The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [372]
He put down the book and, smiling at himself, dreamed he was a magician who possessed two trifles: power over the forces of Nature, and the power to make himself invisible. ‘I believe,’ he thought, ‘that after a few years of my rule, the world would look different … The greatest scoundrels would change into Socrates and Plato.’
Then he noticed the letter from Paris and recalled Geist’s words: ‘Humanity consists of reptiles and tigers, amidst which barely one in the whole crowd is a human being. Today’s misfortunes spring from the fact that great inventions fell into the hands of men and monsters indifferently … I shall not commit that error, and if I finally discover a metal lighter than air, I will pass it on only to real men. Let them equip themselves with arms for their own eyes: let their number multiply, and grow in power …’
‘It would undoubtedly be better,’ he muttered, ‘if men like Ochocki and Rzecki were strong, not the Starskis and Maruszewiczes. There’s a purpose for you!’ he went on thinking, ‘if I were younger … Although … Well, even here there are people and there’s a great deal to be done.’
Again he began reading a tale in the Thousand and One Nights, but noticed that it no longer absorbed him. The earlier pain had begun to fret his heart, and before his eyes the image of Izabela and Starski was sketched with increasing clarity. He recalled Geist in his wooden sandals, and his strange house surrounded by its wall. And suddenly it seemed to him that the house was the first step of a huge staircase, at the top of which stood a statue disappearing into the clouds. It represented a woman, whose head and bosom were out of sight, only the brass folds of her robe could be seen. It seemed to him that there was an inscription ‘Unchangeable and pure’ on the step which her feet touched. He did not understand what this was, but felt that from the statue’s feet there flowed into his heart some greatness full of tranquillity. And he was surprised that he, being capable of experiencing this feeling, should be in love or angry with Izabela, or jealous of Starski.
Shame struck him in the face, though there was no one in the room. The vision disappeared, Wokulski came to. Once again, he was only a man in pain, and feeble; but in his soul a powerful voice resounded, like the echo of an April storm, predicting resurrection and spring with its thunderclaps.
On June 1st, Szlangbaum visited him. He came with some embarrassment, but regained his spirits after surveying Wokulski. ‘I didn’t visit you before,’ he began, ‘because I knew you were unwell and didn’t want to see anyone. Well, but now, thank God, everything has passed.’
He fidgeted in his chair and threw a furtive glance around the room; perhaps he had expected to find it in greater disorder.
‘Have you some business to discuss?’ Wokulski asked him.
‘Not so much business, as a proposal … Just when I heard you were ill it occurred to me … You see, you need a long rest, respite from all business, so it occurred to me you might invest that hundred and twenty thousand roubles with me. You could have ten per cent with no trouble.’
‘Aha,’ Wokulski interposed, ‘I paid my fellow investors fifteen per cent without any trouble, even to myself,’
‘But times are hard now … Well, I’ll gladly pay you fifteen per cent, if you’ll leave me your firm.’
‘Neither the firm, nor the money,’ Wokulski replied impatiently. ‘Would to God the firm had never existed, and as for the money … I have so much that the interest which the papers alone give is enough. Too much, indeed.’
‘So you want to withdraw your capital by Midsummer Day?’ asked Szlangbaum.
‘I can leave it with you until October, without interest — on condition you keep the men who want to stay in the store.’
‘That’s a difficult condition, but…’
‘As you