The Doll (96 page)

“‘Enough of these larks, young gents!” cries the bailiff to Patkiewicz's two colleagues, who were lowering him.

“‘Can't be done! The ropes are giving way!” they cry.

“‘Watch out, Patkiewicz,” shouts Maleski, up above. There's a terrible scene in the yard. The women (more than one being extremely interested in Patkiewicz's health) start shrieking, the policemen froze stiff, and the bailiff loses his head entirely: “Climb on the parapet! Break the window!” he shouts to Patkiewicz.

‘Your Patkiewicz didn't have to be told twice. So he begins knocking on the Baroness's window in such a way that Maruszewicz not only opened the ventilator, but dragged the lad into the room himself. Even the Baroness runs up in alarm, and says to Patkiewicz: “Good God! Why did you have to play such a prank?” “Otherwise I wouldn't have had the pleasure of bidding farewell to you, dear lady,” Patkiewicz replied, and — so I hear — he displays to her such a dead body, that the old girl tumbled over on the floor, crying out: “Will no one defend me? Are there no men? I need a man! … A man! …”

‘She shrieked so loud that she could be heard all over the yard, and the bailiff misconstrued her cries, for he said to the policemen: “Oh, that poor lady has been took badly … Poor thing, she's been separated two years from her husband.”

‘Patkiewicz, being a medical man, felt the Baroness's pulse, prescribed valerian drops and left, calm as you please. Meanwhile, the carpenter had set about breaking down the English latch. When he'd finished and quite ruined the door, Maleski suddenly recollected that both keys to the lock and the latch were in his own pocket.

‘Hardly had the Baroness come to her senses, than the lawyer began trying to persuade her to start a case against Patkiewicz and Maleski. But the old girl was already so disgusted with court cases that she merely berated her adviser, and vowed that from then on she would never rent an apartment to students, not even if it had to stand empty for ages.

‘Then, so they told me, she began, with a great deal of crying, to implore Maruszewicz to persuade the Baron to beg for her forgiveness and move into the apartment again: “I know he hasn't a penny,” she sobbed, “he's not paying his rent, and is living on credit along with that footman of his. Nevertheless, I will forgive all and pay his debts, providing he changes his ways and comes home. I can't cope with a house like this without a man … I'll die within a year …”

‘I see God's punishment in this,' Wirski concluded, puffing out cigar smoke, ‘and the instrument of punishment will be the Baron.'

‘And the second tale?' I inquired.

‘The second is shorter, but more interesting. Just imagine sir, the Baroness Krzeszowska paid a visit to Mrs Stawska yesterday.'

‘Oh, confound it!' I murmured, ‘that's a bad sign.'

‘Not at all,' said Wirski. ‘The Baroness went to Mrs Stawska's, burst into tears, had an attack of hysteria and asked both the ladies, almost on her knees, to forget the trial over that doll, for otherwise she'd have no peace to the end of her days.'

‘So they promised to forget it?'

‘Not only that, but they kissed her and even promised to reconcile her with Wokulski, of whom the Baroness speaks very highly.'

‘Oh, damnation!' I exclaimed, ‘why ever did they talk to her about Wokulski? That's asking for trouble.'

‘Come, what are you saying?' Wirski reproached me, ‘she's repentant, she regrets her sins and will certainly improve.'

‘It was already midnight, so he left, I didn't stop him as he'd already vexed me somewhat with his belief in the Baroness's repentance. Still, who knows, maybe she really has repented?

Postscript
. I was certain MacMahon would succeed in carrying out a
coup d'état
on behalf of young Napoleon. But today I've learned that MacMahon has fallen, and that Citizen Grévy has become President of the Republic, while young Napoleon has gone off to war in some Natal or other, in Africa. No help for it — let the lad learn how to fight battles. In six months or so he'll return, covered in glory, so that the French themselves will want him back and we, meanwhile, will marry Staś to Mrs Stawska. For when I set about anything, I have Metternich's ways, and understand the natural course of events. So — long live France under the Napoleons, and Wokulski with Mrs Stawska!

F
ORTUNE
looked with a kindly eye for the third or fourth time on the house of Mr Łęcki during Carnival and Lent. His drawing-room was full of visitors, and visiting cards fell into his-vestibule like snow. Once again Tomasz found himself in the fortunate position of having visitors to receive, and even of being able to choose between them. ‘I shall certainly die soon,' he sometimes told his daughter, ‘but at least I've had the gratification of people knowing my true worth beforehand.'

Izabela heard this with a smile. She did not want to dispel her father's illusions, but was certain that the swarms of guests were paying tribute to her — not to her father.

After all, Mr Niwiński, the most elegant go-between, danced most frequently with her, not her father. Mr Malborg, the paragon of elegance and arbiter of fashion, talked to her, not to her father, while Mr Szatalski, a friend of both the aforesaid, felt unhappy and inconsolable on her account, not her father's. Mr Szatalski made this clear to her, and even though he was neither as elegant a dancer as Mr Niwiński, nor an arbiter of fashion like Mr Malborg, nonetheless he was the friend of both. He lived near them, ate with them, ordered English or French suits when they did, and ladies of mature judgement, unable to see any other virtues in him, called him — poetical.

Then a tiny incident occurred, a single phrase, which forced Izabela to seek the secret of her triumphs elsewhere. During a call, she said to Miss Pantarkiewicz: ‘I've never enjoyed myself in Warsaw as I have this year.'

‘That is because you are quite charming,' Miss Pantarkiewicz replied briefly, covering her face with a fan as though to conceal an involuntary yawn.

‘Unmarried girls of a certain age know how to be quite charming,' said Mrs de Gins Upadalska loudly to Mrs de Fertalski Wywrotnicka.

The movement of Miss Pantarkiewicz's fan and the phrase of Mrs de Gins Upadalska gave Izabela food for thought. She had too much good sense not to understand the situation, especially one so clearly stated. ‘What is that “certain age”?' she wondered. ‘Twenty-five isn't a certain age … What are they talking about?'

She glanced aside, and caught Wokulski's eyes upon her. As she had to choose between attributing her triumphs to ‘a certain age' and Wokulski — she began to reflect upon the latter. Who knew but that he was the involuntary creator of the flattery which surrounded her on all sides?

She began recalling things. First, Mr Niwiński's father had money invested in Wokulski's firm (even Miss Izabela knew this), which brought him in great profits. Then Mr Malborg, who had once graduated from some technical school or other (though he never betrayed the fact) had, through Wokulski's good offices (which he kept very secret) tried to obtain a position on the railways. In fact, he succeeded, though it had the great drawback of providing less than three thousand roubles a year. Mr Malborg even held this against Wokulski, but, out of regard for the conventions, he limited himself to uttering his name with an ironical grimace.

Mr Szatalski had no money invested in the firm, nor did he have a position on the railways. But since his two friends Messrs Niwiński and Malborg resented Wokulski, he too resented him, and expressed his resentment when he sighed to Izabela: ‘There are lucky people, who …'

What these lucky people looked like was something Izabela never found out. The only thing was that at the word ‘who …' Wokulski came into her mind. Then she would clench her tiny fists, and say to herself: ‘Despot … Tyrant …'

Yet Wokulski never revealed the slightest tendency to despotise or tyrannise. He just kept gazing at her, and wondering: ‘Are you she … Or aren't you?'

Sometimes, catching sight of young and elderly dandies besieging Izabela, whose eyes glittered like diamonds or stars in the sky, a cloud would float across the firmament of his admiration and cast a shadow of ill-defined doubts on his soul. But Wokulski refused to look at the shadow. Izabela was his life, his happiness, his sun — which no fleeting clouds could eclipse, not even imaginary ones.

Sometimes he thought of Geist, the eccentric sage, with his tremendous inventions, who had shown him a purpose in life other than Izabela. Then one glance from Izabela sufficed to bring Wokulski back from his fantasies: ‘What's humanity to me?' he said, with a shrug. ‘I wouldn't give away one of her kisses for all humanity, for all the world's future, for my own eternal life …'

And at the thought of this kiss, something strange happened to him. His will-power weakened, he felt he was losing his senses and that to regain them, he must see Izabela again, in the company of dandies. Only when he heard her clear laughter and decisive phrases, only when he saw the fiery glances she bestowed on Messrs Niwiński, Malborg and Szatalski, did it seem to him for a moment that a curtain had risen for him, beyond which he could see another world, and a different Izabela. Then, goodness knows why, his own youth, full of titanic efforts, blazed forth before him. He saw his own labours at extricating himself from poverty, heard the whistle of bullets that had flown past his head, saw Geist's laboratory where tremendous things were being created, and, looking at Messrs Niwiński, Malborg and Szatalski, he thought: ‘What am I doing here? How comes it that I am worshipping at the same altar as they?'

He wanted to burst out laughing, then again he fell a prey to illusion, and it seemed to him that a life such as his was worth placing at the feet of a woman like Izabela.

Be this as it may, a change began coming about within Izabela in favour of Wokulski, under the influence of Mrs de Gins Upadalska's incautious
mot
. She eavesdropped attentively on the conversation of gentlemen who visited her father and saw, in consequence, that each of them had a little capital he wanted to invest with Wokulski ‘at fifteen per cent, let's hope', or a cousin for whom he wanted a position, or that he sought to make Wokulski's acquaintance for some other purpose. As for the ladies, they too either wanted to push someone, or had eligible daughters and did not conceal that they wanted to get Wokulski away from Izabela or even, if they were not too mature, would be glad to make him happy themselves.

‘To be the wife of such a man!' said Mrs de Fertalski Wywrotnicka. ‘And not necessarily his wife, either!' replied with a smile Baroness von Ples, whose husband had been paralysed for five years.

‘Tyrant … despot …' Izabela kept repeating, feeling that the merchant she despised was attracting many glances, much hope and much jealousy.

Despite the vestiges of contempt and loathing which lurked within her, she had to admit that this brusque and gloomy man meant more, and looked better, than either the marshal or Baron Dalski, or even Messrs Niwiński, Malborg and Szatalski.

But the greatest effect on her attitude was made by the Prince.

The Prince, whose invitation to offer Baroness Krzeszowska ten thousand roubles Wokulski had declined in December, and in January and February had not given a penny to the poor people he patronised — the Prince had lost his affection for Wokulski. Wokulski had deeply disappointed the Prince. The Prince had thought and believed that a man like Wokulski, once he'd obtained princely favour, ought to renounce all his own taste and interests, and even his fortune and his person into the bargain. He ought to like what the Prince liked, hate what the Prince hated, serve only the Prince's ends, and humour only his whims. Yet this parvenu (though, no doubt, he was of genteel origin) would not consider being the Prince's servant, and even dared to be independent; sometimes he argued with the Prince, or — worse still — refused his requests point-blank.

‘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 …'