The Doll (98 page)

Whenever such doubts beset him like troublesome flies after a visit to Izabela, he hastened back to work. He checked accounts, learned English phrases, read new books. But when these didn't help, he walked to Mrs Stawska's, spent the whole evening in her apartment and, strangely enough, found, if not complete tranquillity then at least relief, in her company.

They talked of the most everyday things. Usually, she told him how business in the Miller store was steadily improving because people had learned that the store belonged mainly to Wokulski. Then she said that Helena was growing more and more well-mannered, and if she was ever naughty, then Grandmama frightened her by saying she'd tell Mr Wokulski, and the child stopped misbehaving at once. Then again she would mention Mr Rzecki, who sometimes called and was much liked by granny, because he told her many things about Mr Wokulski's life. And that granny also liked Mr Wirski, who quite simply adored Mr Wokulski.

Wokulski looked at her in surprise. To begin with, it occurred to him that this was flattery, and he felt disagreeably. But Mrs Stawska said these things with so much innocent simplicity that he slowly began to divine in her the best of friends who, though she overestimated him, was nevertheless speaking without a trace of deception.

He also noticed that Mrs Stawska was never concerned about herself. When she finished in the store, she would think about Helena, or help her mother, or worry about the servant's problems and those of many other people, mostly poor and unable to show their gratitude by anything. And when these were lacking, she would peep into the canary's cage, to change its water or sprinkle grain.

‘The heart of an angel!' thought Wokulski. One evening he said to her: ‘Do you know what strikes me when I look at you?'

She glanced at him in alarm.

‘That if you were to touch a badly hurt person, not only would the pain leave them, but surely their wounds would heal.'

‘You think me a witch?' she asked, very troubled.

‘No, madam. I think the saints must have looked like you.'

‘Mr Wokulski is right,' affirmed Mrs Misiewicz.

Mrs Stawska began laughing. ‘Oh, the saints — and me!' she replied. ‘If anyone could look into my heart, he'd realise how much I deserve condemnation … But now it is all the same to me,' she added, with despair in her voice.

Mrs Misiewicz imperceptibly crossed herself, but Wokulski did not notice. He was thinking of another woman.

Mrs Stawska could not describe her feelings for Wokulski. She had known him by sight for several years, he had even impressed her as a handsome man, but he never concerned her. Then Wokulski vanished from Warsaw, the news spread that he had gone to Bulgaria, and later that he had made a great fortune. He was much talked of, and Mrs Stawska began to grow interested in him as an object of public curiosity. When one of her acquaintance said of Wokulski: ‘That's a man with diabolical energy,' Mrs Stawska liked the phrase ‘diabolical energy', and she made up her mind to observe Wokulski more closely.

With this purpose in mind she sometimes called at the store. A few times she did not find Wokulski there at all, once she saw him, but from the side, and once she exchanged a few words with him. Then he made a peculiar impression on her. She was struck by the contrast between the phrase ‘diabolical energy' and his manner: he did not look in the least diabolical, rather he was calm and sorrowful. And she noticed one other thing: he had large, dreamy eyes, so very dreamy …

‘A handsome man,' she thought.

One summer day she had met him in the gateway of the house she lived in. Wokulski looked at her with interest, and she was overcome with such embarrassment that she blushed to the roots of her hair. She was vexed with herself for this embarrassment and blushing, and had been cross with Wokulski for a long time because he looked at her so curiously.

From that time on, she had been unable to conceal her embarrassment whenever his name was mentioned in her presence: she felt a sort of compunction, but did not know whether it was for him or for herself. But it was rather for herself, for she never felt compunction for other people; and in the end — what fault was it of his that she should be so absurd and embarrassed without any cause?

When Wokulski bought the house she was living in, and when Rzecki lowered the rent with his approval, Mrs Stawska (although they explained

‘He's an extraordinary man,' Mrs Misiewicz would tell her, sometimes. Mrs Stawska listened in silence, but gradually decided that Wokulski was the most extraordinary man who existed in this world.

After Wokulski's return from Paris, the old clerk visited Mrs Stawska more often, and made ever greater confidences in her. He said — as a very great secret, of course — that Wokulski was in love with Miss Łęcka and that he, Rzecki, didn't approve at all.

Dislike for Miss Łęcka and sympathy for Wokulski began increasing within Mrs Stawska. Already at that time it occurred to her, though only for a moment, that Wokulski must be terribly unhappy, and that anyone who extricated him from the wiles of the coquette would be most deserving.

Later, two great catastrophes befell Mrs Stawska: the trial over the doll, and the loss of her earnings. Not only did Wokulski continue his acquaintance with her, which after all he need not have done; but he even exonerated her in court, and offered her a well-paid post in the store. Then Mrs Stawska admitted to herself that this man concerned her, and that he was as dear to her as Helena and her mother.

From that time on, a strange life began for her. Everyone who visited them spoke to her of Wokulski, either directly or by implication. Mrs Denowa, Mrs Kolerowa and Mrs Radzińska explained to her that Wokulski was the best match in Warsaw; her mother insisted that Ludwik was dead and, even if he weren't, then he didn't deserve to have her remember him. Finally Rzecki, whenever he called, told her that his Staś was unhappy, that he must be saved and that the only person who could save him was herself.

‘How?' she asked, not understanding properly what she was saying.

‘Love him, and a way will be found,' Rzecki replied.

She did not reply, but privately reproached herself bitterly because she could not love Wokulski, although she wanted to. Her heart had dried up: she wasn't even sure whether she still had one. Admittedly, she thought continuously of Wokulski during her work in the store, or at home; she looked forward to his visits, and was irritable and sad when he didn't come. She often dreamed about him, but that, after all, is not love; she was not capable of love. To tell the truth, she had even stopped loving her husband. It seemed to her that memories of the absent are like a tree in autumn, from which leaves fall in drifts, leaving only a black skeleton.

‘What has love to do with me?' she thought, ‘all passion is spent in me.'

Meanwhile, Rzecki was still carrying on his sly plans. First he told her that Miss Łęcka would ruin Wokulski, then that only another woman could bring him to his senses; then he confided that Wokulski was much more tranquil in her company and finally (though he said this in the form of an implication) that Wokulski was beginning to love her.

Influenced by these confidences, Mrs Stawska grew thinner, looked poorly, even began to be afraid. For she was dominated by one thought: what would she say if Wokulski were to confess that he loved her? Admittedly her heart had long since died, but would she have the courage to reject him, and admit that nothing concerned her any more? Could she not be concerned by a man such as he, not because she owed him something, but because he was unhappy, and loved her? ‘What woman,' she thought, ‘could not but take pity on a heart so deeply wounded, and so silent in its pain?'

Plunged in this inner conflict, which she could not confide in anyone, Mrs Stawska failed to notice the changes in Mrs Miller's attitude, her smiles and insinuations.

‘How's Mr Wokulski?' the shop woman would sometimes ask. ‘Today you look wretched … Mr Wokulski ought not to let you work so …'

One day, about the middle of March, Mrs Stawska came home to find her mother in tears. ‘What is it, mama? … What has happened?' she inquired.

‘Nothing, nothing, my child. Am I to poison your life with gossip? Good God, how detestable people are!'

‘You must have had an anonymous letter. I keep getting anonymous letters every few days, which call me Wokulski's mistress, but what of it? I guess it is the work of Baroness Krzeszowska, and throw the letters into the fire.'

‘No, no, my child … If it were only an anonymous letter … But that worthy Mrs Denowa and Mrs Radzińska were here today … But why should I poison your life? They say (apparently it's to be heard all over town) that instead of going to the shop, you visit Wokulski …'

For the first time in her life, a lioness awoke in Mrs Stawska. She raised her head high, her eyes flashed and she replied firmly: ‘Even if it were so, what then?'

‘For goodness sake, what are you saying!' her mother groaned, pressing her hands together.

‘What if it were so?' Mrs Stawska insisted.

‘And your husband?'

‘Where is he? Anyway, let him kill me …'

‘But your daughter? … Little Helena?' the old lady whispered.

‘Let's not talk of her, but of me …'

‘Helena … my child … But you aren't …?'

‘His mistress? No, I'm not, because he hasn't asked me. What do I care for Mrs Denowa or Mrs Radzińska, or my husband who has deserted me? I don't know what has come over me … I only feel that this man has taken away my soul.'

‘Be sensible, at least … Besides …'

‘I am, as far as I can be. But I care nothing for a world that condemns two people to torture, simply because they love one another. Hatred is allowed,' she added, with a bitter smile, ‘stealing, killing — everything is allowed, except love. Ah, mama, if I am not right, then why did not Christ say to people “Be sensible” instead of “Love one another”?'

Mrs Misiewicz fell silent, alarmed by this unexpected outburst. She felt that the heavens were falling when such phrases came from the lips of this dove, the like of which she had never heard, never read, which had never occurred to her, not even when she had typhus.

Next day Rzecki called: he entered with a troubled expression, and when she told him everything, he left, broken. Because that very day, an incident had occurred: who had come to the store to see Szlangbaum but Maruszewicz, and they'd talked for nearly an hour. The other clerks, on hearing that Szlangbaum was buying the store, had grown meek before him at once. But Ignacy stiffened, and when Maruszewicz left, he immediately inquired: ‘What business do you have with that scoundrel, Henryk?'

But Szlangbaum had already stiffened too, so he replied to Mr Rzecki, thrusting out his lower lip: ‘Maruszewicz wants to borrow money for the Baron and obtain a position for himself, for they're already saying in town that Wokulski is handing his company over to me. He promises me in return that the Baron and Baroness will call on me, at home.'

‘And will you receive such a viper?' asked Rzecki.

‘Why ever not? The Baron will be for me, and the Baroness for my wife. In my soul, I'm a democrat, but what am I to do, if foolish people think a drawing-room looks better with barons and counts in it than it does without 'em? A lot is done for the sake of social contacts, Mr Rzecki.'

‘I congratulate you.'

‘Well, well …' Szlangbaum added. ‘Maruszewicz also told me it's going about town — that Staś has started keeping that … that Stawska. Is it true, Mr Rzecki?'

The old clerk spat at his feet and went back to his desk.

Towards evening he called on Mrs Misiewicz to take council with her, and he learned from her own mother that Mrs Stawska was not Wokulski's mistress simply because he hadn't asked her.

He left Mrs Misiewicz in despair: ‘Let her be his mistress,' he said to himself. ‘Oh, goodness … How many well-known ladies are the mistresses of the vilest fellows … But the worst is that Wokulski doesn't think about her at all. Here's a fine to-do! Ha, something will have to be done.'

But as he couldn't think of anything, he went to Dr Szuman.

T
HE DOCTOR
was sitting by a lamp, with a green lampshade, industriously looking through a heap of papers.

‘What's this?' Rzecki inquired, ‘are you working on human hair again? Goodness, what a quantity of figures … Like a store ledger.'

‘That's because they are the accounts of your stores and your company,' Szuman replied.

‘Where did you get them?'

‘I've had enough, Szlangbaum is trying to persuade me to entrust my capital to him. As I prefer having six thousand a year to four thousand, I'm prepared to listen to his suggestions. But as I don't like acting in the dark, I asked for figures. Well, as I see, we shall do business.'

Rzecki was surprised. ‘I never thought,' he said, ‘that you would concern yourself with such matters.'

‘That's because I've been stupid,' the doctor replied with a shrug. ‘Wokulski has made a fortune before my very eyes, Szlangbaum is making one, and here I sit like a stone on my few pennies. He who doesn't go ahead, retreats.'

‘But making money isn't your concern!'

‘Why isn't it? Not everyone can be a poet or a hero, but everyone needs money,' said Szuman. ‘Money is the larder of the noblest force in nature — human labour. It's the “open sesame” at which all doors fly open, it's the table-cloth on which one can always find a dinner, it's the Aladdin's lamp, by rubbing which everything one wants is to be had. Magic gardens, splendid palaces, beautiful princesses, faithful servants, friends ready to make sacrifices — all these are to be had with money.'

Rzecki bit his lip: ‘You were not always of this opinion,' he said.