The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [369]
‘But suppose she is in love with somebody else?’ I asked.
‘With whom? Wokulski, may be? Ha! Ha! … Who would fall in love with that gruff old bear? … A woman needs to be shown feelings, passions, to be spoken to of love, to have her hands pressed, and if possible, also … But could that lump of clay do anything of the kind? He made up to Izabela like a pointer to a duck, because he thought he would enter into contact with the aristocracy and that the young lady had a dowry. But when he saw how things were, he ran away from her at Skierniewice. Oh sir, one can’t treat women so!’
I admit I don’t care for Mraczewski’s raptures. When he starts hurling himself at her feet, whining, sobbing, then in the end he’ll turn Mrs Stawska’s head. And Wokulski may regret it, because — on my word of honour as an ex-officer — she was the only woman for him.
But let us wait, and in the meantime — be off!
Brr! So I left. I bought a ticket to Cracow, got into the train at the Warsaw—Vienna railroad station and then, after the third departure bell had rung, I jumped out again. I can’t leave Warsaw and the store even for a little while. I got my luggage back from the railroad on the next day, it had gone as far as Piotrków. If all my plans go like this, I must congratulate myself.
XXXVI
A Soul in Lethargy
LYING or sitting in his room, Wokulski mechanically recalled his return from Skierniewice to Warsaw. Around five that morning, he had bought a first-class ticket at the railroad station, though he was uncertain whether he had asked for it or whether it had been given to him without his asking. Then he got into a second-class compartment, and there he found a priest, who looked out of the window for the entire journey, also a red-haired German who took off his spats and slept like a log, with his feet (in dirty socks) on the opposite seat. Finally, facing him, had been an old lady, who had such a bad toothache that she didn’t even object to the behaviour of her neighbour in the socks.
Wokulski wanted to calculate the number of persons travelling in the compartment, and with great difficulty he noticed that, without him there were three, and with him — four. Then he began wondering why three persons plus one person makes four altogether — and he fell asleep.
In Warsaw, he didn’t come to himself until he was riding in a droshky in Aleje Jerozolimskie. But who had carried his valise for him, and how had he got himself into the droshky? This he did not know, and it didn’t even matter to him.
He got into his apartment after ringing for half an hour, though it was already nearly eight in the morning. A sleepy servant opened the door, undressed, alarmed by his sudden return. On entering the bedroom, Wokulski realised that the faithful servant had been sleeping in his own bed. He did not reproach him, merely ordered tea.
The servant, wide-awake but also embarrassed, hastily changed the bed linen and pillow-cases, and when he saw the newly made bed Wokulski did not drink the tea, but undressed and lay down to sleep. He slept until five that afternoon and then, after washing and dressing to go out, he sat down involuntarily in an armchair in the drawing-room and dozed until evening. When the street lamps were lit, he ordered a lamp and a steak from a restaurant. He ate it greedily, drank wine and went to bed again around midnight.
Next day Rzecki visited him, but he didn’t recall how long he stayed, or what they talked about. Not until the following night, when he woke up for a moment, did he seem to see Rzecki with a very worried expression. Then he lost count of time entirely, did not notice any difference between day and night, did not consider