The Doll

  Both carriages approached one another rapidly. There was a violent cracking of a whip, cries and the waving of handkerchiefs from the brake: while in the other carriage, the Baron was leaning still further out and trembling with excitement. The carriage stopped, but the brake passed it headlong in a storm of laughter and cries, and stopped a dozen yards away. Clearly something was being discussed in a noisy manner, and must have been decided, for all the company got out and the brake drove on.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Wokulski!’ someone cried from the box, waving a long whip. Wokulski recognised Ochocki. The Baron ran towards the company. A lady in a white scarf, carrying a white lace parasol, came slowly towards him, her hands outstretched, the wide sleeves falling away. The Baron took off his hat at a distance and, on reaching his fiancée, almost buried himself in her sleeve. After an outburst of emotion which, though to him was short, seemed very long to the spectators, the Baron suddenly recollected himself and said: ‘Madam, allow me to introduce Mr Wokulski, my best friend … As he will be staying here some time, I hereby call upon him to take my place at your side when I am away.’

  He again implanted several kisses in the depths of the sleeve, from which a beautiful hand stretched towards Wokulski. He pressed it, and felt an icy chill: he looked at the lady in the white scarf and saw a pale face with huge eyes, in which sorrow and fear were apparent.

  ‘An unusual fiancée,’ he thought.

  ‘Mr Wokulski,’ cried the Baron, turning to two ladies and a man who had by now approached: ‘Mr Starski …’ he added.

  ‘I’ve already had the pleasure,’ said Starski, taking his hat off.

  ‘I too,’ Wokulski replied.

  ‘How shall we fit in now?’ asked the Baron, seeing that the brake had driven up.

  ‘Let us all ride together,’ cried a young blonde girl whom Wokulski guessed to be Felicja Janocka.

  ‘There are two seats in our carriage,’ observed the Baron, sweetly.

  ‘I understand, but none of that,’ exclaimed a lady in a red dress, with a beautiful contralto voice, ‘the engaged couple will come with us, and Mr Ochocki and Mr Starski can go in the carriage, if they like.’

  ‘Why me?’ asked Ochocki from the box.

  ‘Or I?’ added Starski.

  ‘Because Mr Ochocki drives atrociously, and Mr Starski is impossible,’ said the widow firmly.

  Now Wokulski noticed that this lady had superb chestnut hair and black eyes, and her entire countenance was lively and energetic.

  ‘So you dismiss me already?’ Starski sighed in a droll manner.

  ‘You know I always dismiss admirers who bore me. Now, let us get in, ladies and gentlemen. The engaged couple first. Fela next to Ewelina.’

  ‘Oh no,’ the blonde girl protested, ‘I shall get in last, for grandmama does not let me sit next to the engaged couple.’

  The Baron, with more elegance than skill, handed in his fiancée, and sat down opposite her. Then the widow took the seat next to the Baron, Starski next to the fiancée, and Felicja next to him.

  ‘If you please …’ the widow cried to Wokulski, drawing in the folds of her red dress, which had spread over half the seat. Wokulski sat down opposite Felicja, and noticed that the young lady was looking at him with admiration and surprise, blushing now and then.

  ‘Couldn’t we ask Mr Ochocki to give the reins back to the driver?’ asked the widow.

  ‘My dear lady, why are you everlastingly squabbling with me?’ Ochocki said, vexed, ‘I am going to drive …’

  ‘I give you my word I shall kill you if you have an upset.’

  ‘That remains to be seen,’ Ochocki replied.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, did you hear that?’ the widow cried, ‘is there no one to take my part?’

  ‘I’ll be revenged for you,’ put in Starski in rather faulty Polish, ‘let the two of us move into the carriage.’

  The pretty widow shrugged, the Baron again kissed his fiancée’s hands, and Felicja blushed. Wokulski glanced at the fiancée. She noticed him, replied with a glance of scorn and suddenly changed from profound misery to childish merriment. She gave the Baron her hand for more kissing, and even touched him accidently with her foot. Her admirer was so excited that he turned pale and his lips grew livid.

  ‘But you have no idea of how to drive!’ the widow cried, trying to poke Ochocki with the tip of her parasol. At this moment Wokulski jumped out. At the same time, the first pair of horses turned into the middle of the road, the other pair after them, and the brake tilted violently to the left. Wokulski held it up and the horses, reined in by a courier, stopped.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you that monster would upset us?’ the widow cried. ‘What next, Mr Starski?’

  Wokulski looked into the brake, and saw this momentary scene: Felicja was shaking with laughter, Starski had fallen face downwards on the pretty widow’s lap, the Baron was clutching the courier and his fiancée, pale with fright, had seized hold of the box with one hand and Starski’s arm with the other.

  The brake righted itself in the twinkling of an eye, and everything went back to its proper place. Only Felicja was still shrieking with laughter.

  ‘I don’t understand, Fela, how you can laugh at a moment like this,’ exclaimed the fiancée.

  ‘Why not? Nothing terrible could happen. After all, Mr Wokulski is riding with us,’ said the young lady. However, she recollected herself and, blushing still more, first hid her face in both hands, then peeped at Wokulski as much as to say she was very offended.

  ‘As for me, I am prepared to subscribe to several accidents like that,’ Starski cried, looking significantly at the widow.

  ‘On condition I am protected from proofs of your feelings,’ replied the widow, frowning and taking the place opposite Wokulski.

  ‘Come now, you yourself said today that widows are permitted everything.’

  ‘But widows do not permit everything. No, Mr Starski, you must unlearn those Japanese customs.’

  ‘They are universal customs,’ Starski replied.

  ‘Not of the half of the world I am used to,’ the widow interrupted, grimacing and looking at the road.

  Silence fell in the brake. The Baron was twirling his grizzled moustache with relish, and his fiancée became miserable again. Felicja, having taken the widow’s seat next to Wokulski, almost turned her back on him, casting scornful and melancholy glances at him from time to time. Why? He did not know.

  ‘I expect you ride well,’ Mrs Wąsowska said to Wokulski.

  ‘What makes you think so?’

  ‘Oh come — please answer my question.’

  ‘Not very well, but I ride.’

  ‘I am sure you ride well, for you instantly divined what the horses would do in the hands of such a master as Julian. We’ll ride together … Mr Ochocki, from today I excuse you from riding with me.’

  ‘I am very pleased to hear it,’ Ochocki retorted.

  ‘Oh, what a charming way to answer a lady!’ cried Felicja.

  ‘I’d sooner answer them than ride out with them. When Mrs Wąsowska and I last went riding, I fell off my horse six times in two hours, and wasn’t easy for five minutes together. Let Mr Wokulski try now.’

  ‘Fela, tell that person I am not speaking to him,’ exclaimed the widow, pointing to Ochocki.

  ‘Young man,’ said Fela, ‘this lady refuses to speak to you. She says you are common.’

  ‘What! Now you yearn for the company of men with nice manners?’ asked Starski, ‘pray try, perhaps I’ll let myself be induced to apologise.’

  ‘When did you leave Paris?’ the widow asked Wokulski.

  ‘A week tomorrow.’

  ‘And to think I haven’t been there for four months … It’s my favourite city.’

  ‘Zasławek!’ Ochocki announced, and raised his whip to execute a tremendous crack which, however, did not come off, because the whip, clumsily thrown back, caught amidst the ladies’ parasols and the gentlemen’s hats.

  ‘Really, ladies an
d gentlemen,’ cried the widow, ‘if you want me to come riding with you, you must tie that man up. Quite frankly, he’s dangerous.’

  An uproar started in the brake again, because Ochocki was supported by Felicja: she insisted that he drove well for a beginner, and accidents will happen to even the most careful drivers. ‘Fela, my dear,’ replied the widow, ‘you’re at the age when anyone with fine eyes is a good driver.’

  ‘Today my appetite will be really good,’ said the Baron to his fiancée, but, on realising he had spoken too loudly, he began whispering again.

  They had already reached the Duchess’s estate, and Wokulski could see the residence. On a fairly high though gentle hill stood a one-storey palace with two wings. Behind it were the ancient and green trees of a park; in front stretched what looked like a broad meadow, cut by paths, adorned here and there with a clump of trees, a statue or a summer-house. At the foot of the hill a wide expanse of water gleamed, evidently a pond, on which boats and swans were rocking. Against its green background, the palace — bright yellow in colour, with white pillars — looked both imposing and inviting. Brick outbuildings were to be seen among the trees to right and left.

  To the whip-cracking which Ochocki succeeded in producing this time, the brake drove across a marble bridge in front of the palace — with only one wheel going over the lawn. The travellers descended, though Ochocki did not hand over the reins and drove the carriage around to the stable. ‘Remember, lunch is at one o’clock,’ Felicja called.

  An old servant in a black frock-coat approached the Baron: ‘Her ladyship,’ he said, ‘is in the pantry. Perhaps the gentlemen will go to their rooms?’ After ushering them into the left wing, he showed Wokulski into a large room, its open windows overlooking the park. A moment later, a lad in livery hurried in, bringing water, and set about unpacking the valise.

  Wokulski looked out of the window. In front stretched a lawn adorned with clumps of old spruce, birch and linden trees, beyond which wooded hills were visible. Immediately by the windows was a clump of lilacs, with a nest in it, to which sparrows were flying. The warm September breeze entered the room from time to time, bringing indefinable scents.

  The guest gazed at the clouds, which seemed to touch the tree-tops, at the shafts of light which fell between the dark branches of the spruces, and was content. He did not think of Izabela. Her image, burning within his soul, had dissolved in the face of the simple pleasures of nature: his sick heart fell silent, and for the first time in a long while, tranquillity and calm enveloped him.

  But, recollecting he was here on a visit, he hastily began dressing. Hardly had he finished, than there came a light tap and the old servant entered: ‘Her ladyship invites you to table.’

  Wokulski followed him. They entered a corridor and soon were in a large dining-room, its walls panelled half-way up with dark wood. Felicja was talking to Ochocki in a window, while the Duchess was seated in a chair with high arms, between Mrs Wąsowska and the Baron. Seeing her guest, she rose and took a few steps forward: ‘Welcome, Stanisław,’ she said, ‘thank you for taking my advice.’ But when Wokulski bowed over her hand, she kissed him on the brow, which made a certain impression on those present.

  ‘Sit here, by Kazia. And do you, pray, take care of him,’ she said.

  ‘Mr Wokulski deserves it,’ the widow replied, ‘had it not been for his presence of mind, Mr Ochocki would have broken our bones for us.’

  ‘Whatever next!’

  ‘He can’t even drive a pair of horses, yet he tried his hand on a foursome. I preferred him when he spent his time fishing.’

  ‘Good God!’ Ochocki groaned, greeting Wokulski cordially, ‘thank goodness I’m not going to marry that woman!’

  ‘My good man … if you’re proposing yourself to me as a husband, you had better remain a coachman,’ cried Mrs Wąsowska.

  ‘They’re always squabbling,’ said the Duchess with a smile.

  Ewelina Janocka entered, and a few minutes later Starski came in by another door. They greeted the Duchess, who responded cordially, though gravely. Lunch was served.

  ‘In my house, Stanisław,’ said the Duchess, ‘the custom is that we are only obliged to meet at table. Apart from that, everyone does as he chooses. I recommend, therefore, that if you are afraid of boredom, you dance attendance on Kazia Wąsowska.’

  ‘I’m taking Mr Wokulski into my charge at once,’ the widow replied.

  ‘Aha!’ the Duchess murmured, glancing fleetingly at her guest.

  Felicja blushed for goodness knows how many times that day, and asked Ochocki for wine. ‘No, no … water, please,’ she corrected herself. Ochocki obeyed, shaking his head as he did so, and making a very desperate gesture.

  After luncheon, during which Ewelina spoke to no one but the Baron and Starski flirted with the black-eyed widow, the guests bade goodbye to their hostess and separated. Ochocki went up to the attic of the palace where, in a small room especially arranged for the purpose, he had established a meteorological observatory, the Baron and fiancée went into the park and the Duchess detained Wokulski.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘since first impressions are often correct — how do you like Mrs Wąsowska?’

  ‘She seems a lively and vivacious woman.’

  ‘You are right. And the Baron?’

  ‘I hardly know him. He’s an old man.’

  ‘Oh, dear, yes, very old,’ the Duchess sighed, ‘but nevertheless he wants to get married. And what have you to say of his fiancée?’

  ‘I don’t know her at all, though it surprises me that she should care for the Baron who may, of course, be the most excellent of men.’

  ‘Yes, she’s a strange girl,’ said the Duchess, ‘and I may tell you I’m starting to lose my heart to her. I’m not going to interfere in her marriage, since more than one girl envies her, and everyone says she’s made a good match. But what she was to have received after my death will go to others. Anyone who has the Baron’s millions doesn’t need my twenty thousand.’ Vexation was to be heard in the old lady’s voice.

  Soon she dismissed Wokulski and advised him to walk in the park. He went into the yard, and walked around the left wing where the kitchens were, and into the park. Later on, the two first observations he made in Zasławek often came into his mind. In the first place he noted a kennel not far from the kitchens, and in front of it a dog on a chain, which, on seeing a stranger, began barking, howling and leaping up as if it had rabies. But as the dog had a cheerful look and was wagging its tail, Wokulski patted it, which brought about such an influx of good humour in the fierce beast that it would not let the guest go. He howled, snapped at his clothes, lay down on the ground as if to demand a caress or at least the sight of a human face. ‘A strange watch-dog,’ Wokulski thought.

  At this moment another strange sight emerged from the kitchen: a fat old farm labourer. Wokulski, who had never before seen a fat peasant, entered into a conversation with him: ‘Why do you keep this dog on a chain?’

  ‘To make him ferocious and prevent thieves coming into the house,’ said the peasant with a smile.

  ‘But why not take on a vicious dog?’

  ‘Her ladyship wouldn’t keep a nasty-tempered dog. Here even the dogs must be good-natured.’

  ‘As for you, old fellow, what do you do?’

  ‘I’m the bee-keeper, but before that I was the steward. When a bull smashed my ribs, her ladyship set me bee-keeping.’

  ‘Are you happy?’

  ‘At first, without work, I was sick — but later I got used to it, and now I am.’

  Saying goodbye to the peasant, Wokulski turned into the park and walked about for a long time in a linden grove, not thinking. He seemed to have come here surfeited and poisoned by the uproar of Paris, the noise of Warsaw, the rattle of railroad trains and all the uneasiness and pain he had lived through, all of which were now evaporating. Had he been asked ‘What is the countryside?’ he would have replied: ‘It is peace.’

  Then he heard some
one running after him. Ochocki caught up with him, carrying two fishing-rods. ‘Wasn’t Felicja here?’ he asked, ‘she was to have come fishing with me at two-thirty … But there’s a woman’s idea of punctuality for you! Perhaps you’ll come with us? But you’d rather not … Perhaps you’d sooner play piquet with Starski? He’s already ready for that, except when he can find partners for whist.’

  ‘What is Mr Starski doing here?’

  ‘What do you think? He’s living with his grandmother, who is also his godmother — the Duchess Zasławska, and now he’s worrying that he certainly won’t inherit her fortune. A fine penny, too — some three hundred thousand roubles! But the Duchess prefers to support foundlings rather than the casino at Monaco! Poor devil!’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Hm! He’ll get nothing from his grandmother, and has broken with Kazia — so he may as well shoot himself. You must know, sir,’ Ochocki went on, fidgeting with the rod, ‘that at one time the present Mrs Wąsowska, while still unmarried, had a weakness for Starski. Kazio and Kazia — a well-chosen pair, eh? Apparently Mrs Kazia came here three weeks ago still influenced by this idea (she has a nice little fortune from her late husband — possibly as much as the Duchess, even!) They got on well for a few days, and Kazio even realised a new bill of exchange with a Jew on account of the dowry, but then — something went wrong. Mrs Wąsowska simply laughs at Kazio, while he pretends to put a good face on things. In a word, it’s bad! He’ll have to give up his travelling, and settle down on some sandy farm until his uncle dies — in fact, he’s been ill for a long time with a stone.’

  ‘But what has Mr Starski been doing up to now?’

  ‘Getting into debt, mainly. He gambled a little, travelled a little (mainly, though, in the bars of Paris and London, as I really can’t believe in that China of his), and specialising in turning the heads of young married women. He’s a past master at that, and has such a reputation that married women can’t resist him, while unmarried girls believe that anyone Starski begins flirting with will immediately find a husband. It’s as good a pastime as any!’