The Doll

  ‘A coarse man … a businessman … an egoist,’ thought the Prince — but he was increasingly surprised by the impudence of the parvenu.

  Chance had it that Mr Łęcki, unable to cover up the fact that Wokulski was courting Izabela, asked the Prince for his opinion of Wokulski, and for advice. Now, despite his manifold weaknesses, the Prince was basically honest. In stating an opinion about other people, he did not depend on his own views alone, but obtained others. So he asked Mr Łęcki for a few weeks’ delay ‘to form my own opinion’, and, since he had many social contacts and a sort of police force of his own, he found out various things. First, he observed that the gentry, though they sneered at Wokulski as a parvenu and a democrat, boasted of him on the quiet: ‘Plainly he’s one of us, even though he went into trade.’

  Moreover, whenever the question arose of putting up someone against the Jewish bankers, the most obdurate gentry chose Wokulski. Tradesmen, and manufacturers above all, hated Wokulski, but the most serious complaints they could make against him were ‘He’s a gentleman … a great gentleman … a diplomat,’ which the Prince could in no way hold against him.

  But the most interesting information was supplied to the Prince by nuns. There was a coachman in Warsaw, and his brother, a railroad man on the Warsaw—Vienna line, who both blessed Wokulski. There were students, who announced that Wokulski was paying them stipends; there were craftsman who owed him their workshops, and pedlars whom Wokulski had helped establish stores.

  There was also (as the sisters declared, with pious horror and blushes), there was also a fallen woman, whom Wokulski had saved from destitution, handed over to the Magdalenes, and finally made an honest woman of, as far (so the nuns said) as such an individual could ever be an honest woman.

  These accounts surprised and also alarmed the Prince. And at once Wokulski grew more powerful in his estimation. Here, after all, was a man with his own programme, who was even practising politics on his own account, and who had a great deal of importance amidst common folk. So, when the Prince came to Mr Łęcki at the appointed time, he did not fail to visit Izabela too. He pressed her hand in a significant manner, and said these enigmatic words: ‘My dear cousin, you have an unusual bird in hand. Hold him, pet him, so he will grow up to be of use to our unhappy country …’

  Izabela blushed a great deal: she guessed that this unusual bird was Wokulski.

  ‘Tyrant … despot …’ she thought, Nevertheless, the first ice had been broken in Wokulski’s relations with Izabela. She was already making up her mind to marry him.

  One day, when Mr Łęcki was poorly and Izabela reading in her boudoir, she was told that Mrs Wąsowska was waiting in the drawing-room. Izabela at once hastened thither and found, as well as Mrs Wąsowska, her cousin Ochocki, who was very sullen. Both ladies kissed with demonstrative affection, but Ochocki, who could see without looking, noticed that either one of them or both was vexed with the other, though not very much. ‘Can it be on my account?’ he thought, ‘one should never get too involved.’

  ‘You here, too, cousin!’ said Izabela, giving him her hand, ‘why so sad?’

  ‘He ought to be cheerful,’ Mrs Wąsowska interrupted, ‘for he has been flirting with me all the way from the bank, and to very good purpose. On the corner of the Boulevard I let him undo two buttons on my glove, and kiss my hand. If you knew, Bela, how little he knows about kissing …’

  ‘Is that so?’ exclaimed Ochocki, blushing to the roots of his hair, ‘very well! From now on, I will never kiss your hand again. I swear it!’

  ‘You will kiss them both before this day is over,’ Mrs Wąsowska retorted.

  ‘May I pay my respects to Mr Łęcki?’ Ochocki asked formally, and without waiting for Izabela to reply he walked out of the room.

  ‘You embarrassed him,’ said Izabela.

  ‘He shouldn’t flirt if he doesn’t know how. In such things, clumsiness is a mortal sin. Isn’t it?’

  ‘When did you get back?’

  ‘Yesterday morning,’ Mrs Wąsowska replied, ‘but I had to go to the bank twice, and to the stores, and to set things right at home. Meanwhile, Ochocki is helping me until I find someone more diverting. If you can surrender someone more interesting …’ she added pointedly.

  ‘What rumours are these!’ said Izabela, blushing.

  ‘They even reached me in the country. Starski was telling me, not without envy, that this year as always you, of course, are the queen. Apparently Szatalski has quite lost his head.’

  ‘And both his boring friends, too,’ Izabela put in, with a smile. ‘All three fall in love with me each evening, each has proposed to me at a time which wouldn’t interfere with the others, and later all three confided their sorrows in one another. These gentlemen do everything in company.’

  ‘And what did you have to say?’

  Izabela shrugged. ‘Do you really want me to tell you?’ she asked.

  ‘I also heard,’ Mrs Wąsowska said, ‘that Wokulski has proposed.’

  Izabela began toying with the fringe of her gown: ‘Well, he proposed! He proposes to me whenever he sees me: whether he’s looking at me, or not — speaking or not … like all men.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘For the time being, I am proceeding with my campaign.’

  ‘May one know what it is?’

  ‘Of course, I don’t want it to be a secret. First, while I was still at the Duchess’s … how is she?’

  ‘Very poorly,’ Mrs Wąsowska replied, ‘Starski hardly leaves her room now, and the notary comes every day, but apparently in vain … So, what of the campaign?’

  ‘While I was at Zasławek,’ Izabela went on, ‘I mentioned disposing of his store (here a blush came over her) and now it’s to be sold by June at the latest.’

  ‘Capital! What next?’

  ‘I’m having trouble with that trading company. He would jettison it immediately, of course, but I am in two minds. With the company, his income is about ninety thousand roubles and only thirty thousand without it, so you can understand my hesitation is natural.’

  ‘I see you’re becoming an expert in figures.’

  Izabela made a contemptuous gesture: ‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll never understand them. But he explains it to … father too, and aunt.’

  ‘Do you speak so openly to him?’

  ‘Well, no … But because we aren’t allowed to ask so many things, we have to guide conversations so that everything is told us. Surely you know that?’

  ‘Of course. And what next?’ Mrs Wąsowska asked, not without a trace of impatience.

  ‘The last condition concerns a purely moral aspect. I have learned that he has no family, which is his greatest virtue, and I have reserved the right to keep all my friends.’

  ‘And he agreed without protesting?’

  Izabela gazed rather scornfully at her friend. ‘Can you doubt it?’ she said.

  ‘Not for a moment. So — Starski, Szatalski …’

  ‘Yes, Starski, Szatalski, the Prince, Malborg … In a word, all the men it pleases me to choose today and in future, all of them must be guests in my home. Can it be otherwise?’

  ‘Quite right. But don’t you fear jealous scenes?’

  Izabela laughed: ‘Me in scenes! … Jealousy and Wokulski! … ha ha ha! There is no man in the world would dare make a scene to me, least of all he. You have no idea of his adoration, his surrender … And his limitless trust, even his yielding of his own individuality — really disarm me. Who knows whether they alone are not attaching me to him?’

  Mrs Wąsowska imperceptibly bit her lip. ‘You’ll both be very happy, or at least … you will,’ she said, controlling a sigh. ‘Although …’

  ‘Do you see an “although?”’ Izabela asked, with unfeigned surprise.

  ‘Let me tell you something,’ Mrs Wąsowska went on, in a tone of calmness unusual for her, ‘the Duchess is very fond of Wokulski, it seems to me she knows him very well, though I don’t know how, and she has often talked of him to me. Do
you know what she once said?’

  ‘You intrigue me,’ replied Izabela, increasingly surprised.

  ‘She said, “I’m afraid Bela doesn’t understand Wokulski at all. I think she’s playing with him, but he is not a man to be played with. Also, it seems to me that she will appreciate him — but too late.”’

  ‘The Duchess said that?’ asked Izabela coolly.

  ‘Yes! Anyway, I’ll tell you it all. She ended her remarks with a phrase that moved me strangely: “Mark my words, Kazia, that it will be so, for people who are dying can see clearly.”’

  ‘Is she so ill?’

  ‘She is certainly very poorly,’ Mrs Wąsowska ended drily, feeling that the conversation was beginning to terminate.

  A moment of silence followed, fortunately interrupted by Ochocki’s reappearance. Once again Mrs Wąsowska very cordially said goodbye to Izabela, and, with a fiery glance at her companion, said: ‘Now let’s go home for lunch.’

  Ochocki made a great face, meant to indicate he would do no such thing. But, after scowling some more, he took his hat and they left. When they were in the carriage, he turned aside from Mrs Wąsowska to gaze into the street, and began: ‘If only Bela would finish one way or the other with Wokulski …’

  ‘You, of course, would prefer it to finish this way, rather than the other, so as to become one of the family friends. But there’s nothing doing,’ said Mrs Wąsowska.

  ‘If you please, madam,’ he replied indignantly, ‘that isn’t my game … I leave it to Starski and his like …’

  ‘Why does it concern you, then, that Bela should finish?’

  ‘A great deal. I’d give my right arm that Wokulski knows some important scientific secret, but I’m certain he won’t come out with it while he’s in this state of fever. Ah, these women, with their sickening coquetry.’

  ‘Is yours any better?’ asked Mrs Wąsowska.

  ‘We are allowed …’

  ‘You are? Proud fellow!’ she was indignant, ‘so speaks a progressive man in the age of emancipation!’

  ‘May the devil take emancipation!’ Ochocki replied. ‘Emancipation, indeed! You women would like to have all the privileges of men, but no obligations. Open the door for them, vacate the places man has paid for, fall in love with ’em, and they …’

  ‘That’s because we are your happiness,’ Mrs Wąsowska replied mockingly.

  ‘What sort of happiness is it? There are a hundred and five women to every hundred men, so why should we worry?’

  ‘No doubt your admirers, the cloakroom girls, won’t.’

  ‘Of course not! The most insufferable women are the great ladies, and waitresses in restaurants. The demands they make, and how they turn up their noses!’

  ‘You forget yourself,’ said Mrs Wąsowska, haughtily.

  ‘Let me kiss your hand, then,’ he replied, instantly carrying out his intention.

  ‘Not that hand, if you please.’

  ‘This one, then …’

  ‘There now, didn’t I say you’d kiss both my hands before the day was out?’

  ‘Upon my soul! … I don’t intend to lunch with you … I’ll get out.’

  ‘Stop the carriage!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, if you want to get out?’

  ‘Not just here … Oh, how unfortunate I am with such a wretched disposition as mine!’

  Wokulski came to the Łęckis’ every few days, and usually only found Mr Tomasz, who greeted him with paternal affection, and then would talk for several hours about his ailments or business interests, gently giving him to understand he considered him a member of the family already.

  As a rule, Izabela wasn’t home: she was at her aunt’s, or with the Countess or friends, or out shopping. But if Wokulski was lucky, they spoke briefly together about unimportant matters, since Izabela was always on the point of going somewhere, or expecting visitors.

  A few days after Mrs Wąsowska’s visit, Wokulski found Izabela at home. Giving him her hand which, as usual, he kissed with pious veneration, she said: ‘Do you know, sir, that the Duchess is very poorly?’

  Wokulski was taken aback: ‘Poor, worthy old lady … If I were sure my arrival wouldn’t alarm her, I’d go … Does she have people to look after her?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Izabela replied. ‘Baron Dalski is there, with his wife,’ she smiled, ‘for Ewelina has already married the Baron. Fela Janocka is there, and … Starski.’

  A slight blush appeared on her face, and she fell silent.

  ‘Such are the consequences of my tactlessness,’ thought Wokulski. ‘She has noticed that Starski is odious to me, and now grows embarrassed at any mention of his name. How vile of me!’

  He wanted to say something cordial about Starski, but nothing came. To break the awkward silence, he said: ‘Where are you going for the summer?’

  ‘Goodness knows. Aunt Hortensja is rather sickly, so perhaps we shall go to see her in Cracow. I must admit I’d prefer Switzerland, if it depended on me.’

  ‘On who else?’

  ‘On my father … Besides, goodness knows what may happen,’ she replied, blushing and glancing at Wokulski in a manner all her own.

  ‘Let us suppose that everything goes as you wish,’ he said, ‘would you, then, accept me as a companion?’

  ‘If you deserve it …’

  She said this in such a tone of voice that Wokulski lost control of himself, for the umpteenth time this year. ‘How can I earn your kindness?’ he asked, taking her hand. ‘Pity? No, not pity. That is a feeling as disagreeable for the giver as for the taker. I don’t want pity. But pray consider, what shall I do without seeing you for so long? It’s true that even now we meet very rarely; you can’t begin to guess how time drags for those who are waiting … But as long as you’re in Warsaw, I tell myself “I’ll see her again tomorrow … the day after tomorrow … “Besides, if not you yourself, at least I can see your father, Mikołaj, this house … Ah, you could do a merciful act and terminate — I don’t know … my sufferings, my premonitions — with a single word. After all, you know the saying that the worst certainty is better than any uncertainty.’

  ‘And if the certainty be not the worst?’ asked Izabela, without looking into his eyes.

  The bell rang in the hall and after a moment Mikołaj presented the visiting cards of Messrs Rydzewski and Pieczarkowski.

  ‘Ask them in,’ said Izabela.

  Two very elegant men entered the drawing-room, one being characterised by narrow shoulders and a quite marked bald spot, the other by caressing glances and a subtle manner of speaking. They entered side by side, holding their hats at precisely the same elevation. They bowed in an identical manner, sat down in an identical manner, and crossed their legs in an identical manner, after which Mr Rydzewski began trying to keep his shoulders straight, and Mr Pieczarkowski to speak without drawing breath.

  He said that at present the Christian world was celebrating Lent with parties, that before Lent there had been the Carnival, during which everyone enjoyed themselves no end, and that the worst time would come after Lent, when no one would know what to do. He then informed Izabela that during Lent, as well as parties, there were lectures, at which one could pass the time very agreeably if one were sitting next to ladies of one’s acquaintance, and that the most elegant receptions during Lent were at the Rzezuchowskis. ‘Quite delightful, quite original, I assure you,’ he said. ‘The supper, of course, is the usual thing — oysters, lobster, fish, meat — but to finish, for those who like it — guess what? Genuine porridge … what kind was it?’

  ‘Bordeaux,’ interrupted Mr Rydzewski, for the first and last time.

  ‘Not Bordeaux — buckwheat. Quite marvellous, quite heavenly! Each grain looked as if it had been cooked separately. We really set to — I, Prince Kiełbik, Count Sledziński … Quite fabulous! It was served in the ordinary way, in silver bowls …’

  Izabela was gazing at the speaker with such interest, emphasising his every word with a movement, smile or
glance in such a way that everything began swimming before Wokulski’s eyes. So he rose, bade the company goodbye and hastened out into the street: ‘I don’t understand this woman,’ he thought. ‘When is she herself, for whom is she herself?’

  But after walking a few hundred yards in the frost, he cooled down. ‘After all,’ he thought, ‘what’s extraordinary about it? She must live among the people she is used to; and if she lives among them, she must listen to their foolish talk. Is it her fault that she is as beautiful as a goddess, and indeed is one, to everyone? Although … a taste for such company … Oh, how vile I am, always vile, vile!’

  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.