The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [142]
The throngs passed between two long walls of variegated coloured houses, over which loomed the high façades of churches. Two monuments stood at either end of the street, watching over the city like sentries. At one end was King Zygmunt, standing on what looked like an enormous candle, inclined towards the Bernadine church as if he wanted to communicate something to the passers-by. At the other end, Copernicus, holding a motionless globe in one hand, turned his back on the sun which rose every day behind the Karas Palace, ascended over the Society of Friends of Art and went down behind the Zamoyski Palace, as much as to contradict the saying: ‘He stopped the sun—and made the earth rotate.’
Wokulski, who was looking in that direction from his balcony, sighed involuntarily, remembering that the astronomer’s only friends had been porters and sawyers, not distinguished (as we know) by any precise knowledge of Copernicus’s services to mankind. ‘Much good it did him,’ he thought, ‘to be called the “pride of the nation” in a few books…I can understand working for happiness, but working for a fiction calling itself society, or fame—no, I wouldn’t undertake that. Let society think of itself, as for fame…What prevents me from thinking I may be famous on Syrius, say? Yet Copernicus is in no better position today regarding the earth, and is about as much concerned with statues in Warsaw as I am with pyramids on Vega. I’d gladly give three centuries of fame for a brief period of happiness, and am surprised I was ever so stupid as to think otherwise…’
As if in response to this, he noticed Ochocki on the opposite side of the street, head bowed, hands in pockets, walking slowly along. This plain coincidence startled Wokulski. For a moment he even believed in premonitions, and thought in joyful amazement: ‘Does not this mean that he will have the fame of Copernicus—and I happiness? Go, build your flying-machines, but let me have your cousin! Yet—what superstition is this?’ he reflected after a moment, ‘I—and superstition!’
All the same he was much pleased by the notion that Ochocki might have immortal fame while he himself possessed the living Izabela. He felt encouraged. He could not help laughing at himself, but felt calmer and encouraged nevertheless.
‘Let us suppose,’ he thought, ‘that despite all my efforts—she rejects me. Well, then? Upon my word, I’ll take a mistress at once, and sit with her in a box next to the Łęckis. The worthy Mrs Meliton and perhaps…Maruszewicz—will find me a woman with looks like hers: even that can be found for a few thousand roubles. I’ll dress her up in lace from head to foot, I’ll lavish jewels upon her—then we’ll see whether Izabela doesn’t pale beside her. Let her marry the marshal or Baron if need be…’
But the thought of Izabela’s marriage overcame him with rage and despair. At this moment he would gladly have packed the earth with dynamite and blown it sky-high.
But he came to his senses yet again: ‘Well, what should I do if it pleased her to marry? Or even if it pleased her to take lovers—my clerk, some officer or other, a waggoner or footman…What could I do about it?’
Respect for the personality and individuality of other people was so great in him, that even his madness yielded before it. ‘What should I do? What?’ he repeated, clutching his fevered brow with both hands.
He called at the store for an hour, did some business, then went home: at four o’clock the valet produced linen from a wardrobe, and a barber came to shave and trim his hair for him. ‘Well, what’s the news, Mr Fitulski?’ he asked the barber.
‘Nothing, and it will get worse. The Berlin congress is thinking of suppressing Europe, Bismarck hopes to suppress the congress, and the Jews hope to skin us alive…’ said the young artist, who was handsome as a seraphim and as neat as if he had just stepped out of a fashion-plate.
He tied a towel around Wokulski’s neck, and as he soaped his chin with lightning rapidity, went on: ‘The town, sir, is pretty quiet just now. I was