The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [201]
After the banquet in the wine-cellar, Staś did not show himself at my dwelling for several days. Finally he entered — wearing someone else’s clothes, thinner, but with his head high. Then for the first time I heard a sort of harsh note in his voice, which still makes a very disagreeable impression on me to this day.
From that time on, he entirely changed his way of life. He threw the balloon and propeller into a corner, where they soon began collecting spider-webs; he gave the demijohn to the caretaker for a water-jug, and never even glanced at his books. So that treasury of human wisdom lay about on shelves or the table, closed or open, while he …
Sometimes he would not be at home for several days together, not even for the night: then again he would drop in of an evening and throw himself on his bed, fully dressed. Sometimes, several gentlemen unknown to me would come instead of him, and spend the night on the sofa or in Staś’s bed, without even thanking me or telling me their names or profession. Then again sometimes Staś would reappear and sit in the room for a few days, doing nothing, irritable, always on the alert, like a lover come to a tryst with a married lady and afraid of meeting her husband.
I do not suppose that this married lady was Małgosia Mincel, for she now looked as if a gadfly had bitten her. Mornings, the woman rushed around three or so churches, evidently wishing to pester merciful Heaven from several vantage points. Immediately after dinner she went to meetings of ladies who deserted their husbands and children to busy themselves with gossip in the expectation of great events. In the evenings, gentlemen would call on her: but they used to pack her off into the kitchen without even speaking to her.
It is hardly surprising that with such chaos at home I too began to grow confused. Warsaw seemed more crowded, everyone bemused. Every hour I expected some indefinable surprise, but nevertheless we were all in a good temper and our heads full of plans.
Jan Mincel, meanwhile, worried by his spouse at home, went out for beer early in the morning and did not come home till late. He even thought up a saying: ‘What does it matter? Death only stings once …’ which he used to repeat till his dying day.
Finally, Staś Wokulski entirely disappeared from my sight. Not until two years later did he write to me from Irkutsk, asking me to send his books.
In autumn 1870 (I had just come home from Jan Mincel’s, he was ill in bed) I had just sat down to my evening tea in my room, when suddenly someone knocked: ‘Herein!’ said I.
The door squeaked …I looked up, and there on the threshold was a bearded figure in a sealskin overcoat, fur outwards: ‘Well,’ said I, ‘may the devil take me if it isn’t Wokulski …’
‘In person,’ said the individual in sealskin.
‘For goodness sake,’ said I, ‘you’re joking to be sure … Or are you lost? Where in the world do you come from? Are you his spirit?’
‘No, I’m alive,’ said he, ‘and hungry into the bargain.’
So he took off his cap, got out of his fur-coat, sat down by the candle. He really was Wokulski. He’d grown a beard like a brigand, had a countenance like Longinus (who put a spear into Christ our Lord), but of course it really was Wokulski.
‘So you’re back,’ said I, ‘have you just arrived?’
‘Yes, and back for good.’
‘What was that country like?’
‘Not bad.’
‘Hm …And the people?’
‘Not bad.’
‘Hm …And what did you live on?’
‘I gave lessons,’ said he, ‘and I’ve brought six hundred roubles back with me.’
‘Well, well…And what do you plan on doing now?’
‘Well, I shan’t go back to Hopfer’s,’ he replied, thumping the table-top, ‘you probably don’t know I’m a scholar now. I’ve even acquired several diplomas from scientific societies in St Petersburg.’
‘So a waiter from Hopfer’s has become a scholar! Staś Wokulski has diplomas from scientific societies in St Petersburg …Unheard of,’ thought I.
What more is there to say? The lad found himself a place somewhere in the Old Town and lived on his savings for six months,