The Doll (100 page)

At first, it seemed to Wokulski that to approach the violinist of genius would be one of the most difficult tasks he had ever been commanded to execute. Fortunately he recalled knowing a musician who had not only met Molinari, but was already following him everywhere, and accompanying him like a shadow. When he confided his problem in the musician, the latter opened his eyes very wide, then frowned, but finally, after long pondering, replied: ‘Oh, this will be difficult, very difficult, but we'll see what can be done. But I must prepare him, make him well-disposed to you. Do you know what we'll do? Call at his hotel tomorrow, at one in the afternoon. I'll be there for lunch. Then you can discreetly summon me through a servant, and I'll arrange an audience for you.'

These precautions and the tone in which they were uttered affected Wokulski disagreeably; nevertheless he went to the hotel at the appointed time: ‘Mr Molinari is in?' he asked the porter. The latter, who knew Wokulski, sent a page upstairs then began passing the time in conversation: ‘You can't think, sir, how busy the hotel is with this Italian! People flock to see him as though he were a sacred image, but mostly they're ladies …'

‘Is that so?'

‘Yes, sir. One of them first of all sent him a letter, then a bouquet, then came in person, wearing a veil and thinking no one would recognise her … You can't think, sir, how the staff laughed! He doesn't see them all, though one of 'em gave his footman three roubles. But sometimes when he's in a good humour, he'll take two more rooms, one on either side of the corridor, and entertain a lady in both … He's a determined beast.'

Wokulski glanced at his watch. Some ten minutes had passed in waiting, so he said goodbye to the porter and went upstairs, feeling anger beginning to boil within him. ‘Stupid fool!' he thought, ‘and as for those light women of easy virtue …'

On the way he met the page, who was out of breath. ‘Mr Molinari, sir,' he said, ‘told me to ask you to wait a little longer.'

Wokulski felt like seizing the page by the scruff of the neck, but hesitated and — went downstairs again.

‘Are you leaving, sir? What am I to say to Mr Molinari?'

‘Tell him to … You understand me?'

‘I'll tell him, sir, but he won't understand,' the page replied, pleased and, hurrying back to the porter, said: ‘At least there's one gentleman here so has sized up that Italian scoundrel … The dog! He is all puffed up, but he looks at a penny three times before he'll give you it. Son of a bitch, monster … wretch … vagabond … skunk!'

There was a moment in which Wokulski felt resentful towards Izabela. How could she be so enthusiastic about a man that even the hotel staff made fun of? How could she join his long list of female admirers? And, after all, was it proper to make him seek acquaintance with such a humbug?

But he cooled down at once: the very correct idea occurred to him that as Izabela didn't know Molinari, she was simply letting herself be borne along on the current of his reputation. ‘She'll get to know him and will cool down,' he thought, ‘but I am not going to serve as a go-between.'

When Wokulski got home, he found Węgiełek, who had been waiting for him an hour. The lad looked more at home in the city, but was somewhat thin. ‘You've lost colour, grown thin,' said Wokulski, contemplating him, ‘have you been misbehaving?'

‘No, sir, I've been ill for ten days. Something in my neck was so painful that the doctor operated. But I went back to work yesterday.'

‘Do you need money?'

‘No, sir. I only wanted to speak to you about going back to Zasławek.'

‘So that's what is bothering you. Have you learned anything?'

‘Indeed I have. I've done some carpentry and cabinet-making. I've learned how to make pretty baskets, and draw too. Even paint a bit, if it comes to that.' As he spoke, he bowed, blushed and squeezed his cap in one hand.

‘Good,' said Wokulski after a moment, ‘you'll get six hundred roubles for tools. Enough? When do you want to go home?'

The lad blushed still more, and kissed Wokulski's hand. ‘Sir, begging your pardon, I'd like to get married … Only I don't know …' He scratched his head.

‘To whom?' asked Wokulski.

‘To Maria, who lives with the coachman Wysocki's family. I live there too, upstairs.'

‘So he wants to marry my repentant?' Wokulski thought. He walked about the room, and said: ‘Do you know Maria well enough?'

‘Why not? After all, we meet three times a day, and sometimes I spend Sunday with her, or both of us do, with the Wysockis.'

‘I see. But do you know what she was a year ago?'

‘I do, sir. Hardly had I got there by your kindness, than Mrs Wysocka right away says to me: “Take care, young fellow, for she's of easy virtue …” So I knew from the very start what she was: she never pulled the wool over my eyes at all.'

‘How did it come that you want to marry her?'

‘Goodness knows, sir, one way or another. At first I used to laugh at her, and when anyone passed the window, I'd say: “A friend of Maria, no doubt, as you've eaten bread from more than one stove.” But she didn't say anything, only looked down, turned her sewing-machine until it steamed, and reddened up to the eyes. Later on, I noticed someone was doing my laundry for me; so, at Christmas, I bought her an umbrella for ten złoty, and she bought me six linen handkerchiefs, with my name on them. But Mrs Wysocka said: “Don't be taken in, young fellow, she's after you!” But I never let it into my head — though if she'd not been a wicked woman, I'd have married her come Shrovetide.

‘On Ash Wednesday, Wysocki told me how things stood with Maria. Some lady in velvet had agreed to take her into service, but what kind of service, for goodness sake! She kept wanting to run away, but they kept ahold of her, and said: “Either stay here, or we will send you to prison for theft.” “What have I stolen, then?” says she. “Our incomes, you heathen,” they shout. And she'd have stayed there until doomsday (so Wysocki said), if Mr Wokulski hadn't seen her in church. Then he bought her out, and saved her.'

‘Go on, go on,' Wokulski exclaimed, seeing Węgiełek hesitate.

‘It struck me at once,' Węgiełek continued, ‘that it wasn't wickedness, but misfortune. And I asked Wysocki: “Would you marry Maria?” “One wife is more than enough,” says he. “But if you was single?” “Well,” says he, “how can I say, not having any interest in women?” Seeing the old man didn't want to talk, I swore at him, so that in the end he said: “I wouldn't marry her, because I wouldn't be sure that the old ways didn't come back to her. When a woman's good, she's good, but when she's wanton, she's no good.”

‘Meanwhile, at the beginning of Lent, the Good Lord afflicted me with such pains that I had to stay home and the doctor operated on me. And didn't Maria start coming to see me, to make the bed, bandage my wound … The doctor says that if it hadn't been for her, I'd have kept to my bed another week. Sometimes I'd be irritable, particularly when I felt badly, so one day I says: “What are you doing all this for, Maria? You think I'm going to marry you, but I'd be a fool to take a girl who has served ten …” But she didn't answer, only looked away and her tears came…“After all, I understand,” she says, “that Mr Węgiełek won't marry me.” Then I, beggin' your pardon, sir, came all over pitiful when I heard that. And I told Mrs Wysocka: “You know, I might marry Maria.” And she says: “Don't be silly, for…” But I dare not say it…' Węgiełek suddenly stopped, and again he kissed Wokulski's hand.

‘Go on.'

‘Well, Mrs Wysocka told me—that if I marry Maria, I might offend Mr Wokulski, after his kindness to us all. Who knows but what Maria don't visit him?…'

Wokulski stopped in front of him. ‘Is that what you're afraid of?' he asked. ‘I give you my word of honour I never see this girl.'

Węgiełek sighed with relief: ‘Thank God for that. For in the first place, I wouldn't dare get in your way, sir, after all your kindness, and then again…'

‘Then again—what?'

‘In the second place, sir, she went wrong through misfortune, wicked people misused her, and that wasn't her fault. But if she should have wept over me when I lay sick, and came to visit you too, sir—then she would be such a wicked woman, that she'd be like a mad dog that has to be killed lest it bite people.'

‘And so?' asked Wokulski.

‘Well, now I'll marry after the holiday,' Węgiełek replied. ‘After all, she can't suffer for other people's sins. It wasn't her wish.'

‘Do you have any other matters to discuss?'

‘No, sir.'

‘Then farewell, and call on me before your wedding. She will get five hundred roubles dowry, and whatever is necessary for linen and the household.'

Węgiełek left him, very moved.

‘That is the logic of simple hearts,' Wokulski thought, ‘contempt for crime, and pity for misfortune.'

The simple citizen became, in his eyes, an emissary of eternal justice, which brought tranquillity and forgiveness to a fallen woman.

At the end of March, a great party was given at the Rzezuchowskis' in honour of Molinari. Wokulski received an invitation addressed by the fair hand of Miss Rzezuchowska. He arrived quite late, just as the maestro had let himself be persuaded to make the audience happy by playing one of his own compositions. One of the local musicians sat down to accompany him at the piano; another brought the maestro his violin; a third turned over the accompanist's music; a fourth took his place behind the maestro with the intention of emphasising by his expressions and gesticulations the most beautiful or hardest passages. Someone asked those present for silence: the ladies sat down in a semi-circle; the men gathered behind their chairs. The performance began.

Wokulski looked at the violinist and was first struck by certain likenesses between him and Starski. Molinari had the same small moustache, the same little beard and the same expression of boredom which characterises men who are lucky with women. He played well, and looked respectable, but one could see that he had accepted the role of a benevolent demi-god to his followers. From time to time, the violin sounded louder, the man behind the maestro took on an expression of admiration, and a quiet, brief rustle went through the audience. Amidst the fashionably dressed men, and the listening, musing, dreamy or dozing ladies, Wokulski caught sight of women's faces marked with an unusual expression. There were heads thrown passionately back, flushed cheeks, burning eyes, parted and trembling lips, as though they were under a drug.

‘Horrible,' thought Wokulski, ‘what sick individuals are these, harnessed to the triumphal car of this man!'

Then he looked to one side, and was struck cold. He saw Miss Łęcka, still more excited and impassioned than the others. He could not believe his own eyes.

The maestro played some fifteen minutes, but Wokulski no longer heard a single note. Finally, a long burst of applause awoke him. Then again he forgot where he was, but for all that he very distinctly saw Molinari whisper into Mr Rzezuchowski's ear, Mr Rzezuchowski take him by the arm—and introduce him to Izabela.

She greeted him with a blush and look of indescribable admiration. And because all were now summoned to supper, the maestro gave her his arm and took her into the supper room. They passed right by him, Molinari even elbowed him, but they were so occupied with each other that Izabela didn't notice Wokulski. Then they sat down at a table for four—Mr Szatalski with Miss Rzezuchowska, Molinari with Izabela—and it was evident they were very pleased to be together.

Again it seemed to Wokulski that a veil had fallen from before his eyes, and he could see beyond it an entirely different world, and another Izabela. But at the same moment, he felt such chaos in his mind, pain in his chest, madness in his nerves, that he fled to the entrance hall and then into the street, afraid he was going to lose his mind. ‘Merciful God!' he whispered, ‘take this curse off me!'

A few paces from Molinari, Mrs Wąsowska was sitting at a microscopic table with Ochocki. ‘My cousin begins to interest me more and more,' said Ochocki, looking at Izabela. ‘Do you see her?'

‘I've been watching for an hour,' Mrs Wąsowska replied, ‘but it strikes me Wokulski has noticed something too, for he was very changed. I am sorry for him.'

‘Oh, you can set your mind at rest regarding Wokulski. True he is crushed today, but he'll come around again. Such men aren't slain by a fan.'

‘There may be a scene…'

‘Not likely,' said Ochocki. ‘People with strong feelings are only dangerous when they have no reserves left.'

‘You mean that woman…what's her name?—Sta…Star…?'

‘God forbid, there's nothing there, and never was. Besides, for a man in love, another woman doesn't provide a reserve.'

‘What does?'

‘Wokulski has a powerful mind, and knows of a wonderful invention which would really turn the world upside down.'

‘Do you know of it?'

‘I know the content, I've seen the proof; but not the details. I swear,' said Ochocki, growing excited, ‘that a man could sacrifice ten mistresses for such a cause.'

‘So you sacrifice me, ungrateful one?'

‘Are you my mistress? I'm not a madman, after all.'

‘But you are in love with me.'

‘As Wokulski is with Izabela? Not on your life…Although I'm prepared at any moment to…'

‘You're badly bred, anyway. But—so much the better if you're not in love with me.'

‘I know why. You are sighing for Wokulski.'

A strong blush overcame Mrs Wąsowska; she grew so confused that she dropped her fan. Ochocki retrieved it. ‘I don't want to play a game with you, monster,' she said after a moment. ‘He concerns me, inasmuch as…I'm doing all I can for him to win Bela, because…that madman loves her.'