The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [264]
‘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,