The Doll (78 page)

‘Oh?' the widow was surprised, ‘but what you call differences, I can quite perfectly accord with life.'

‘You mentioned frequent changes of lovers.'

‘Call them admirers, please.'

‘Then you want to find some unusual man or other who wouldn't forget you even in his grave. To my mind that can never be attained. With your extravagant views, you will never become economical, nor will an unusual man wish to fit in with several ordinary ones.'

‘He may not be aware of them,' the widow interrupted.

‘Ah, so we have deception, too — but it can only succeed if your hero is blind and stupid. Even if he were, would you have the courage to deceive a man who loved you so much?'

‘Very well, so I would tell him everything, and add: “Remember Christ forgave Mary Magdalene, than whom I, after all, am less sinful, though I have hair as fine as hers …”'

‘And that would suffice?'

‘I think so.'

‘But what if it didn't?'

‘I'd leave him in peace and go on my way.'

‘But first you'd impress yourself in his heart and mind so that he couldn't forget you, even in the grave!' Wokulski burst out. ‘That's a fine world of yours … And how charming are women who, when a man surrenders his own soul to them in the best of faith, must glance at their watch so that he doesn't meet his predecessors, or interrupt those to come! Madam, even dough takes a long time to rise: is it possible to cultivate great feelings so hastily, and in such a market? Madam, pray be done with talk of great feelings: they'll prevent you from sleeping, and spoil your appetite. Why poison a man's life when you don't even know him? Why upset your own good temper? Better stick to your programme of rapid and frequent triumphs, which don't harm other people and fill your life for you somehow.'

‘Is that all, Mr Wokulski?'

‘I suppose so.'

‘Now let me tell you something. All of you are scoundrels …'

‘Another strong word …'

‘Yours were stronger, sir. You are all wretches. When a woman, at a certain stage in her life, dreams of an ideal love, you mock her illusions and demand a flirtation, without which a girl is boring, and a married woman stupid. Not until she — thanks to your collective efforts — allows banal proposals to be made, glances at you fondly, presses your hand — only then does some medieval moralist in a cowl emerge from a dark corner and solemnly curse her, created though she is in the form and likeness of a daughter of Eve: “You are not allowed to love, you will never be truly loved, because you had the misfortune to be put up for market, and because you have no illusions left!” Yet who stole her illusions, if not you and your brothers? What sort of world is this, in which illusions are first stripped off and the naked body then sentenced to death?'

Mrs Wąsowska brought a handkerchief out of her pocket and began biting it. A tear sparkled on her eyelashes, and fell on to the horse's mane. ‘Please ride on,' she cried, ‘you are exasperatingly shallow. Be off … and send Starski to me: his impudence is more amusing than your priestly solemnity.'

Wokulski bowed and rode ahead. He was irritated and embarrassed.

‘Where are you going, sir? Not that way … Ah, you are going to get lost, then tell everyone at dinner that I took you off the right road. Follow me, please.'

Riding a few paces behind Mrs Wąsowska, Wokulski thought: ‘So that's the sort of world it is? Some women sell themselves to decrepit men, others treat human hearts as though they were veal. But she's a strange woman … For she is not wicked, and even has noble impulses.'

Half an hour later, they were riding across the hill from which the Duchess's manor was visible. Mrs Wąsowska suddenly turned her horse, glanced sharply at Wokulski and asked: ‘Is it to be peace between us, or war?'

‘May I be frank?'

‘Pray do.'

‘I am profoundly grateful to you. I've learned more in an hour from you than ever before in my whole life.'

‘From me? You merely think so. I have a few drops of Hungarian blood in my veins, so when I'm on horseback I go mad, and talk nonsense. Mind, though — I don't withdraw a word of what I said, but you are wrong if you think you understand me. Now, kiss my hand; you really are interesting.'

She stretched out her hand, which Wokulski kissed, opening his-eyes wide in amazement.

W
HILE
Wokulski and Mrs Wąsowska were squabbling or riding through the fields, Izabela arrived at Zasławek from the Countess's estate. The day before, she had received a letter by special messenger, and now, at the express wish of her aunt, she had arrived, though reluctantly. She was certain she would find Wokulski already at Zasławek, powerfully supported by the Duchess, so the sudden journey had seemed improper to her: ‘Even if I am to marry him, some day,' she told herself, ‘that is no reason why I should hasten to welcome him.'

But because her things were packed, the carriage ordered, and her personal maid already waiting on the front seat, Izabela decided to go. Farewells with her relatives were full of significance. Mr Łęcki, constantly agitated, dabbed his eyes; the Countess, slipping a velvet purse into her hand, kissed her on the brow and said: ‘I shall neither advise nor dissuade you. You're a sensible girl, you know your position, so you must decide for yourself, and accept the consequences.'

What should she decide? What consequences was she to accept? The Countess did not explain.

This year's stay in the country was profoundly modifying some of Izabela's opinions: this was not brought about by the fresh air, however, nor the beautiful landscapes, but by events and the opportunity to ponder over them tranquilly. She had come here at the express request of her aunt, for the sake of Starski, who people said would inherit the Duchess's fortune. But after considering her grandson, the Duchess had declared that she would leave him at most, a thousand a year, which would certainly be useful to him in his old age. She decided to leave her entire fortune to illegitimate children and their unfortunate mothers.

Starski instantly lost all value in the Countess's eyes. He lost it in Izabela's by declaring he would not propose to a ‘penniless girl', but preferred a Chinese or Japanese girl, providing she had some tens of thousands a year: ‘It isn't worth risking one's future for anything less,' said he.

As he said this, Izabela stopped regarding him as a serious suitor. But because he sighed softly and glanced fleetingly at her as he said it, Izabela thought that handsome Kazio must have some romantic secret and that he was making a sacrifice in seeking a rich wife. For whom? Perhaps for her? Poor boy, but there was no help for it. Perhaps she would find a way to sweeten his sufferings one day, but now she must hold him at a distance. This was all the easier because Starski began to insinuate himself very strongly into the favours of wealthy Mrs Wąsowska, and to lurk at a distance around Ewelina Janocka, no doubt to erase the traces that he had once been in love with Izabela: ‘Poor boy, but there's no help for it. Life has its duties, which we must carry out even though they are hard.'

In this manner Starski, perhaps the most suitable suitor for Izabela, was crossed off her list. He could not marry a poor woman, but had to seek a rich wife: these were two impassable abysses between them.

Her second suitor, the Baron, crossed himself off by becoming engaged to Ewelina. Izabela had felt a horror of the Baron as long as he had been trying to get into her good graces, but when he abandoned her so abruptly, she grew almost alarmed. Could it be that there were women in the world for whose favours it was possible to renounce her? Could it be that a time might come when even such aged admirers would abandon Izabela?

The ground seemed to be giving way underfoot and, influenced by the undefined alarms besieging her, Izabela spoke about Wokulski to the Duchess in quite benevolent terms. Who knows that she mightn't even have said: ‘What is Mr Wokulski doing? I'm very sorry he may have taken offence on my account. Sometimes I reproach myself for not behaving towards him as he deserved.'

She cast down her eyes and blushed so that the Duchess thought it essential to invite Wokulski to stay: ‘Let them meet in the fresh air,' thought the old lady, ‘and God will dispose. He's a jewel among men, and she's a good girl, so perhaps they will reach an understanding. For I'd wager he has a weakness for her.'

Some days later, Izabela's disagreeable feelings had begun to wear off, and she started to regret her remarks to the Duchess about Wokulski. ‘He'll think me ready to marry him,' she said to herself.

Meanwhile, the Duchess had confided in Mrs Wąsowska, who was also staying with her, that Wokulski was coming to Zasławek, that he was a very rich widower, a man of the most unusual sort, who wanted to marry and who, perhaps, might fall in love with Izabela. Mrs Wąsowska listened to the remarks about Wokulski's fortune, widowed state and matrimonial qualifications in a very indifferent manner. But when the Duchess called him an unusual man, she grew curious: learning, however, that he might fall in love with Izabela, she recoiled like a pedigreed horse carelessly touched by a spur.

Mrs Wąsowska was the best of women, she had no thought of marrying again, and still less of stealing suitors from other women. But as long as she had her place in society, she could not allow a man to fall in love with any other woman except herself. They had the right to marry for money: Mrs Wąsowska was even prepared to help them do so — but as for adoration, that was her prerogative. Not because she considered herself very beautiful, but because she had a weakness in that respect.

Learning Izabela was to arrive that day, Mrs Wąsowska forced Wokulski to come riding. When she saw a dust-cloud on the high-road near the woods, raised by her rival's carriage, she turned aside into the fields and there made a great scene over her saddle, which failed.

Meanwhile, Izabela drove up to the palace. All the guests received her on the porch, and greeted her in almost identical terms: ‘You know,' the Duchess whispered, ‘Wokulski is here.'

‘All we wanted was you,' cried the Baron, ‘for Zasławek to be a perfect paradise. For we already have a very agreeable companion and eminent guest …'

Felicja Janocka took Izabela aside and, with tears in her voice, began: ‘You know, Wokulski is here. Ah, if only you knew what sort of man he is … But I'd sooner say nothing, or you too will think I'm interested in him … Well, just fancy, Mrs Wąsowska told him to go riding with her, just the two of them … If you'd seen how the poor man blushed! So did I. For I went fishing with him too, though only as far as the pond, and Julian was with us. As for going out riding with him! Not for anything in the world! I'd sooner die …'

Having evaded these greetings, Izabela went to the room appointed her. ‘That Wokulski aggravates me,' she murmured.

It was not really aggravation, but something else. On the way here, Izabela had felt dislike towards the Duchess for her urgent invitation, towards her aunt for ordering her to leave at once, and above all towards Wokulski. ‘So do they really want to give me to this parvenu?' she asked herself. ‘Ah, he will see what comes of this!'

She had been certain that the first person to welcome her would be Wokulski, and had decided to treat him with the utmost scorn. Yet Wokulski did not hasten to greet her, but had instead gone riding with Mrs Wąsowska. This affected Izabela in a disagreeable way, and she thought: ‘She's still a flirt, even though she's thirty.'

When the Baron called Wokulski an eminent guest, Izabela felt something like pride, but it was very fleeting. When Felicja, in a pointed way, betrayed she was jealous of Wokulski, something like alarm seized Izabela, though only for a moment. ‘Fela is a simpleton,' she told herself.

In a word: the contempt she had planned throughout her journey to demonstrate for Wokulski disappeared entirely in the face of such mixed feelings as slight anger, slight satisfaction and slight alarm. At this moment, Wokulski seemed to Izabela to be different from hitherto. He was not merely a haberdashery merchant, but a man who had just come back from Paris, who had a huge fortune and social contacts, whom the Baron admired and with whom Mrs Wąsowska flirted.

Hardly had Izabela time to change when the Duchess entered her room. ‘Bela, my dear,' said the old lady, after kissing her again, ‘why doesn't Joanna come to see me?'

‘Papa is poorly, she doesn't want to leave him.'

‘Pray don't say that. She won't come because she doesn't want to meet Wokulski, that's the secret,' said the Duchess, in some agitation. ‘She likes him when he pours out money for her orphanages … I must tell you, Bela, that your aunt will never have any sense.'

Her former spleen arose in Izabela. ‘Perhaps my aunt doesn't think it the thing to show such consideration for a tradesman,' she said, blushing.

‘A tradesman! … A tradesman!' cried the Duchess, ‘the Wokulskis are as genteel as the Starskis, or even the Zasławskis. As for being in trade … Bela, Wokulski has never sold what your aunt's grandfather sold … You can tell her so, when the opportunity arises. I prefer an honest tradesman to a dozen Austrian counts. I know perfectly well what their titles are worth.'

‘But you will grant that birth …'

The Duchess smiled ironically: ‘Believe me, Bela, birth is the last attribute of people who are born. As for purity of blood … Oh, Heavens, it is very fortunate that we don't concern ourselves overly much with checking such things. I may tell you that birth isn't worth mentioning to anyone as old as I. Such people usually remember grandfathers and fathers, and sometimes wonder why a grandson resembles a footman instead of his father. Much can be explained by looking closely.'

‘Yet you are very fond of Mr Wokulski,' Izabela murmured.