The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [335]
The old clerk spat at his feet and went back to his desk.
Towards evening he called on Mrs Misiewicz to take council with her, and he learned from her own mother that Mrs Stawska was not Wokulski’s mistress simply because he hadn’t asked her.
He left Mrs Misiewicz in despair: ‘Let her be his mistress,’ he said to himself. ‘Oh, goodness … How many well-known ladies are the mistresses of the vilest fellows … But the worst is that Wokulski doesn’t think about her at all. Here’s a fine to-do! Ha, something will have to be done.’
But as he couldn’t think of anything, he went to Dr Szuman.
XXXII
How Eyes Begin to Open
THE DOCTOR was sitting by a lamp, with a green lampshade, industriously looking through a heap of papers.
‘What’s this?’ Rzecki inquired, ‘are you working on human hair again? Goodness, what a quantity of figures … Like a store ledger.’
‘That’s because they are the accounts of your stores and your company,’ Szuman replied.
‘Where did you get them?’
‘I’ve had enough, Szlangbaum is trying to persuade me to entrust my capital to him. As I prefer having six thousand a year to four thousand, I’m prepared to listen to his suggestions. But as I don’t like acting in the dark, I asked for figures. Well, as I see, we shall do business.’
Rzecki was surprised. ‘I never thought,’ he said, ‘that you would concern yourself with such matters.’
‘That’s because I’ve been stupid,’ the doctor replied with a shrug. ‘Wokulski has made a fortune before my very eyes, Szlangbaum is making one, and here I sit like a stone on my few pennies. He who doesn’t go ahead, retreats.’
‘But making money isn’t your concern!’
‘Why isn’t it? Not everyone can be a poet or a hero, but everyone needs money,’ said Szuman. ‘Money is the larder of the noblest force in nature — human labour. It’s the “open sesame” at which all doors fly open, it’s the table-cloth on which one can always find a dinner, it’s the Aladdin’s lamp, by rubbing which everything one wants is to be had. Magic gardens, splendid palaces, beautiful princesses, faithful servants, friends ready to make sacrifices — all these are to be had with money.’
Rzecki bit his lip: ‘You were not always of this opinion,’ he said.
‘Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis,’ the doctor replied, calmly. ‘I’ve wasted ten years studying hair, I spent a thousand roubles publishing a brochure a hundred pages long and … not even a dog remembers it, or me. I will try to devote the next ten years to financial operations, and am convinced in advance that people will love and admire me. Providing I open a drawing-room, and keep a carriage.’
For a moment they were silent, and did not look at one another. Szuman was moody and Rzecki almost ashamed. Finally he remarked: ‘I would like to talk to you about Staś.’
The doctor impatiently pushed the papers aside: ‘What can I do to help him?’ he muttered, ‘he’s an incurable dreamer who will never regain his senses. He is moving disastrously towards material and spiritual ruin, like all of you, and your entire system.’
‘What system?’
‘Your Polish system.’
‘And what would you replace it with, doctor?’
‘Our Jewish one …’
Rzecki almost jumped off his chair: ‘Only a month ago, you were calling the Jews “kikes”.’
‘So they are. But they have a great system; it will triumph, whereas yours is leading to bankruptcy.’
‘And where is this new system to be found?’
‘In the minds that have emerged from the Jewish masses, and which have ascended to the peaks of civilisation. Take Heine, Borne, Lassal, Marx, Rothschild, Bleichroder, and you’ll discover the new ways of the world. It’s the Jews who have established them: despised, persecuted, but patient and full of genius.’
Rzecki rubbed his eyes; he felt he was dreaming, though awake. After a moment he said: ‘Forgive me, doctor, but … are you making fun of me? Six months ago I heard something entirely different from you …’
‘Six months ago,’ replied Szuman, irritated, ‘you heard me protest against the old order, but today you are hearing a new programme. A man isn’t an oyster which grows so close to its