The Doll (81 page)

‘Perhaps,' said the Baron, irritated, ‘but the law doesn't apply to Ewelina. If I defend her — or rather, don't wish her to know Starski, since she can defend herself, it's merely because a man like that shouldn't spoil her pure mind with his phrases … Well, you're bored. Excuse me for the visit, at such an unsuitable time.'

The Baron went out, closing the door quietly. Wokulski remained alone, plunged in melancholy thoughts: ‘What was it Ochocki said about having had enough of Izabela's arguments? So what she said wasn't an outburst of feeling, but a lesson studied long ago? Her arguments, her excitement, even her emotions are only means by which well-bred young ladies bewitch fools like me?

‘But perhaps he's in love with her and wishes to discredit her in my eyes? Well, if he loves her, why should he discredit her? Let him speak up, and let her choose … Of course, Ochocki's chances are better than mine: I haven't lost my senses to the point of not appreciating that … Young, handsome, talented — ha! Let him choose: fame, or Izabela …

‘Besides,' he went on to himself, ‘what's it to me if Izabela always uses the same arguments? She isn't the Holy Ghost, to think up new ones every time, nor am I so unusual that it would be worth her while to strive for originality. Let her say what she likes … What's more important is the fact that general laws about women don't apply to her. Mrs Wąsowska is first and foremost a pretty female of the species, but not her …

‘Didn't the Baron say the same thing of his Ewelina?'

The lamp went out. Wokulski quenched it, and threw himself into bed.

For the next two days it rained, and the guests at Zasławek did not go out. Ochocki took to his books and hardly ever showed himself; Ewelina suffered from migraine; Izabela and Felicja read French magazines, and the rest of the company, led by the Duchess, played whist. On one occasion, Wokulski noticed that Mrs Wąsowska, instead of indulging in a flirtation with him, for which opportunities kept arising, behaved very indifferently. He was struck, however, that when Starski tried to kiss her hand, she hastily drew it away, and told him, crossly, never to dare to do it again. Her anger was so sincere that Starski himself was surprised, and embarrassed, while the Baron, though his cards were not going well, was in an excellent humour. ‘Would you allow me to kiss your hand?' he asked, some time after this incident.

‘You — of course,' she replied, giving him her hand. The Baron kissed it as though it were a relic, glancing triumphantly at Wokulski, who thought that his titled friend really had little reason for over-much satisfaction.

Starski was gazing at his cards so intently that he appeared not to notice what had happened.

On the third day it cleared up, and the fourth was so fine and dry that Felicja proposed a drive to pick mushrooms. That day the Duchess ordered lunch earlier and dinner later. Towards twelve-thirty, the brake drove up in front of the palace, and Mrs Wąsowska gave the signal to get in. ‘Let's make haste and not waste time … Where's your shawl, Ewelina? Let the servants get into the brake and take the baskets. And now,' she added, glancing fleetingly at Wokulski, ‘let each gentleman choose his lady …'

Felicja wanted to protest, but at this moment the Baron leaped to Ewelina, and Starski to Mrs Wąsowska, who bit her lip, said: ‘I never thought you would choose me again …' and gave Wokulski a withering look.

‘We, cousin, shall keep together,' Ochocki cried to Izabela, ‘but you will have to sit on the box, for I'm going to drive.'

‘Mrs Wąsowska won't let you, for you will overturn us,' exclaimed Felicja, to whom Fate had ordained Wokulski.

‘Oh, let him drive, let him overturn us,' said Mrs Wąsowska, ‘today I wouldn't care if we all got our legs broken … I pity the mushroom that gets into my hands.'

‘I'm the first of them,' exclaimed Starski, ‘if it comes to being devoured …'

‘Very well, if you agree to have your head cut off first,' Mrs Wąsowska replied.

‘I lost it long ago …'

‘Not before I noticed … But let us be off…'

T
HEY
set off. The Baron, as usual, was whispering to his fiancée, Starski flirting outrageously with Mrs Wąsowska, who accepted it cordially enough, to Wokulski's surprise, and Ochocki drove the four-in-hand. This time, however, his enthusiasm was restrained by the vicinity of Izabela, to whom he kept turning.

‘That Ochocki is a merry young fellow,' thought Wokulski, ‘he says he's had quite enough of Izabela's arguments, but now he's talking to her and nobody else … Of course, he wants to prejudice me against her …' And he fell into a very dismal frame of mind, for he was certain that Ochocki was in love with Izabela, and that there was really no point in struggling against such a rival. ‘Young, handsome, talented,' he told himself. ‘She'd have neither eyes nor sense if, in choosing between us, she didn't give him priority. But even if she did, I'd have to admit she has a noble nature to prefer Ochocki to Starski. Poor Baron, and his even more wretched fiancée, who is so obviously pining for Starski. She must have a very empty head and heart …'

He contemplated the autumn sunshine, the grey stubble and the ploughs slowly moving across the fallow earth and, with profound grief in his soul, he imagined for a moment that he had entirely lost hope and resigned his place by Izabela to Ochocki: ‘What's to be done? What shall I do if she chooses him? It was my misfortune ever to have met her …'

They rose on to a hilltop where a distant landscape lay before them, consisting of several villages, woods, a river, and a small town, with a church. The brake swayed from side to side: ‘Oh, what a splendid view!' cried Mrs Wąsowska.

‘Like looking down from a balloon steered by Mr Ochocki,' added Starski, clutching the rail.

‘Have you ever been in a balloon?' asked Felicja.

‘Ochocki's balloon?'

‘No, a real one …'

‘Alas, never,' Starski sighed, ‘though I can imagine at this moment that I'm flying in a very paltry one.'

‘Mr Wokulski certainly has,' said Miss Felicja in a tone of the utmost conviction.

‘Come, Felicja, what will you accuse Mr Wokulski of next?' Mrs Wąsowska scolded her.

‘As a matter of fact, I have …' said Wokulski in surprise.

‘You have? Oh, splendid,' cried Felicja, ‘pray tell us all about it.'

‘You have?' exclaimed Ochocki from the box, ‘hey there, wait a moment, I'll join you.'

He tossed the reins to the groom, although they were driving downhill, jumped off the box and sat down in the brake opposite Wokulski. ‘So you've flown in a balloon?' he repeated, ‘where was it? When?'

‘In Paris, but it was a captive balloon. Half a mile up, hardly any distance,' replied Wokulski, somewhat embarrassed.

‘Pray go on … You must have had an enormous view. What did you feel?' said Ochocki. He was strangely altered: his eyes widened, a flush appeared on his face. Looking at him it was hard to doubt that at this moment he had forgotten Izabela. ‘It must be a stupendous thrill … Go on, sir,' he insisted, pressing Wokulski's knee.

‘The view really was magnificent,' Wokulski replied, ‘because the horizon was many miles wide, and the whole of Paris and its surroundings looked like a relief map. But the trip wasn't agreeable: perhaps only the first time.'

‘What were your impressions?'

‘Odd … One thinks one is rising, then suddenly sees that one isn't moving oneself, but that the ground is falling rapidly away. It's such an unexpected and disappointing sight that … one feels like jumping out.'

Ochocki pondered and gazed before him at goodness knows what. Several times he seemed to want to jump out of the brake, and his companions, who were silent, apparently irritated him.

They drove into a field, followed by two servant-girls in a carriage. The ladies took baskets. ‘And now, each lady, with her cavalier, is to go in a different direction,' commanded Mrs Wąsowska. ‘Mr Starski, I warn you that today I'm in an excellent humour, and what that means — Mr Wokulski already knows,' she added, laughing excitedly, ‘Mr Ochocki, Bela — into the woods, pray, and don't reappear until … you have picked a whole basket of mushrooms. Felicja!'

‘I am going with Michalina and Joanna,' replied Miss Felicja hastily, glancing at Wokulski as though he were an enemy against whom she had to protect herself with the two servant-girls.

‘Let us be off, cousin,' said Izabela to Ochocki, seeing that the company had already gone into the woods, ‘but pray take my basket and fill it yourself, for I must admit it doesn't amuse me.'

Ochocki took the basket and threw it into the carriage. ‘What are mushrooms to me?' he muttered sulkily, ‘I've wasted two months fishing, picking mushrooms, entertaining ladies and such-like nonsense. Other men have been up in balloons. I was going to Paris, but the Duchess insisted I should have my holiday here. A fine holiday I've had! I've grown utterly stupid. I can't even think straight. I've lost my talents … Ah, confound the mushrooms! I'm so cross …'

He made a gesture, then put both hands into his pockets and walked off into the wood, head bent, muttering.

‘A charming companion,' Izabela exclaimed to Wokulski with a smile. ‘He'll be like this until the end of the holiday. I knew he'd be upset as soon as Starski mentioned balloons.'

‘Thank Heaven for those balloons,' Wokulski thought, ‘a rival like this for Izabela isn't dangerous.' And at this moment he felt very fond of Ochocki.

‘I'm sure,' he said to Izabela, ‘that your cousin will produce some great invention one day. Who knows — perhaps he will be an epoch in the history of mankind,' he added, thinking of Geist's projects.

‘You think so?' Izabela replied, quite indifferently, ‘perhaps … Yet my cousin is sometimes impertinent, which occasionally suits him, but then again he can be a bore, which doesn't suit even an inventor. When I look at him, an anecdote about Newton comes into my mind. He's supposed to have been a great man, isn't he? But what of it, when he was sitting with a young lady one day, took hold of her hand — would you believe it! — and began cleaning his pipe with her little finger! If a genius does that, I wouldn't thank you for a husband who was one — Let's walk a little into the woods, shall we?'

Each of Izabela's words fell into Wokulski's heart like a drop of sweetness: ‘So she likes Ochocki — who doesn't — but won't marry him …'

They walked along a narrow path which formed the limit of two woods: to the right oaks and beeches grew, to the left were pinetrees. Mrs Wąsowska's red bodice gleamed between the pines from time to time, or the white veil of Ewelina could be seen. At one point the path forked, and Wokulski wished to turn aside, but Izabela prevented him: ‘No, no,' she said, ‘don't let's go that way, for we shall lose sight of the others, and the woods are only attractive to me when there are other people about. At this moment, for instance, I can understand them … Just look … Isn't that part like a huge church? The rows of pines are columns, there's a side nave, and there the great altar. Just look! Now the sun between the boughs looks like a Gothic window. What an extraordinary variety of sights! There you have a lady's boudoir, and those low bushes are her dressing-table. There's even a mirror, which yesterday's rain left behind. And this is a street, isn't it? Rather crooked, but a street all the same … And yonder is a market-place or square. Do you see it all?'

‘I do, when you point it out,' Wokulski replied with a smile, ‘but one needs a very poetic imagination to see the resemblances.'

‘Really? Yet I've always thought myself the embodiment of prose.'

‘Perhaps because you haven't yet had an opportunity to discover all your capabilities,' Wokulski replied, displeased because Felicja was approaching.

‘What's this, aren't you picking mushrooms?' Felicja cried, ‘they're marvellous: there are so many we haven't enough baskets and must empty them into the carriage. Shall I get you a basket, Bela?'

‘No, thank you.'

‘Or you, sir?'

‘I don't think I could tell a mushroom from a toadstool,' Wokulski replied.

‘Capital!' cried Felicja, ‘I never expected such a retort from you … I'll tell grandmama, and shall ask her not to let any of the gentlemen eat mushrooms, or at least not the ones I pick.'

She nodded and walked off.

‘You've vexed her,' said Izabela, ‘that wasn't nice. She is well disposed towards you.'

‘Felicja takes pleasure in picking mushrooms, I in listening to you talking about the woods.'

‘That is very flattering,' said Izabela, blushing a little, ‘but I'm sure my lectures will soon bore you. The woods aren't always beautiful in my eyes, sometimes they are terrible. If I were alone here, I should certainly not see any streets, churches or boudoirs. When I'm alone, the woods alarm me. They stop being a stage setting, and begin to be something I don't understand, and which I fear. The birds' voices are so wild, sometimes I hear a sudden cry of pain, or sometimes mockery, because I have come among monsters. Then each tree seems a living thing, which wants to enfold me in its branches and strangle me: each bush trips me up in a treacherous manner to prevent me getting away. And all this is the fault of my cousin Ochocki, who told me Nature wasn't created for the benefit of mankind. According to his theories, everything is alive, and is alive for its own sake.'

‘He was right,' Wokulski murmured.

‘How so? Do you believe that too? So you think this wood isn't meant for the use of people, but has some business of its own, no worse than ours?'

‘I've seen immense forests, in which man only appears once in a generation, yet they flourished more than ours …'