The Doll (113 page)

Here he paused for effect. But those present behaved indifferently, knowing in advance what was to come.

The lawyer started speaking again, and appealed to those present not to lose heart: ‘For an eminent citizen has been found, a professional man, a friend and partner of Wokulski, who has decided, like Atlas, to support the tottering company. This man, who wishes to wipe away the tears of thousands, to save this country from ruin, to give trade a push in new directions …'

At this point, all those present turned their heads in the direction of the chair on which Szlangbaum was sitting, sweating and blushing.

‘This man,' the lawyer cried, ‘is Mr …'

‘My son, young Henryk!' said a voice from a corner.

Because this effect was unexpected, the entire hall shook with laughter. In any case, the committee of the trading company feigned delighted surprise, asked those present whether they wanted to accept Mr Szlangbaum as partner and director, and having obtained unanimous approval, they summoned the new director to the presidential chair. Here some confusion ensued. For Szlangbaum senior took the floor at once, and after uttering several compliments to his son and the committee, tabled a motion that the company would not guarantee its shareholders more than ten per cent dividend per annum. An uproar started, a dozen speakers took the floor at the same time, and after some very animated speeches it was resolved that the company would accept new members proposed by Mr Szlangbaum, and that the management of business was also entrusted to Mr Szlangbaum.

The final episode was a speech by Dr Szuman, who had been invited to become a member of the committee, but since he was refusing this honourable position, he permitted himself in a sarcastic manner to mock a company formed of aristocrats and Jews. ‘It is like an illegitimate union,' he said, ‘but sometimes geniuses are born from such unions, so let us hope that our company too will produce some unusual fruit.'

The committee was alarmed, a handful of those present took offence; but the majority gave the doctor a rousing cheer.

Wokulski was very accurately informed of the course of the meeting; during the entire week, he was visited and snowed under by letters, signed and anonymous. For himself, he had discovered he was in a new and strange spiritual mood. It seemed to him that all the bonds linking him with other people had burst, that they were now a matter of indifference to him, that he was not concerned with what concerned them. In a word, he was like an actor who, on finishing his role on the stage where he had laughed, been angry, or wept, now takes a seat in the audience to watch his colleagues acting as though they were children at play: ‘Why do they rush about so? How stupid …' he thought.

It seemed to him that he was looking into the world from a great distance, and could see his own affairs from a new angle, which he had not observed hitherto.

For the first few days, shareholders, workers or clients of the company visited him, dissatisfied with the admission of Szlangbaum, or perhaps concerned for their own futures. For the most part, they tried to persuade him to return to the position he had abandoned but could still retake, since the contract with Szlangbaum had not yet been signed. Others presented their positions in such mournful colours, and even wept, that Wokulski was moved. But at the same time, he discovered such indifference within himself, such lack of sympathy for the misfortunes of others, that he surprised himself. ‘Something has died inside me,' he thought, and sent away his petitioners empty-handed.

Then came a second wave of visitors, who pretended they wanted to thank him for his services, but who really came to satisfy their curiosity, and see what this once strong man looked like, of whom it was now said he had gone to pieces entirely. These people did not ask him to return to the company, but merely praised his past activities and said that it would be long before another man as active as he had been would turn up.

A third wave of visitors called on Wokulski, goodness knows why. For they did not even pay him compliments, merely referred more and more often to Szlangbaum, his energy and his talents.

The carter Wysocki was an exception in the crowds of visitors. He came to bid farewell to his former patron: he even wanted to tell him something, but suddenly burst into tears, kissed him on both hands and hurried from the room.

Very much the same was repeated in the letters. In some, acquaintances and unknown persons urged him not to withdraw from the business, for his withdrawal would be a disaster for the country. Others praised his past activity or pitied him; still others advised him to join Szlangbaum, as a very talented man who thought only of the community's welfare. On the other hand, he was mercilessly insulted in some anonymous letters for having ruined the country's industry a year ago by importing foreign merchandise, and today he was ruining it by selling out to the Jews. The exact price was even mentioned.

Wokulski pondered quite coolly over these things. It seemed to him he was already a dead man, watching his own funeral. He saw those who pitied him, those who praised him, those who cursed him: he saw his successor, to whom the community's admiration was starting to turn, and finally he realised that he himself was forgotten and superfluous. He was like a stone dropped into water, at first causing a whirlpool and movement, but later on, smaller and smaller waves flow away. Finally, above the place where he had fallen, a smooth mirror of water was recreated, where waves flowed again, but now originating from other places, caused by other people. ‘Well, what now?' he said to himself, ‘I have no one, I do nothing … What next?'

He recalled that Szuman had advised him to seek some other purpose in life. Good advice, but … How to follow it, when he himself felt no desire, had neither strength nor wishes? He was like a dead leaf, which goes wherever the wind tosses it. ‘I once foresaw this state of mind,' he thought, ‘but now I can see that I had no idea of what it was like.'

One day he heard a noisy argument in the hall. He glanced out and saw Węgiełek, whom the butler would not admit. ‘Ah, it's you,' said Wokulski, ‘come in … What's your news?'

At first Węgiełek eyed him uneasily; gradually, however, he became more animated, and took comfort. ‘They said,' he declared with a smile, ‘that you were on your last legs, sir, but I see they were lying. You have grown thin, that's true, but you don't look like a scarecrow.'

‘What's your news?' Wokulski repeated.

Węgiełek told him expansively that he had a house, better than the one which had been burned down, and a great deal of work. This was precisely why he had come to Warsaw, in order to buy materials and perhaps to get two assistants. ‘I could start a factory, sir, that I could,' Węgiełek concluded.

Wokulski listened to him in silence. Suddenly he inquired: ‘And are you happy with your wife?'

A shadow flitted across Węgiełek's face: ‘She's a good woman, sir … But … I must tell you, honestly … There's something … It's true that what the eye don't see, the heart don't grieve over; but once it sees …'

He wiped away some tears with his sleeves. ‘What does this mean?' asked Wokulski, surprised.

‘Nothing, sir. I know who it was I married, but I was easy in mind, because the woman was good, quiet, hard-working and as attached to me as a dog. Well, what of that? As long as I was easy in my mind, until I saw her former gentleman friend, or whatever he was …'

‘Where?'

‘In Zasław, sir,' Węgiełek continued. ‘One Sunday, Maria and I went to the castle; I wanted to show her that stream where the blacksmith perished, and that stone you told me to put the inscription on. I noticed the carriage of Baron Dalski, who married the granddaughter of the late Duchess. She was a good woman, may God rest her soul!'

‘Do you know the Baron?' asked Wokulski.

‘I should say so,' Węgiełek replied. ‘The Baron is now landlord of the Duchess's estate, until something is done there. And he's already had me paint rooms and repair windows. I know him! A real gent, and generous too …'

‘So what happened?'

‘So, like I was tellin' you, sir, Maria and me were in the castle, looking at the stream, when all at once the Duchess's granddaughter comes out of the ruins, with that son-of-a-bitch Starski.'

Wokulski threw himself into a chair. ‘Who?' he whispered.

‘That there Mr Starski, the Duchess's grandson, who fawned on her while she was alive, but now wants to challenge her will, for he says his grandma went mad before she died … That's what sort of a person he is.'

He paused, then went on: ‘He had the Baroness by the hand, they looked at our stone, and talked and giggled. Then Starski looked around. He saw my wife, and smiled at her a little, and she went as pale as a handkerchief. “What is it, Maria?” say I. But she: “Nothing.” Meanwhile, the Baroness and that scoundrel ran down the castle hill and went into the woods. “What is it?” say I to Maria again, “only tell me the truth, for I noticed you recognised that scoundrel.” And she sat down on the ground, and burst into tears: “May God punish him,” she says, “it was he who first ruined me.”'

Wokulski closed his eyes.

Węgiełek went on in an angry voice: ‘When I heard that, sir, I thought I'd run after him and kick him to death on the spot, even in front of the Baroness. Such anger came over me … Then I asked myself: “Why did you marry her, you fool? You knew very well what sort of woman she was.” And at that moment my heart sank, so I was afraid to leave the spot, and couldn't look at my wife at all.'

‘She says: “Are you angry?” and I say: “I suppose this is where you used to meet him?” — “God be my witness that I only saw him that once.” “You took a good look at one another!” say I, “would to God I'd been blinded before I saw you: would to God I'd died before I met you. …” And she asks me, weeping, “Why are you angry?” Then I told her, for the first and last time, “You're an animal, that's what …” Because I couldn't control myself any longer.'

‘Then I see the Baron himself rush up, coughing till he went livid in the face, and he asks: “Did you see my wife, Węgiełek?” Something flashed through my mind then, so I said: “I saw her, Your Excellency, she went into the thicket with Mr Starski. He's run short of money for buying girls, so now he's chasing after married ladies …” Well, and the way he looked at me then, even though he's a Baron!'

Węgiełek wiped his eyes surreptitiously: ‘Yes, that's how my life is, sir. I was easy in my mind until I caught sight of that scoundrel; but now, no matter who I see, it seems to me that he's my brother-in-law. And it turns me against my wife, although I don't talk about it … It turns me against her, as if something had happened between her and me … I can't even kiss her like I used to, and if it weren't for the marriage vow, I can tell you, sir, that I'd have left home and gone off to the other end of the world. But it all comes from being attached to her. For if I didn't love her, it wouldn't matter. She's a careful housekeeper, cooks nicely, sews beautifully and is as quiet as a mouse at home. So — let her have suitors! But the fact is that I loved her, and on that account I suffer such pain and anger, that everything in me is being burned to ashes.'

Węgiełek trembled with rage: ‘At first, sir, when we got married, I considered children differently, but it scares me, lest instead of my own son, I should see that of her lover. Everyone knows that once a she-wolf has puppies by a cur, then later on, even if she mates with the finest wolves, the cur will always speak out in the offspring, everyone can see that by looking.'

‘I have to go out,' said Wokulski suddenly, ‘so goodbye. Call on me again before you go home.'

Węgiełek said goodbye to him very cordially, but in the hall he said to the butler: ‘Something ails your master. At first I thought he was all right, though he looked bad; but obviously he is weak … May God protect you all.'

‘Now, you see, I told you not to worm your way in there, and not to talk so much.' the butler replied, pushing him into the porch.

After Węgiełek's departure, Wokulski fell into a profound meditation. ‘They stood at my stone, and they laughed,' he murmured. ‘He even had to profane a stone, a harmless stone.'

For a moment it seemed to him he had found a new purpose: all that was necessary was the choice — whether to shoot Starski dead after first enumerating to him a list of the people whose happiness he had destroyed, or whether to let him live but bring him to utter poverty and humiliation?

Then he had another idea, and it seemed childish, and even vulgar, to sacrifice his own fortune, work and peace of mind for revenge on that sort of man: ‘I'd sooner consider destroying a field mouse or cockroach, for they really are pests. But a man like Starski … God knows what he is! In any case it's impossible that such a limited individual should be the only cause of so much misery. He's merely a spark that sets fire to tinder.'

He lay down on the
chaise-longue
and thought: ‘He fixed things for me … Why? He had an accomplice who was entirely worthy of him, and another accomplice, too — my own stupidity. How was it possible not to recognise that woman instantly for what she is, but even to make a goddess out of her, simply because she posed as a higher being? He fixed things for Dalski too, but who can blame Dalski in his old age for going insane over a person whose morals would fit into a thimble? The cause of disasters in this world isn't the Starskis or men like him, but primarily the stupidity of their victims. Then again, neither Starski nor Izabela nor yet Ewelina were born yesterday, it's just that they were brought up in a certain sphere of society and in a given epoch, and amidst certain notions. They're like a rash, which isn't a disease, but is a symptom of sickness in society. What's the use of being revenged on them, why destroy them?'