The Doll

by Bolesław Prus

  ‘Immediately? Very well. Mr Starski is a very interesting man.’

  She leaned backwards as though about to fall off, and kept looking into Wokulski’s eyes: ‘Ah!’ she cried with a laugh, ‘I didn’t expect to hear such a banal remark from you … Mr Starski interesting? To whom? To such geese as Ewelina, perhaps, but to me, for example, he has ceased to be.’

  ‘And yet ….’

  ‘No “And yets” …. He was at one time, when I intended to become the victim of marriage. Fortunately, my husband was civil enough to die early, and Mr Starski is so uncomplicated that with my experience, I saw through him within a week. He always wears that beard à la Archduke Rudolph, and has the same manner of seducing women. His glances, his hints, his mysteries are as familiar to me as the cut of his jacket. He always avoids girls without dowries, is cynical with married ladies, and sighs to eligible young women who are about to get married. Good God, how many such have I met in my life! Today I need something new.’

  ‘In that case, Mr Ochocki …’

  ‘Oh yes, Ochocki is interesting, and might even be dangerous — but for that to happen, I’d need to be born again. He’s a man not of this world, while I belong to it heart and soul. How naive he is, and how splendid! He believes in ideal love, he’d shut himself up in his laboratory and be certain it would never betray him. No, he’s not for me.’

  Suddenly she exclaimed: ‘What is wrong with this saddle? The girth has come unfastened … Pray look.’

  Wokulski jumped off his horse: ‘Will you dismount?’ he asked.

  ‘Certainly not. Please look at it.’

  He went around to the right side — the girth was tightly fastened: ‘Not there! Here! Something is wrong, near the stirrup.’

  He hesitated, then drew aside her riding-habit and put his hand under the saddle. Suddenly the blood rushed to his head: the widow had moved her leg in such a way that her knee touched Wokulski’s face: ‘Well?’ she asked impatiently, ‘what is it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied, ‘the girth is tight.’

  ‘Sir, you kissed my leg!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘No!’

  She struck her horse with the crop and flew off at a gallop, exclaiming: ‘A fool — or a stone!’

  Wokulski remounted slowly. Inexpressible remorse seized his heart when he thought: ‘Does Izabela go riding? And who adjusts her saddle?’

  When he caught up with Mrs Wąsowska, she burst out laughing: ‘Ha ha ha! You are priceless!’ Then she began speaking in a low, metallic voice: ‘A fine day has been written in the history of my life — I played the role of Potiphar’s wife, and found a Joseph … Ha ha ha! Only one thing alarms me: that you don’t appreciate how I can turn a man’s head. At a moment like that, a hundred other men in your place would have protested they couldn’t live without me, that I have robbed them of their peace of mind, and so forth … But he says “No” brusquely … For that one “No” you ought to gain a seat in the kingdom of Heaven among the innocents. A high chair, with a bar in front! Ha ha ha!’

  She rocked to and fro on her saddle, laughing.

  ‘But what would you have done, had I replied like the rest?’

  ‘I’d have had one more triumph.’

  ‘And what would that have meant to you?’

  ‘I am filling up the emptiness of my life. Out of ten men who propose to me, I choose the one who seems most interesting, I play with him, dream of him …’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I consider the next ten, and choose one.’

  ‘How often?’

  ‘Once a month. What would you?’ she added with a shrug, ‘this is love in the age of steam and electricity.’

  ‘I see. This even reminds me of the railroad.’

  ‘Because it rushes along like a storm, and gives off sparks?’

  ‘No. It travels fast, and picks up as many passengers as it can.’

  ‘Mr Wokulski!’

  ‘I did not wish to offend you, madam: I only said what I heard.’

  Mrs Wąsowska bit her lip. They rode in silence for a time. After a while, Mrs Wąsowska spoke: ‘I have placed you, sir: you’re a pedant. Every evening — I don’t know when, but certainly before ten o’clock — you do your accounts, then you go to bed, but before going to sleep, you say your prayers and repeat aloud: “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife.” Isn’t it so?’

  ‘Pray continue, madam.’

  ‘I’ll say no more, for talking to you bores me. Ah, this world brings nothing but disappointment! When we put on our first long dress, when we go to our first ball, when we first fall in love — then it seems to us that here is something new. But after a while we realise that it has already happened before, or is nothing. I remember last year, in the Crimea, a party of us were travelling along a very wild road, along which bandits once lurked. And just as we were talking about it, two Tatars came out from behind a cliff … Good God! I thought, will they kill us, for their expressions were terrible, though they were handsome men. And do you know, sir, what they proposed? … They wanted to sell us some grapes! … Grapes, sir! They were selling us grapes, and I was thinking about bandits. I wanted to knock them down in my anger, truly. Well, today you reminded me of those Tatars, sir … The Duchess told me a few weeks ago that you’re a very unusual man, quite different from the rest, but now I see you’re the most ordinary of pedants. Aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You see, I know men. Perhaps we might gallop again? Or — no, I don’t feel like it, I’m tired. Oh, if only I could meet a really new man once in my life!’

  ‘What would happen?’

  ‘He’d have a new way of behaving, he’d say new things to me, sometimes vex me to distraction, then take mortal offence and of course have to apologise. Oh, he’d love me to distraction! I’d impress myself so on his heart and mind that he wouldn’t be able to forget me, not even in his grave … Well — I understand that kind of love.’

  ‘And what would you give him in exchange?’ asked Wokulski, who was growing increasingly depressed and unhappy.

  ‘I don’t know! Perhaps I’d decide on some folly or other.’

  ‘Now I’ll tell you, madam, what this new man would obtain from you,’ said Wokulski, spleen mounting within him. ‘First he would acquire a long list of your former admirers, then another list of the admirers to come after him, and in the entr’acte he’d have the opportunity of checking … whether your saddle is firm.’

  ‘That’s vile!’ cried Mrs Wąsowska, gripping her riding-crop.

  ‘It’s merely a repetition of what I heard from you, madam. If I speak too frankly, however, on such short acquaintance …’

  ‘Not at all, please go on. Perhaps your impertinence will be more diverting than the frigid civility I know by heart. Of course a man like you despises women such as I. Well, speak up!’

  ‘By your leave … In the first place, let’s not use strong words which aren’t suited to a horseback ride. There is no question of feelings between us, only of points of view. In my opinion, your view of love implies differences which can’t be reconciled.’

  ‘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 a
s 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.

  XXVI

  Under the Same Roof

  WHILE 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.