The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [129]
But after Maruszewicz had gone, Wokulski was very pleased: ‘He looks to me,’ he thought, ‘like a scamp of the first degree and cunning into the bargain. He wanted a position with me, but found himself one spying on me, and informing others. He might make things awkward for me, were it not for those four hundred roubles he’s taken, on a forged signature, I am sure. Krzeszowski, for all his eccentricity and laziness, is an honest man (can an idler be honest?…). He would never sacrifice his wife’s affairs or caprices for a loan from me…’
He felt it was all very unpleasant; he leaned his head in his hands and went on brooding, his eyes closed: ‘But what am I doing? I have deliberately helped a scoundrel to commit a villainy…Were I to die today, Krzeszowski would have to repay the money to my estate. No, Maruszewicz would be sent to prison. Well, that awaits him anyhow…’
After a while, still blacker pessimism overtook him: ‘Four days ago I almost killed a man; today I have built a bridge to prison for another, and all in return for that ‘Merci…’ of hers. Well, it was for her that I made my fortune, that I give work to several hundred people, and am increasing the country’s prosperity…For what should I be, were it not for her? A small dealer in haberdashery…Whereas now all Warsaw is talking about me…A lump of coal moves a ship bearing the destinies of hundreds of people, and love drives me on…But what if it consumes me so I am reduced to a handful of ash? Oh God, what a wretched world this is…Ochocki was right: a woman is a wretched creature—she will play with things she cannot even begin to understand…’
He was so preoccupied with his painful thoughts that he did not hear the door open and rapid footsteps behind him. He did not waken until he felt the touch of someone’s hand. He looked up and saw the eminent lawyer of the Prince, with a large briefcase under one arm and a solemn look on his face.
Wokulski jumped up in embarrassment, seated his visitor in a chair; the eminent lawyer then put one hand on the desk and, quickly rubbing the back of his neck with one finger, said in a low voice: ‘My dear sir…Mr Wokulski…My dear Stanisław…What is this? What are you up to? I protest…I deny it…I appeal to Mr Wokulski, a frivolous fellow—to dear Stanisław, who from being a shop-boy became a scholar, and was to reform our foreign trade for us…Stanisław—this cannot be!’
As he spoke, he rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced as if his mouth were full of quinine. Wokulski looked away: the lawyer went on: ‘My dear sir, in a word—bad news! Count Sanocki—you remember him, he was in favour of saving pennies—wishes now to withdraw entirely from the partnership. And do you know why? For two reasons: first, you enjoy yourself at the races, and second, because your horse beat his. His horse ran against your mare—and lost. The Count is extremely vexed, and keeps muttering: “Why the devil should I invest capital with him? To enable a tradesman to race against me and seize the prize from under my very nose?” I tried in vain to dissuade him,’ the lawyer went on, after a pause for breath, ‘and reminded him that races are as good a business as any other, after all, and even better, since within a few days you made three hundred roubles on eight hundred; but the Count silenced me immediately. “Wokulski,” said he, “gave away all the prize money and the sum obtained for the horse to some ladies, for charity, and goodness knows how much he gave Young and Miller…”’
‘May I not even do that?’ Wokulski interrupted.
‘Of course, of course,’ the eminent lawyer agreed, affably, ‘you may indeed, but in doing so, you are only repeating former sins, which in any case are better committed by others. But that was not why I and the Prince and these Counts appealed to you, merely to warm up old dishes