The Doll

by Bolesław Prus

  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.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ the old lady replied firmly, ‘I loved his uncle, all my life I have been unhappy simply because they took me away from him, and for the very same reasons as your aunt has for wanting to despise Wokulski today. But he won’t let himself be trampled underfoot, indeed no!’ said the Duchess. ‘Anyone who can raise himself out of such poverty, who can make himself a fortune without a shadow of reproach, and can educate himself as he has done, need not care a jot for the opinions of drawing-room society. I am sure you know the part he is playing today, and the reason why he went to Paris. I assure you he won’t go to the drawing-rooms, but that they will come to him, and the first will be your aunt, if she wants something. I know the drawing-rooms better than you, my child, and believe me, they will very soon find themselves in Wokulski’s vestibule. He’s no idler like Starski, no dreamer like the Prince, no half-wit like Krzeszowski. He’s a man of action … The woman he chooses for his wife will be happy. Unfortunately, our young ladies are more demanding than they have experience or hearts. Not all, though … But forgive me if I have said anything unkind. Lunch will be ready at once.’

  After this, the Duchess went out, leaving Izabela plunged in deep meditation. ‘He could certainly take the Baron’s place,’ Miss Izabela told herself, ‘the Baron is worn out and ridiculous, while people at least respect Wokulski. Kasia Wąsowska knew what she was about when she took him for that ride. Ha, we shall see whether Mr Wokulski can be faithful. He set a fine example of it by going riding with another woman! Very courtly of him!’

  Almost at this moment, Wokulski came back from his ride with Mrs Wąsowska, and in the yard he saw the carriage with the horses being taken out. He was touched by some ill-defined premonition, but dared not ask: he even pretended not to see the carriage. He gave his horse to a lad in front of the house, and told another to bring water to his room. Just as he was about to inquire who had arrived, something stuck in his throat, and he could not utter a word. ‘What folly,’ he thought, ‘even if it’s she, what of that? She’s a woman like Mrs Wąsowska, Felicja, Ewelina … And I am not like the Baron.’

  But, thinking this, he felt that to him she was different from other women, and that if she were to ask him to, he would lay his fortune, even his life, at her feet. ‘Folly! Folly!’ he whispered, walking about his room, ‘after all, here’s her admirer Starski, with whom she agreed to spend a gay holiday. I recall those glances …’

  Anger seethed inside him. ‘Let us see, Izabela, what you are, and what you’re worth! Now I’ll be your judge,’ he thought.

  Someone knocked, an old footman came in. He glanced around the room and said, in a subdued voice: ‘Her Grace told me to say Miss Łęcka is here, and that if you are ready, luncheon is served.’

  ‘Tell Her Grace I am coming at once,’ Wokulski replied.

  When the servant had gone, he stood a moment at the window, looking into the park illuminated by slanting sun-rays, and at a lilac tree, on which birds were cheerfully chirruping. He gazed, but a dull fear imbued his heart as he wondered how he would greet Izabela: ‘What shall I say, how will I look?’ It seemed to him that all eyes would be upon them both, and that he would compromise himself by some tactless act: ‘Didn’t I tell her I’m the faithful servant of them both … like a dog! But I must go down …’

  He left the room, returned, then once more entered the corridor. He approached the door slowly, step by step, feeling all his energy ebbing away, that he was a simpleton about to appear before a king. He took hold of the doorknob, then paused … Women’s laughter resounded in the dining-room. There was a blackness before his eyes, he wanted to run away and have the servant tell them he was ill. Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him, so pushed the door open.

  He saw the entire company in the depths of the room, and first of all, Izabela talking to Starski. She was gazing at him in the same way, and he had the same ironical smile as that time in Warsaw … All at once, Wokulski regained his energy: a wave of anger struck his brain. He entered with head back, greeted the Duchess and bowed to Izabela, who blushed and gave him her hand: ‘How are you? How is Mr Łęcki?’

  ‘Papa has recovered somewhat … He sends you his regards.’

  ‘I am much obliged for the kind thought. And the Countess?’

  ‘My aunt is very well.’

  The Duchess sat down in her chair: the others began taking their places at the table.

  ‘Mr Wokulski, here, by me,’ cried Mrs Wąsowska.

  ‘With the greatest pleasure, if a soldier has the right to sit down in the presence of his commanding officer.’

  ‘Has she already taken command over you, Stanisław?’ asked the Duchess, with a smile.

  ‘Yes, indeed. Such drilling doesn’t often take place …’

  ‘He is taking his revenge because I led him off the straight and narrow path,’ Mrs Wąsowska interposed.

  ‘I was sure it would be so, but never supposed it would happen so soon,’ explained the Baron, displaying a fine set of false teeth.

  ‘Pray pass the salt, cousin,’ s
aid Izabela to Starski.

  ‘Of course … There, I’ve upset it, we shall quarrel.’

  ‘Surely there’s no risk of that,’ Izabela replied, with diverting gravity.

  ‘Have you two undertaken not to quarrel?’ Mrs Wąsowska asked.

  ‘We don’t intend ever to apologise,’ Izabela replied.

  ‘Charming!’ said Mrs Wąsowska, ‘in your place, Kazio, I’d lose all hope at once.’

  ‘Was I ever allowed to have any?’ Starski sighed.

  ‘Real happiness for both of us …’ Izabela whispered.

  Wokulski listened and watched. Izabela was speaking naturally, in a very tranquil manner, joking with Starski, who did not look at all mortified on that account. But he glanced sideways from time to time at Ewelina Janocka, who was whispering to the Baron, and who turned pale, then pink.

  Wokulski felt a great weight lifted from his heart. ‘Of course,’ he thought, ‘if Starski is interested in anyone here, it’s Ewelina, and she in him.’ At this moment joy and great cordiality towards the deceived Baron awoke within him. ‘I’m not going to warn him,’ he told himself. Then he added: ‘Such pleasure at anyone else’s misfortune is a very despicable feeling.’

  Dinner ended, Izabela came to Wokulski. ‘You know, sir,’ she said, ‘what my feelings were upon seeing you here? Remorse … I recalled that we were to have gone to Paris, the three of us — I, my father and you, and that of the three, fortune was only kind to you. At least you enjoyed yourself? For all three of us? You must surrender to me one-third of your experiences.’

  ‘Suppose they were not happy?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘If only because you were not there, when we were to have been together.’

  ‘But, to my certain knowledge, you know how to enjoy yourself without me,’ Izabela retorted, and moved away.

  ‘Mr Wokulski!’ cried Mrs Wąsowska. But after a glance at him and Izabela, she said in a reluctant tone: ‘But no — it doesn’t matter. I’ll let you off today. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s walk in the park. Mr Ochocki …’

  ‘Mr Ochocki is going to teach me meteorology today,’ declared Felicja.

  ‘Meteorology?’ Mrs Wąsowska repeated.

  ‘Yes … We are going up to his observatory now.’

  ‘Do you intend to learn nothing but meteorology?’ Mrs Wąsowska asked. ‘In any event, I advise you to ask your grandmama what she thinks of this meteorology.’

  ‘You are always making difficulties,’ said Ochocki, crossly. ‘You are permitted to go riding with me on impassable roads, but Felicja isn’t even allowed to peep into the observatory.’

  ‘Run along and peep, my dears — but let’s be off to the park. Baron! Bela …’

  They went out. First came Mrs Wąsowska with Izabela, then Wokulski, then the Baron and his fiancée, and finally Felicja and Ochocki, who gesticulated and exclaimed: ‘You will never learn anything new, except a new and eccentric fashion in hats, or the seventh figure of a contre-danse, when some half-wit invents one. Nothing, ever!’ he added, dramatically, ‘because there will always be some creature …’

  ‘Fie, Julian, how can you speak so?’

  ‘Yes, some insufferable creature who considers it improper of you to come into the observatory with me.’

  ‘But perhaps it really is wrong?’

  ‘Wrong! To display your bosom is all right, to take singing-lessons from an Italian with dirty fingernails …’

  ‘But, sir … If young ladies were continually alone with young men, they might fall in love.’

  ‘What of it? Let them! Is it better that she shouldn’t fall in love, and be stupid? You’re a silly creature, Felicja.’

  ‘Oh, sir …’

  ‘Come, don’t turn my head with your exclamations. Either you want to learn meteorology, and in that case let’s go upstairs! …’

  ‘But with Ewelina, or Mrs Wąsowska …’

  ‘Oh, all right. Let’s stop this comedy,’ Ochocki concluded, thrusting his hands angrily into his pockets.

  The young couple talked so loudly that they could be heard all over the park, much to the gratification of Mrs Wąsowska, who burst out laughing. When they fell silent, the whispering of the Baron and Ewelina came to Wokulski’s ears.

  ‘Isn’t it true,’ asked the Baron, ‘that Starski is losing ground? Every day, madam, he loses ground. Mrs Wąsowska laughs at him, Izabela treats him with the utmost contempt, and even Felicja isn’t interested in him. Haven’t you noticed?’

  ‘Yes,’ his fiancée whispered softly.

  ‘He is one of those young men whose entire adornment consists of the hopes of a large inheritance. Am I not right?’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘But when his hope of a bequest from the Duchess fell through, Starski stopped being interesting. Isn’t it so?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Ewelina, with a deep sigh, ‘I’m going to sit down here,’ she said, in a louder voice, ‘perhaps you would bring me my shawl … Forgive me …’

  Wokulski glanced around. Ewelina had sunk to a bench, pale and tired, with the Baron fussing over her. ‘I’ll bring it directly,’ he said. ‘Mr Wokulski,’ he added, noticing him, ‘pray be kind enough to take my place. I’ll hurry, and will be back in a moment.’

  He kissed his fiancée’s hand, and went off towards the palace. Not until now did Wokulski notice that the Baron had very thin legs, and did not control them very well.

  ‘Have you known the Baron long?’ asked Ewelina, ‘let us walk a little, toward the summer-house …’

  ‘I have only just had the pleasure …’

  ‘He admires you greatly … He says it’s the first time he has met a man so agreeable to talk to …’

  Wokulski smiled. ‘No doubt,’ he said, ‘because he talks all the time about you.’

  Ewelina blushed a great deal: ‘Yes, he is a very worthy man, he loves me very much. There’s a difference of age between us, that’s true — but what’s wrong with that? Experienced women claim that the older a husband, the more faithful he is, and, after all, for a woman, her husband’s attachment is everything — isn’t it so? Each of us seeks love in life, and who could promise that I’ll meet another man like him? There are younger men than he, better looking, perhaps even more talented; yet not one of them has ever told me with such sincere feeling that the ultimate happiness of his life is in my hands. Pray tell me — can one resist that, even though acceptance on my side requires some sacrifice?’ She stopped in the alley, and looked into his eyes, uneasily awaiting a reply.

  ‘I don’t know, madam. It’s a question of personal feeling,’ he replied.

  ‘I’m sorry you should answer me so. Grandmama says you are a man of great character: hitherto I never met a man of great character, and my own is very weak. I don’t know how to resist anything, I’m afraid to refuse … Perhaps I’m doing wrong, or at least, certain people have given me to understand I’m doing wrong in marrying the Baron. Do you think so, too? Could you reject a person who said he loved you more than his own soul, or that without your love the brief remainder of his life would be passed in solitude and despair? If someone were falling into an abyss in your presence, and was shouting for help — wouldn’t you give him your hand, and hold on until help came?’

  ‘I’m not a woman, and have never been asked to restrict my life for someone else’s sake, so I don’t know what I’d do,’ said Wokulski, indignantly. ‘All I know is that, as a man, I wouldn’t beg — not even for love. And I must also tell you,’ he added to the woman who was watching him with parted lips, ‘that not only I wouldn’t ask, but I wouldn’t even accept a sacrifice begged from someone’s heart. Such gifts are only temporary, as a rule.’

  Starski hurried up to them by a side path, very preoccupied. ‘Mr Wokulski, the ladies are looking for you in the linden alley. My grandmama, Mrs Wąsowska …’

  Wokulski hesitated what to do at this moment.

  ‘Oh, pray don’t concern yourself with me,’ said Ewelina, pinker than e
ver, ‘the Baron will be back directly, and the three of us will catch up with you.’

  Wokulski bade them goodbye and walked away: ‘A fine thing!’ he thought, ‘Ewelina is going to marry the Baron out of pity, and is flirting with Starski … I can understand a woman marrying for money, though it’s a stupid way of earning a living. I can even understand a married woman who, after a happy life, suddenly falls in love and deceives her husband. Sometimes she’s forced into it by the fear of scandal, her children, a thousand other things … But a young woman deceiving her fiancée is an entirely new spectacle.’

  ‘Ewelina! … Ewelina!’ cried the Baron, coming in Wokulski’s direction. The latter suddenly turned and walked away in between the flower-beds: ‘I wonder,’ he murmured, ‘what I’ll say to him if he finds me? Why the devil did I step into this mud?’

  ‘Ewelina! … Ewelina! …’ the Baron cried, already much further away.

  ‘A nightingale calling its mate,’ Wokulski thought. ‘And yet can one entirely condemn this woman? She herself admits she has no character and, in a lower voice, that she needs money which she hasn’t got, but without which she, like a fish out of water, can’t live. The unhappy creature marries a rich man. But at the same time her heart calls out within her, an admirer persuades her to get married, and both think that the old man’s caresses won’t spoil their own taste, so they think up a new invention — deception before marriage — and don’t even try to patent it. After all, they may be virtuous enough to have agreed not to deceive him until after the wedding … Charming people! Society sometimes comes up with very odd products … And to think that such a thing might happen to any of us! Truly, one should mistrust poets when they praise love as the greatest happiness.’

  ‘Ewelina! … Ewelina! …’ cried the Baron, groaning.

  ‘What a vile performance,’ Wokulski thought, ‘I’d sooner put a bullet through my head than marry such an idiot.’

  In an alley near the farmhouse he met the ladies, including the Duchess and a chambermaid, carrying her basket. ‘Ah, here you are,’ said the old lady to Wokulski, ‘that’s good. Wait here, all of you, for Ewelina and the Baron, who will surely find her in the end,’ she added, frowning slightly, ‘and Kazia will visit the horses.’