The Doll (41 page)

When she had gone to bed and was falling asleep, a new thought suddenly came to her: ‘Suppose Wokulski doesn't want an apology? After all, Count Liciński also intervened with him over the mare, but got nowhere. Oh Heavens, what am I thinking of?' She answered her own question with a shrug and fell asleep.

Next afternoon, her father, herself and Flora were certain Wokulski would come to terms with the Baron, and that it would not even be proper if he did not. Tomasz did not go into town until afternoon, and returned very troubled.

‘What is it, father?' Izabela asked, struck by his expression.

‘A wretched business,' Tomasz replied, throwing himself into a leather arm-chair, ‘Wokulski has rejected the apologies and his seconds have made strict conditions.'

‘When is it to be?' she asked more quietly.

‘Tomorrow, before nine o'clock,' Tomasz replied, and wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘A wretched business,' he went on, ‘there is confusion among our partners, for Krzeszowski is a good shot. If this man dies, all my calculations will go for nothing. I'd lose my right hand…he's the only man who could possibly carry out my plans…There's no one else I would entrust my capital to, and I am certain I would get at least eight thousand a year…Bad luck is haunting me, no doubt about it.'

The bad temper of the master of the house affected the others; no one ate any dinner. Afterwards Tomasz shut himself up in his study and walked about, which was a sure sign of unusual excitement. Izabela went to her room also, and lay down on her
chaise-longue
, as she always did in anxious times. Dreary thoughts oppressed her.

‘My triumph was short-lived,' she told herself, ‘Krzeszowski really is a good shot. If he kills the only man who concerns himself with me nowadays, then what? Duelling is indeed a barbarous business. For Wokulski (taking him from a moral standpoint) is worth more than Krzeszowski, yet he may die. The last man in whom my father has placed his hopes…'

But here family pride spoke up in Izabela: ‘Still, my father doesn't need Wokulski's favours after all; he would entrust his capital to him, provide him with support and he in return would pay interest. But it is a pity…'

She recalled the old manager of their former estate who had served them thirty years and whom she had much loved and trusted; Wokulski might have taken the place of the dead man for both of them, and become her sensible confidant—but he was going to die!

She lay with her eyes closed for some time, not thinking of anything: then extraordinary notions began coming into her head: ‘What a peculiar coincidence,' she told herself. Tomorrow two men who had mortally offended her were going to fight for her sake—Krzeszowski, with his malicious remarks and Wokulski, with the sacrifices he had dared make for her. She had already almost forgiven him the purchase of the dinner-service and the promissory notes, and the money lost at cards to her father, on which the entire household had lived for several weeks…(No, she had not yet forgiven him that, and never would!)

So heavenly justice was, in a way, looking after the insult to her. Who would perish on the morrow? Perhaps both…In any case, he who had presumed to offer financial assistance to Izabela Łęcka. Such a man, like the lovers of Cleopatra, must not live…

Thus she reflected, sobbing: she was sorry for a devoted servant and perhaps confidant, but she humbled herself before the judgement of Providence, which does not forgive an insult to Miss Łęcka.

Had Wokulski been able to look into her soul just then, he would have fled in alarm and been cured of his obsession.

Izabela did not sleep all that night. She saw before her the picture by a French painter which represents a duel. Two men in black were taking aim at one another with pistols, under a group of green trees. Then (this was not in the picture) one of them fell, struck by a bullet. It was Wokulski. Izabela did not even attend his funeral, as she did not wish to betray her emotion. But she wept several times, at night. She was sorry for the unusual parvenu, this faithful slave, who was paying for his crimes towards her by his death.

She did not fall asleep till seven in the morning, then slept like a log till noon. Then she was awakened by an excited tapping at her bedroom door. ‘Who is it?'

‘It is I,' her father replied joyfully, ‘Wokulski is unharmed, the Baron wounded in the face.'

‘Is that so?'

She had a migraine, and stayed in bed till four in the afternoon. She was pleased the Baron had been wounded, and surprised that Wokulski, whom she had mourned, was not dead. As she had risen so late, Izabela went out for a short stroll in the Boulevard before dinner. The sight of the clear sky, the beautiful trees, the birds flying about and the cheerful passers-by erased all traces of her nocturnal visions, and when she was noticed and greeted from several passing carriages, satisfaction awoke within her.

‘God is merciful, all the same,' she thought, ‘since He has spared a man who may be useful to us. My father counts on him so, and I, too, am gaining confidence in him. I'd have experienced far fewer disappointments in my life if I'd had a sensible and energetic friend…'

She did not care for the word ‘friend', though. A ‘friend' of Izabela's would have to own an estate at least. A haberdashery salesman only qualified as adviser and administrator.

On returning home, she saw at once that her father was in an excellent humour. ‘You know,' he said, ‘I went to congratulate Wokulski. He's a splendid fellow, a real gentleman! He has forgotten the duel already, and even seems sorry for the Baron. No two ways about it—genteel blood always tells, no matter what a man's social position.'

Then, taking his daughter into his study, and glancing several times into the looking-glass, he added: ‘Now, who said one cannot trust in heavenly protection? The death of this man would have been a serious blow to me—and he has been spared! I must enter into closer contact with him, then we shall see who comes out best—the Prince with his great lawyer, or I with my Wokulski. What do you think?'

‘I was thinking the very same thing just now,' Izabela replied, struck by the analogy between her own feelings and those of her father, ‘you really must have a capable and trustworthy man at your side.'

‘And one who is in addition attracted to my service,' Tomasz added, ‘and a sharp man! He understands that he will do more and gain a better reputation by helping an ancient family to rise again than if he were to rush ahead by himself. A very intelligent man,' Tomasz repeated, ‘and although he had temporarily acquired the support of the Prince and the entire aristocracy, he is showing greater attachment to me. And he will not regret it, once I regain my position in the world.'

Izabela gazed at the gee-gaws arranged on his desk and thought that her father was deluding himself all the same in thinking that Wokulski was attracted into his service. However, she did not correct his error, but on the contrary admitted privately that it would be quite proper to draw a little closer to this tradesman and overlook his social position. A lawyer…a merchant…it came to almost the same thing; and if a lawyer could have a prince's confidence, then why should not a tradesman (oh, how vulgar!) become a man of confidence in the Łęcki household?

Dinner that evening, and the next few days too, passed very pleasantly for Izabela. She was struck by one circumstance, namely—that they were visited by more people during this short time than had called during a whole month. There were hours when the sound of laughter and conversation resounded in the formerly empty drawing-room, until the well-rested furniture itself was surprised by the throng, and in the kitchen it was whispered that Mr Łęcki must have laid his hands on a large sum of money. Even the ladies who had failed to recognise Izabela at the races, now called on her. As for the young men, although they did not call, they recognised her in the street, and bowed respectfully.

Tomasz had visitors too. Count Sanocki called, to urge that Wokulski stop attending race-meetings and playing at duels, and should instead concern himself with the partnership. Count Licinski called and told amazing stories of Wokulski's gentlemanliness. Most important of all was that the Prince called several times to tell Tomasz that, despite the incident with the Baron, Wokulski should not grow discouraged about the aristocracy and should bear his unfortunate country in mind.

‘And, cousin, pray dissuade him from fighting duels,' the Prince concluded. ‘It is quite unnecessary—all very well for young men, but not for serious and respectable citizens.'

Tomasz was delighted, particularly when he thought that all these agreeable ovations were greeting him on the eve of selling the apartment-house; a year ago, the proximity of such an event would have frightened people away…

‘I am beginning to regain my proper position in the world,' Tomasz murmured, and suddenly looked up. It seemed to him that Wokulski was standing before him. So, to calm himself, he repeated several times: ‘I will reward him, indeed I will…He can be sure of my support.'

On the third day after Wokulski's duel, Izabela received a costly box and a letter which startled her. She recognised the Baron's hand:

Inside the costly box was a tooth, wrapped in tissue. After some thought, Izabela wrote the Baron a very affable letter, declaring she was no longer cross and acknowledging the box, while she was sending back the tooth, with all due respect, to its owner.

She could no longer doubt it was only thanks to Wokulski that the Baron had come to terms with her and asked her pardon. Izabela was not a little moved by her triumph, and felt something not unlike gratitude toward Wokulski. She shut herself up in her boudoir and began day-dreaming.

She dreamed that Wokulski sold his store and bought a landed estate, but remained director of the trading partnership, which brought in vast profits. All the aristocracy received him in their homes while she, Izabela, made him her right-hand man. He restored their fortune and brought it back to its former splendour; he executed all her orders; he took risks when necessary. Finally he found her a husband, suitable to the eminence of the Łęcki family.

He did all these things because he loved her with an ideal love, more than his own life. And he was completely happy if she smiled at him, looked at him kindly, or if—after some exceptional service—pressed his hand sincerely. If the good Lord were to give them children, then he would find nursemaids and governesses, would increase their fortune and finally, when she herself died (at this point tears came to Izabela's beautiful eyes), he would shoot himself at her tomb…Or no—the delicate feelings she had developed in him would make him shoot himself a few tombs away.

The entrance of her father interrupted the course of her fantasies. ‘So Krzeszowski has written to you?' Tomasz asked with curiosity. His daughter showed him the letter on her bureau, and the golden box. Mr Tomasz shook his head as he read, and finally said: ‘Always a lunatic, though a good fellow at heart. But…Wokulski has done you a real service; you have conquered a mortal foe.'

‘Father, I think it would be proper to invite this gentleman to dinner…I should like to be better acquainted with him…

‘For some days I have been wanting to ask you the same thing,' Tomasz replied, gratified, ‘it is not right to stick too closely to etiquette with such a useful man.'

‘Naturally,' Izabela put in, ‘after all, we admit faithful servants to some degree of intimacy…'

‘I adore your common sense and tact, Bela,' Tomasz exclaimed, and in his delight he kissed her, first on the hand, then on the brow.

A
FTER
Wokulski received Łęcki's invitation to dinner, he hurried out into the street.

The little office had stifled him, and the conversation with Rzecki, in which the clerk warned him and commented, seemed perfectly fatuous: for was it not fatuous that a frigid old bachelor, who believed in nothing but the shop and the Bonapartes, should accuse him of madness? ‘Am I wrong, then,' Wokulski thought, ‘in loving her? Perhaps it has come a little too late, but I have never allowed myself such a luxury in my life. Millions of other people fall in love, the whole sensate world loves, why should I alone be forbidden this? And if this is justified, then surely so is everything I do. Any man who wants to marry must have a fortune, so I have acquired one. A man must draw close to the woman he has chosen; I have done so. He must be concerned for her material well-being, and protect her from enemies; I am doing both. Have I harmed anyone in this fight for happiness? Have I neglected my duties to society or my neighbours? Those well-beloved neighbours of mine are also society—which has never concerned itself with me, but has put up all sorts of obstacles, and keeps demanding sacrifices from me…