Solitude

A Companion

The doll is one of the most imperious necessities.
     -Victor Hugo

     The doll is made in the image of man and is therefore like ourselves—except that it does not and should not move.

     That is why dolls are lovable creatures, to be taken in the hands and held close and caressed and put down where they can be seen and talked to.  And there is the species, too, of teddy bears, and spotted dogs, and white rabbits that respond so quickly to the touch and are the most steadfast and dependable of friends.  Self-abnegating, a doll’s nature is all serenity.  It yields to our demands without hesitation or rancor, though struck it does not strike back, though humiliated it does not hate.  Dolls comfort us because they never wish us anything but well.  They are without desire, and though as old as time, they have no memories.  Patient, understanding, and above all there whenever needed, dolls are faithful forever.

     As we grow older, our dolls grow younger, until they cease to be.  Still the urge to behold a three-dimensional image remains.  And so we surround ourselves with objects that also inhabit the space where we are – porcelain figurines, plaster-of-paris statuettes, the glass menagerie, figures carved in wood and placed like household deities on table and mantle, pert china kittens, ivory elephants and jade kings, the iron beasts that guard a gateway, the stone lions at the entrance to the New York Public Library on the corner of 5th Avenue and 42nd St.  Perhaps we cannot love the stiff creatures, cannot hold and caress them, but they afford a modest comfort and protect us against the little nameless fears, are happy objects that mean well by us and we by them.

(Author unknown)