desperate fear that her quest would fail, so with courage and a tone of strong entreaty in her voice she began to speak hurriedly:
"Mr. Director! I journeyed here especially to join your company. I
love the theater so ardently that I cannot live without it! … Do
not refuse me! I do not know anyone here in Warsaw. I came to you
because I had read so much about you in the papers. I feel that I
could play … I have memorized so many roles! … You will see,
Mr. Director … if you only let me appear … you will see!"
Cabinski was silent.
"Or perhaps you would prefer to have me call to-morrow? … I can wait a few days, if you wish," she added, seeing that he did not answer, but was observing her intently.
Her voice trembled with entreaty; it modulated with ease and there was so much originality and warmth in her tone that Cabinski listened to her with pleasure.
"Now I have no time, but after the rehearsal we can discuss the matter more thoroughly," he said.
She wanted impulsively to press his hand and thank him for the promise, but her courage failed her, for she noticed that an increasing number of people were curiously observing them.
"Hey there, Cabinski!"
"Man alive!"
"Director! What's that … a rendezvous? In broad daylight, before the eyes of all, and scarcely three flights away from Pepa?"
Such were the