The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [61]
‘Now, be a good girl,’ said her mother, ‘kneel down and say your prayers.’
‘Which prayers?’
‘Three Our Fathers, then the Hail Mary…’
‘Oh, what long prayers…and I am only a little girl.’
‘Well, say one…But kneel down…and look over there.’
‘Hail Mary, full of Grace…Mama, what are those birds singing?’
‘They’re stuffed birds. Say your prayer.’
‘Stuffed, mama?’
‘Say the first rosary…’
‘I forget where I got to…’
‘Say after mama: “Hail Mary…”’
‘… to our death, amen,’ the little girl concluded. ‘What are those stuffed birds made of, mama?’
‘Helusia, shush, or I won’t give you a kiss,’ her mother whispered distractedly. ‘Here’s a prayer-book, look at the pictures of how the Lord Jesus was crucified.’
The little girl sat down with the book on the confessional steps and fell silent.
‘What a pretty child,’ Wokulski thought. ‘If she were mine, then surely I’d regain control of my senses which I’m losing from one day to the next. And her mother is a pretty woman, too. Her hair, profile, eyes… She’s praying to find happiness again… Beautiful but unhappy…she must be a widow.
‘Ha—if I’d met her a year ago! What kind of order is there in the world? Just a pace away are two unhappy people: one seeking love and a family; the other perhaps struggling with poverty and indifference. Either might find what he or she needs in the other—but they’ll never meet. One comes here to beg God’s mercy; the other throws away money in order to make social contacts. Who knows but that a few hundred roubles mightn’t mean happiness to that woman? Yet she won’t get them: nowadays God doesn’t hear the prayers of the oppressed…
‘Suppose I were to find out who she is? Perhaps I could help her? Why shouldn’t the high-sounding promises of Christ be fulfilled, even by such an unbeliever as I, since the pious are otherwise engaged?’
At this moment Wokulski flushed… An elegant young man had approached the Countess’s table and placed something in the tray. Seeing him, Izabela blushed and her eyes took on that strange expression which always made Wokulski wonder.
The elegant young man sat down at the Countess’s invitation in the same chair Wokulski had occupied, and a lively conversation ensued. Wokulski could not hear what was said, but he felt the picture of the group burning into his brain. The costly carpet, the silver tray strewn with his handful of imperials, the two candelabra with ten flames, the Countess in deep mourning, the young man gazing at Izabela and she—radiant. Nor did it escape his notice that the Countess’s cheeks, the tip of the young man’s nose, and Izabela’s eyes were all glowing in the light of the flames.
‘Are they in love?’ he thought. ‘If so, why don’t they marry? Perhaps he has no money… If he hasn’t, what does that look of hers mean? She looked at me like that, today. It is true that an eligible young lady must have several or several hundred admirers and attract them all, in order to sell herself to the highest bidder…’
Their companion arrived. The Countess rose, as did Izabela and the handsome young man, and all three went towards the door with a great deal of rustling, stopping at the other tables. Each young man assisting there greeted Izabela cordially, while she bestowed upon them the same, the very same gaze, which had made Wokulski’s reason totter. Finally all became silent; the Countess and Izabela had left the church.
Wokulski roused himself and looked around. The pretty woman and the child had gone. ‘A pity,’ he whispered, and felt a light pressure upon his heart.
Meanwhile, the young girl in the velvet jacket and gaudy hat was still kneeling on the ground by the Cross. When she turned her gaze upon the illuminated grave, something glistened on her rouged cheeks. She kissed Christ’s feet once more, rose wearily and went out.
‘Blessed are they who mourn… May the dead Christ keep his promise to you at least,’ Wokulski thought, and followed her out.
He saw the girl giving money to the beggars in the porch. And a cruel pain came upon him when he thought of these