The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [23]
‘Well, I don’t go to such nonsense.’
‘That’s so. But I’d have given — oh, ten thousand roubles, just to see them. How absurd! Isn’t it?’
‘Certainly, though loneliness and boredom explain a good deal …’
‘Perhaps yearning too,’ Wokulski interrupted. ‘It poisoned my every free moment, my every hour of rest. Pour me some wine, Ignacy.’
He drank it, again began to walk about the room and speak in a stifled voice: ‘It came upon me first during a passage across the Danube that lasted from dusk till late at night. I was alone, with only a gipsy guide. We could not talk, so I watched the scenery. In that place, I saw sandbanks just like those here. Then it occurred to me that I was so far away from home that the only link between myself and all of you were these stars, but that probably none of you were looking at them at that moment, no one was thinking of me, no one! … I felt as though torn asunder, and not until that moment did I realise how deep was the wound in my soul …’
‘Truly, the stars have never interested me,’ Ignacy whispered.
‘From that day on, I suffered a strange sickness,’ Wokulski said. ‘As long as I was writing letters, doing accounts, inspecting goods, dispatching my agents or watching out for thieves, I had relative calm of mind. But when I tore myself away from business, and even when I momentarily laid down my pen, I felt a pain — do you understand me, Ignacy? — as if there were grit in my heart. It became so that I’d walk about, eat, talk, think reasonably, look at the scenery, even laugh and be cheerful, yet all the time I’d feel this dull pain, this uneasiness, this interminable disquiet …
‘This chronic state, indescribably agonising, was blown into a tempest by the slightest circumstance. A tree of familiar outline, some rocky hill, the colour of a cloud or flight of a bird, even a breath of wind, with no other reason, woke such insane despair within me that I fled from other people. I sought out a solitary refuge to fall to the ground and howl like a dog, unheard by anyone …
‘Sometimes, in this flight from myself, night would overtake me. Then dark shadows with sunken eyes would appear to me in the undergrowth, among the fallen tree-trunks, and would shake their heads sorrowfully. And all the rustling leaves, the distant noise of carts passing by, the trickling water would blend into one mournful voice, which asked: “Passer-by, what has become of you?”
‘Yes, what had become of me? …’
‘I don’t understand,’ Ignacy interrupted. ‘What sort of madness was it?’
‘Yearning …’
‘For what?’
Wokulski shivered.
‘Well, for everything … for home …’
‘Why didn’t you come back home, then?’
‘What would my return have meant? … Anyhow, I couldn’t.’
‘You could not?’ Ignacy echoed.
‘I could not — and basta! I had nothing to return for,’ Wokulski replied impatiently. ‘It was all the same whether I died here or there … more wine!’ he finished suddenly, reaching out his hand.
Rzecki looked at his feverish face and drew the bottle out of reach.
‘Let it be — you’re excited enough as it is.’
‘That’s why I want to drink …’
‘And that is why you should not drink,’ Ignacy interrupted. ‘You are talking too much … perhaps more than you would have wished,’ he added, emphatically.
Wokulski drew back. He reflected, then answered with a shake of the head: ‘You are wrong.’
‘I’ll prove it to you,’ said Ignacy in a stifled voice, ‘You didn’t go abroad merely to make a fortune …’
‘Of course not,’ said Wokulski, after a pause.
‘For what use are three hundred thousand roubles to you, when a thousand is ample for a year?’
‘That is so.’
Rzecki approached his lips to Wokulski’s ear.
‘What’s more … you didn’t bring this money back for yourself.’
‘Who knows but what you’re right?’
‘I guess a great deal more than you may think.’
Suddenly Wokulski laughed.
‘Aha, so that’s what you think?’ he exclaimed. ‘I assure you, you old dreamer, that you know nothing.’
‘I fear your sobriety, which makes you talk like a madman. Do you understand me,