The Doll (76 page)

‘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 someone 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!'

‘Certainly,' Wokulski murmured, already somewhat easier in mind regarding his rival: ‘He won't turn the head of Izabela.'

They came to the end of the park, beyond the railings of which a row of brick buildings was to be seen. ‘Oh, just look, what an unusual woman the Duchess is!' said Ochocki, pointing, ‘do you see those palaces? They're farm cottages for labourers. And the house over there is a refuge for farm children: there are some thirty of them, all washed and cared for like little princes … And that villa is a shelter for old people, of whom there are four: they have a pleasant time cleaning hair for mattresses for the guests' rooms. I've wandered about various parts of this country, and I've seen farm-labourers living everywhere like pigs, their children playing in the mud like piglets. When I came here for the first time I could hardly believe my eyes. I seemed to be in Utopia, or in the pages of a boring but virtuous novel, in which the author describes what the gentry should be like, but never are … The old lady has impressed me. If you want to know what sort of library she has, what she reads … I was taken aback when she once asked me to explain a point of Darwinism, which she dislikes only because it sees the struggle for existence as a fundamental law of nature.'

Felicja appeared at the end of the alley: ‘Well, Julian, shall we go?' she asked Ochocki.

‘Mr Wokulski is coming with us.'

‘Oh?' asked the young lady, in surprise.

‘You prefer not?' Wokulski inquired.

‘Not at all … But I thought you would be better off in the company of Mrs Wąsowska.'

‘Felicja!' cried Ochocki, ‘don't play at sarcasm, if you please. It doesn't come off.'

Offended, the young lady walked ahead in the direction of the pond, the two men after her. They fished through the heat of the day until five o'clock. Ochocki caught a two-ounce gudgeon, and Miss Felicja tore the lace on her sleeve. Consequently, a squabble broke out between them to the effect that young ladies had no idea how to hold a fishing-rod, and that men can't sit still for a moment without talking.

The dinner-bell finally reconciled them. After dinner, the Baron went to his room (at this time of day he always had migraine), while the rest of the company planned to meet in a summer-house in the park, where fruit was usually eaten.

Wokulski went there half an hour later. He thought he would be first, but he found all the ladies there, and Starski addressing them. He sat stretched out in a cane chair and was speaking with a bored expression on his face, tapping his boot with a riding-crop: ‘If marriages have ever played a part in history, then it wasn't marriage for love, but those of self-interest. What would we know today of Jadwiga or Maria Leszczyńska if those ladies had not known how to make a judicious choice? Who would Stefan Batory or Napoleon I have been if they had not married women of influence? Marriage is too important an event to enter into on the strength of feelings alone. It isn't a poetical union between two souls, but an important event for many people and interests. If I were to marry a chambermaid or governess, I should be lost to my world tomorrow. No one will ask me what the temperature of my feelings was, but what income I have for keeping up a household, and who is the woman I am introducing into my family.'

‘Political marriages are one thing, and those entered into for money, to a person one doesn't love, are another,' said the Duchess, looking at the ground and tapping the table with her fingers. ‘That is violence done to the most sacred feelings.'

‘Oh, grandmama, dear!' Starski replied, with a sigh, ‘it's easy to talk of feelings when one has twenty thousand a year. Everyone says “Vile money! Detestable money!” But why does everyone, from a farm-labourer to a minister of government, use up their spare time with work? Why do miners and sailors risk their lives? Simply for this vile money — because vile money gives them freedom for at least a few hours a day, or a few months in the year, or a few years in a man's life. Everyone mistakenly despises money, but each one of us knows that it's the manure in which personal freedom, science, art, even ideal love, all grow. Where did courtly love and the love of troubadours grow? Not, certainly, amidst tailors and smiths, not even among doctors and lawyers. It was cultivated by the wealthy classes which created women with delicate skin and white hands, and produced men with enough time to adore women.

‘We have here with us a representative of the men of action in Mr Wokulski who, as you yourself said, grandmama, has more than once given proof of his heroism. What attracted him to danger? Money, of course, which today is a power in his hands.'

The room grew quiet, all the ladies looked at Wokulski. After a moment of silence, he replied: ‘Yes, you are right, I made a fortune amidst difficult adventures, but do you know why I did so?'

‘Excuse me,' Starski interrupted, ‘I'm not reproaching you, on the contrary — I regard it as a praiseworthy example for everyone. But how do you know, sir, whether a person who marries for money doesn't have noble aims in view too? My parents are supposed to have married for love, but they weren't happy and as for me, the fruit of their feelings, it's useless to talk … Meanwhile, my admirable grandmama here married against her own feelings but today she is the benefactor of the entire neighbourhood. Better still,' he added, kissing the Duchess's hand, ‘she is correcting my parents' errors — they were so taken up with love that they forgot to provide a fortune for me. And we have another example in the person of charming Mrs Wąsowska.'

‘Come, sir,' said the widow, blushing, ‘you speak as if you were the prosecuting attorney at the Last Judgement. I'll reply like Mr Wokulski: do you know why I did it?'

‘Yet you did it, and so did grandmama, and we all do the same,' said Starski with ironical coldness, ‘except, of course, for Mr Wokulski, who has enough money to cultivate his feelings.'

‘I did the same,' Wokulski exclaimed in a stifled voice.

‘You married for money?' asked the widow, opening her eyes wide.

‘Not for money, but to obtain work and not starve to death. I know well that law of which Mr Starski speaks.'

‘And so?' put in Starski, looking at his grandmother.

‘And because I know it, I pity those who must comply with it,' concluded Wokulski. ‘It must be the greatest unhappiness in life.'

‘You are right,' said the Duchess.

‘You begin to interest me, Mr Wokulski,' added Mrs Wąsowska, stretching out her hand to him.

During the entire conversation, Ewelina had been concentrating on her embroidery. At this moment she raised her eyes and glanced at Starski with such a look of despair that Wokulski was startled … But Starski continued tapping his boot with the riding-crop, biting a cigar and smiling half-mockingly, half-sadly.

The voice of Ochocki was heard behind the summer-house: ‘Look, I told that Mrs …'

‘Well, that's in the summer-house, not in the undergrowth,' replied a young girl with a basket in her hand.

‘You're absurd,' Ochocki muttered, entering and looking uneasily at the ladies.

‘Aha, the conquering hero comes,' said the widow.

‘I give you my word, I came through the undergrowth merely to get here more quickly,' Ochocki explained.

‘You drove off the road, just as you did with us, today …'

‘On my word …'

‘Better take me back, instead of explaining,' the Duchess interrupted.

Ochocki gave her his arm, but his expression was so embarrassed and his hat so awry that Mrs Wąsowska could not control her merriment, which brought another series of blushes to Felicja's face, and made Ochocki dart several angry looks at the widow.

The entire company moved to the left down a side alley to the farm. First went the Duchess and Ochocki, then the girl with the basket, then the widow and Felicja, followed by Ewelina and Starski. At the gate, the noise in front increased, but at this moment Wokulski seemed to hear a quiet conversation behind him: ‘Sometimes I'd sooner be dead …' whispered Miss Ewelina.

‘Be brave … be brave,' Starski replied in the same way.

Only now did Wokulski understand the purpose of the walk to the farm, as a whole crowd of hens ran across the yard to the Duchess and she threw grain to them from the basket. Old Mateuszowa, their keeper, appeared behind the hens to tell her mistress all was well, although a falcon had been flying over the yard since morning, and one of the hens had choked on a pebble that afternoon, but recovered.

After a survey of the poultry, the Duchess inspected the barns and stables, where the labourers — mostly elderly people — made their reports to her. An accident almost occurred. Suddenly, a large colt ran out of the stable and jumped up at the Duchess, like a dog standing on its hind legs. Fortunately Ochocki stopped the mischievous animal, and the Duchess gave the colt its usual portion of sugar.

‘It will do you an injury one day, grandmama,' said Starski, displeased, ‘who ever heard of caressing colts which will be horses one day?'

‘You always talk too sensibly,' the Duchess replied, stroking the colt, which put its head on her shoulder and later ran after her, so the labourers had to take it back to the stable. Even some cows recognised their mistress, and greeted her with a stifled mooing, not unlike muttering.

‘A strange woman,' Wokulski thought, looking at the old lady who knew how to arouse affection in animals, and even in human beings.

After supper, the Duchess went to bed, and Mrs Wąsowska proposed a stroll in the park. The Baron agreed, though reluctantly: he put on a thick top-coat, wrapped a scarf around his neck, and walked ahead with his fiancée, taking her by the arm. No one knew what they were talking about, but they saw she was very pale, and he had livid patches on his cheeks.

Towards eleven, all separated and the Baron, coughing, accompanied Wokulski to his room: ‘Well, sir, have you taken a good look at my fiancée? How beautiful she is! A positive Vestal, is she not? And when that strange look of melancholy appears on her sweet face — have you observed — then she's so charming that … I'd give my life for her! I wouldn't tell this to anyone except you, sir, but she produces such an effect on me that I don't know whether I shall ever dare caress her … I only want to pray to her. I'd kneel at her feet, sir, and look into her eyes, and be happy if she would let me kiss the edge of her dress. Am I boring you?'

He coughed so hard that his eyes became bloodshot. After a rest, he went on: ‘I don't often cough, but today I've caught a slight cold …. I'm not prone to catching a cold, except in autumn and New Year. Well, it will pass, for just yesterday I had Chalubinski and Baranowski in for a consultation, and they told me that if I take care of myself, I shall keep well … I also asked them (this is between you and me) what they thought of my marriage. But they said that marriage is such a personal thing … I pointed out to them that Berlin doctors told me long ago to marry. This made them think, and one of them immediately said: “It's a pity you didn't carry out their advice at once.” So I may tell you, sir, that I've now decided to do it before Advent.'

He had another fit of coughing. He rested, then suddenly asked Wokulski, in altered voice: ‘Do you believe in a future life?'