B005GEZ23A EBOK by Witold Gombrowicz Page B

himself. He was aware of his shortcomings, and he would surely have preferred to be different from the way he was—but he was himself in a reasonably cultured and wise manner, with dignity, and it seemed that, though he appeared to be soft and gentle, he was in fact uncompromising and even relentless. And all this bodily culture of his did not in the least originate from weakness but was the expression of some principle, possibly moral, he considered it his duty toward others, but it was also an expression of breeding, of style, something unyielding, well-defined. He had apparently decided to defend his values, such as refinement, gentleness, tenderness, and the more intensely history turned against them, the more intensely he defended them. His arrival produced changes, particularly in our little world. Hipolit seemed to get back ontrack, he gave up whispering to himself and pondering bitterly, it was as if he had been given permission to bring out of his closets his long-unused suits, and he paraded in them with pleasure—a stentorian, cheerfully hospitable country squire, with no reservations. “So how goes it? What’s up? Vodka warms, vodka chills, vodka never bring you ills!” While the hostess too danced her ethereal lamentations and, waving her little fingers in all directions, she spread the shawl of her hospitality.
    Fryderyk responded to Vaclav’s respect with his own most profound respect, he let him pass through the door first, and only upon a slight hand motion from the other did he walk in first, as if submitting to his will—these were Versailles manners. There ensued a competition in courtesy, what was interesting, however, was that each of them extended his courtesy first and foremost to himself, not to the other. From Fryderyk’s first words Vaclav realized he was dealing with someone exceptional, but he was too well-mannered to underscore it—however, the dignity that he ascribed to Fryderyk acted as a stimulant to the sense of his own dignity, he desired to be à
la hauteur,
and he treated himself with kid gloves. Fryderyk, taking on this aristocratic spirit with an unusual eagerness, also began to assume a haughty bearing—from time to time he partook in the conversation, but in the manner of someone whose silence would have been an undeserved catastrophe to everyone around him. And thus, all at once, his fear of incorrectness became his superiority and pride! As far as Henia(who was the real object of the visit) and Karol were concerned, they both suddenly dropped all
hauteur.
She sat on a chair under a window and became a docile young miss, while he looked like a brother assisting in his sister’s courtship, furtively checking his hands to make sure they weren’t dirty.
    What a tea! Cakes and preserves found their way to the table! Then we went into the garden, where sun-filled peace reigned. The young couple walked ahead, Vaclav with Henia. We, the elders, behind, so as not to cramp their style … Hipolit and Madame Maria, both somewhat moved, slightly playful, I walked next to them with Fryderyk, who was telling us about Venice.
    Vaclav was asking Henia about something, explaining something to her, while she, turning her little head toward him, attentive and friendly, was waving a blade of grass.
    Karol was walking to one side on the grass, like a brother bored with his sister’s being courted, he had nothing to do.
    “A stroll like those before the war, …” I said to Madame Maria, and she fluttered her little hand. We were approaching the pond.
    Yet Karol’s dawdling about was slowly gaining force, intensifying, one could see that he didn’t know what to do, his movements suggested that he was restraining his impatience, attenuated by boredom—and at the same time everything that Henia was saying to Vaclav began
to be
for Karol, even though her words were not reaching us—her whole way of being again imperceptibly united with (the boy), and it wasactually happening behind her