The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [359]
The second bell rang, a crowd of travellers hurried out of the buffet to the carriages. ‘And let me give you a piece of advice, Mr Starski. In taking advantages of the affections of the fair sex, traditional caution is better than more or less devilish impudence. Your boldness unmasks women. But, as women don’t like being unmasked, you may lose credit with them, which would be a misfortune for both you and your pupils.’
Starski still didn’t understand what this was all about. ‘If I have offended you in some way,’ he said, ‘I’m ready to give you satisfaction.’
The third bell rang: ‘Gentlemen, all aboard!’ cried the conductors.
‘No, sir,’ said Wokulski, escorting him back to the Łęckis’ compartment, ‘if I wanted satisfaction from you, you’d be dead already, without any extra formalities. It is you, rather, who have the right to demand satisfaction from me, for daring to enter the garden where you cultivate your flowers…In any case, I shall be at your disposal…You know my address?’
They drew near the carriage, by which the conductor was already standing. Wokulski forced Starski to mount the step, thrust him into the compartment, and the conductor slammed the door. ‘What’s this, aren’t you going to say goodbye, Stanisław?’ asked Tomasz in surprise.
‘A pleasant journey,’ he replied, bowing.
Izabela stood in the window. The station-master blew his whistle, the locomotive responded. ‘Farewell, Iza, farewell,’ Wokulski cried, in English.
The train moved off. Izabela threw herself into the seat opposite her father. Starski went to the other corner of the compartment.
‘Well, well,’ Wokulski muttered to himself, ‘the pair of you will come together again before you reach Piotrkow.’
He watched the train moving away and laughed.
He stood alone on the platform and listened to the roar of the departing train; sometimes the roaring decreased, sometimes it fell silent, then again grew stronger, until it finally stopped. Then he heard the footsteps of the station staff going home, the moving of little tables in the buffet; the lights began going out inside the buffet and a yawning waiter locked the glass door, which squeaked expressively.
‘They lost my metal while looking for the medallion!’ Wokulski thought. ‘I’m sentimental, and a bore…She must have champagne as well as the daily bread of respect and the cake of adoration…The cake of adoration, that’s witty! But what sort of champagne does she like? Ah, the champagne of cynicism…That’s witty too. Well, learning English has paid off, at any rate.’
Wandering aimlessly on, he walked between two rows of goods wagons. For a moment he didn’t know which way to go—and suddenly he had a hallucination. He seemed to be standing inside a huge tower which was silently collapsing. It did not kill him, but was surrounding him on all sides with a wall of ruins, from which he could not extricate himself. There was no way out!
He shuddered, and the vision disappeared. ‘Obviously sleep is overcoming me,’ he thought. ‘Properly speaking, nothing that has happened has been a surprise; it could have been foretold, I even foresaw it all…What was she interested in? Balls, parties, concerts, clothes.…What did she love? Herself. It seemed to her that the whole world existed for her sake, and she herself in order to have a good time. She flirted…yes, that’s the word—she flirted in the most shameless manner with all men; she fought with all the women for beauty, tribute, toilettes…What did she do? Nothing. She adorned drawing-rooms. The only thing by which she could acquire a material existence was her love—false merchandise! And that Starski!…What’s he? A parasite, like she is. He was merely an incident in her life, which has been full of such incidents. I can’t hold it against him; like called to like. Yes, she’s a Messalina of the imagination! Any man who wanted to, could embrace her and seek for the medallion, even that Starski, poor wretch, who had to become a seducer for lack of anything better to do: ‘I used to believe that here on earth, are angels with bright wings