I think to myself: ‘What the devil’s this, can Staś have sacked him?’ So I reply: ‘You can rest assured, Mr Szlangbaum, of my cordiality, providing you haven’t committed any fraud, Mr Szlangbaum.’
I emphasised the last words, for my Mr Szlangbaum looked as though he intended either to purchase our store, (which seems unlikely to me), or steal the cash-box … which, though he’s honest, I wouldn’t consider out of the question.
Evidently he noticed this, for he smiled slightly and went back to his department. A quarter of an hour later, I walked in there as though by chance, but found him at work as usual. Indeed, I’d even say he was working harder than usual; he trotted up ladders, pulled down rolls of reps and velvet, put them back in the cupboards and, in a word, was bustling about like a bee. ‘No,’ I thought, ‘surely this fellow will never rob us.’
I noticed — and this also made me ponder — that Mr Zięba was being humbly civil to Szlangbaum, and was looking at me rather haughtily, though not very. ‘Ha!’ I thought, ‘he wants to compensate Szlangbaum for his previous insults, and to preserve his personal honour as far as I, the most senior clerk, am concerned. Very decent of him, for we should always condescend a little to those above us, but be exaggeratedly civil to those beneath.’
That evening I went to the tavern for beer. Whom should I see but Mr Szprott and Councillor Węgrowicz! Ever since that contretemps which I’ve mentioned with Szprott, he and I have been on terms of mutual indifference, but I greeted the councillor cordially enough. And he says to me: ‘Well, has it happened?’
‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘but I don’t understand you (I thought he was alluding to Mrs Stawska’s law-suit), I don’t understand you at all, Councillor.’
‘What don’t you understand?’ says he, ‘not the fact that the store has been sold?’
‘Cross yourself, Councillor,’ say I, ‘what store?’
The respectable old councillor had already got six bottles inside of him, so he began laughing and says: ‘Pooh! I may cross myself if I choose, but they won’t let you do so when you give over eating Christian bread and take to Jewish challah instead; there now, people say the Jews have bought that store of yours …’
I thought I would have an apoplectic stroke: ‘Councillor,’ say I, ‘you’re too serious a man not to tell me where you heard this news!’
‘The whole town’s talking,’ replied the councillor, ‘and besides, let Mr Szprott here explain.’
‘Mr Szprott,’ say I, with a bow, ‘I didn’t intend to speak to you, the more so that when I asked you for satisfaction you, like a scoundrel, refused it … Like a scoundrel, Mr Szprott … However, I must tell you that you’re either repeating gossip, or making it up yourself.’
‘What’s that?’ roared Szprott, banging the table with his fist as he had done the previous time, ‘I refused because I’m not here to give satisfaction to you, nor to any man. Yet I’ll repeat that the Jews are buying that store of yours.’
‘What Jews?’
‘Goodness knows — the Szlangbaums, Hundbaums — how should I know?’
I was so overcome with rage that I ordered beer, and Węgrowicz says: ‘There’ll be a nasty to-do one day with these Jews. They’re pressing in on us, turning us out of jobs, buying us up — so it’s hard to cope with ’em. We’ll never get the better of them by cheating, that’s for sure, but when it comes to bare fists, then we’ll see who comes off best.’
‘You are right, Councillor!’ added Szprott. ‘Those Jews will seize everything so that in the end it will have to be taken from them by force, to maintain stability. For just look, gentlemen, at what is happening, if only in the courts.’
‘Well,’ say I, ‘if the Jews buy our store, I’ll join in with the rest of you; my fist still carries some weight. But in the meantime, for goodness sake, don’t spread rumours about Wokulski and don’t agitate people against the Jews, because there’s enough bitterness without that.’
I went home with a headache, furious with the whole world. I woke up several times in the night, and each time I dropped off again I dreamed that the Jews had really bought our store, and that I, so as not to starve to death, was going around the courtyards with a barrel-organ on which was written: ‘Take pity on a poor old ex-Hungarian officer.’
Not until the morning did I hit upon one simple and sensible idea, to wit, discuss it firmly with Staś, and if in fact he was going to sell, then to try for another position.
A fine prospect after so many years of service! If I were a dog, at least they’d put a bullet through my head. But a man has to demean himself, uncertain to the end whether he won’t end his days in the gutter.
Wokulski wasn’t in the store that morning, so at about two I went off to see him. Could he be sick? I went into the gateway of the house he lives in, and ran across Dr Szuman. When I told him I wanted to see Staś, he replied: ‘Don’t go. He’s irritable, and had better be left in peace. You’d-better come with me for a glass of tea. Apropos, do I have a sample of your hair?’
‘It seems to me,’ I replied, ‘that I’ll soon be giving you my hair along with the rest of my skin.’
‘Do you want to have yourself stuffed?’
‘I ought to, for no one has yet seen anyone so stupid as I am.’
‘Cheer up,’ Szuman replied, ‘there are stupider people. But what’s the matter?’
‘Never mind what’s the matter with me, but I’ve heard that Staś is selling the store to the Jews … Well, and I won’t work for the likes of them.’
‘What’s this, has anti-Semitism got into you, too?’
‘No; but it’s one thing not to be an anti-Semite, and another to work for the Jews.’
‘So who will work for them, then? For although I’m a Jew, I don’t wear their livery. In any case,’ he added, ‘how did such thoughts get into your head? If the store is sold, you’ll have an excellent position in the company trading with Russia.’
‘That company is uncertain,’ I interposed.
‘Very,’ Szuman agreed, ‘because there are so very few Jews in it, and too many magnates. But that’s no concern of yours, for … don’t give the secret away, though … but it’s no concern of yours what happens to the store and the company, since Wokulski has left you twenty thousand roubles in his will.’
‘Me? In his will? What does this mean?’ I cried, in amazement.
We had just entered Szuman’s apartment, and the doctor ordered the samovar. ‘What does this bequest mean?’ I asked, somewhat uneasy.
‘Bequest! … Bequest! …’ muttered Szuman, walking around the room and scratching the back of his head. ‘What does it mean? I don’t know, it’s enough that Wokulski made it. Clearly he wants to be ready for any eventuality, like all sensible merchants.’
‘Can it mean another duel?’
‘Oh, for goodness sake … Wokulski has too much sense to commit the same folly twice. Only, my dear Mr Rzecki, anyone who is concerned with such a female must be prepared …’
‘With what female? Mrs Stawska?’ I asked.
‘What has Mrs Stawska to do with it?’ said the doctor, ‘I’m thinking of more important game, of Miss Łęcka, whom that madman has fallen hopelessly in love with. He’s beginning to see what sort of a bad egg she is, he’s suffering and fretting, but he can’t break with her. The worst thing is a late love affair, particularly when it hits a fellow like Wokulski.’
‘Whatever can have happened? Only yesterday he was at a dance at the Town Hall.’
‘Of course he was, because she was there, and I was there because the pair of them were. A fine business!’ the doctor muttered.
‘Couldn’t you speak more plainly?’ I asked impatiently.
‘Why not, since everyone knows all about it?’ said the doctor. ‘Wokulski is insane about the young lady, she flirts with him very cleverly, while her other admirers … wait. It’s a scandal,’ Szuman went on, walking around the room again, and rubbing his head: ‘While Izabela was penniless and had no sui
tors, then not even a dog would visit them. But when Wokulski turned up, rich, with a great reputation and contacts which people somewhat exaggerate, then such a flock gathered around Miss Łęcka of more or less stupid, spoiled and handsome bachelors that you can’t get a sight of her. Each of them sighs, turns up his eyes, whispers tender phrases, presses her hand fondly as they dance …’
‘And what does she have to say to this?’
‘Wretched woman!’ said the doctor, shrugging. ‘Instead of despising the throng which has already deserted her several times, she revels in their society. Everyone sees that, and the worst is that — Wokulski sees it too.’
‘Why in the devil’s name doesn’t he leave her? It’s all very well for some, but surely he won’t let himself be made a fool of?’
The samovar was brought. Szuman dismissed the servant, and poured tea. ‘You see,’ he said, ‘he would certainly quit her if he were able to evaluate things sensibly. There was a moment last night at the ball, when the lion awoke in Staś, and when he went to exchange a few words with Miss Łęcka, I’d have sworn he said to her: “Goodnight, madam, I’ve seen your cards and won’t play with them!” The expression he had, as he went over to her! But what of it? The young lady gave him a look, whispered, pressed his hand, and my Staś was so happy all evening, so happy that … today he wants to put a bullet through his head — if it weren’t that he’s expecting another of those looks, another whisper and touch of the hand … The fool doesn’t see that she distributes the very same favours to ten men, and in much bigger doses.’
‘What sort of woman is she?’
‘Like hundreds and thousands of others. Pretty, spoiled, but soulless. To her, Wokulski’s value equals his money and importance: he’s all right for a husband, of course — for want of a better. But for her lovers, she chooses men that suit her book. And yet he,’ Szuman went on, ‘in Hopfer’s cellar and on the steppe, fed himself on the heroines of Romantic poetry and such-like chimeras, so that he sees a divinity in Miss Łęcka. He doesn’t merely love her, he adores her, he worships her, would gladly fall on his knees before her … A bitter awakening awaits him! For, although he’s a full-blooded Romantic, he isn’t going to imitate Mickiewicz who forgave the woman who mocked him, even yearned for her after the betrayal, bah! then made her immortal. A fine lesson for our young ladies; if you want fame, betray your most fervent admirers! We Poles are condemned to act as fools even in a matter as simple as love.’
‘Do you think, doctor, that Wokulski will be such a fool?’ I asked, feeling the blood boil within me as it did at Vilagos.
Szuman almost jumped out of his chair. ‘Oh, damnation!’ he cried, ‘nowadays a man can go crazy until he tells himself “Suppose she loves me, suppose she’s what I think she is?” But if he doesn’t notice that they’re mocking him, I … I’d be the first, though a Jew, to spit in his face … Such a man may be unhappy, but he doesn’t have the right to be abject.’
Not for long had I seen Szuman so irritated. He’s a Jew from top to toe, but a true friend and a man with a sense of honour. ‘Well,’ said I, ‘calm yourself, doctor. I have the cure for Staś.’
And I told him everything I knew about Mrs Stawska, adding, ‘I’ll die, I promise you that, doctor, if I don’t marry Staś to Mrs Stawska. She’s a woman with sense and feeling, and will repay love with love, and he needs just such a woman.’
Szuman shook his head and raised his eyebrows: ‘Well, try it … The only cure for one woman is another. Though I’m afraid the cure is too late.’
‘He’s a man of iron,’ I interposed.
‘And therefore dangerous,’ the doctor replied. ‘It’s hard to erase what has once been written in such a man’s soul, and difficult to repair what is broken.’
‘Mrs Stawska will do it.’
‘God grant that she does.’
‘And Staś will be happy.’
‘Hm …’
I bade farewell to the doctor full of hope. I love Mrs Stawska, that I do, but I’d renounce her — for him. Providing it isn’t too late! But no …
Next afternoon, Szuman dropped in at the store; from the way he grinned and bit his lips, I saw something was grieving him and put him into an ironic mood. ‘Have you seen Staś?’ I asked, ‘today he’s …’
He drew me behind the cupboards, and began speaking in an irritable voice: ‘Just see what women can reduce even a man like Wokulski to! Do you know why he’s agitated!?’
‘Has he found out that Miss Łęcka has a lover?’
‘If only he had … That might be a radical cure, but she’s too sharp-witted to let such a naive admirer see what’s going on behind the scenes. No, something else is the matter. It’s comical, it’s humiliating to talk of …’ the doctor scowled. He struck his bald head, and went on in a lower voice: ‘Tomorrow the Prince is giving a ball, at which Miss Łęcka will of course be present. And do you know, sir, that as yet the Prince hasn’t invited Wokulski, although the invitations have been out two weeks? And would you credit that Staś is ill on this account?’
The doctor laughed shrilly, baring his decayed teeth, and I, goodness knows why, blushed for shame.
‘Now do you understand what sort of decline our man may be in?’ asked Szuman. ‘He’s been mortifying himself for two days because some prince or other hasn’t asked him to a ball. Him, our dear friend, our admirable Staś!’
‘Did he tell you this himself?’
‘Bah!’ the doctor muttered, ‘that’s the whole point, he didn’t. If he had the courage to tell me, then he’d be able to refuse a very late invitation.’
‘Do you think he’ll be invited?’
‘Hm! Not to invite him would cost fifteen per cent on the capital which the Prince has invested in the company. He’ll invite him because Wokulski is still a force to be reckoned with, thank God! But, knowing his weakness for Miss Łęcka, the Prince is out to irritate him, to play with him, like a dog that meat is shown to, then taken away from, in order to teach him to walk on his hindlegs. Never fear, sir, they won’t let him go, they’re too smart for him: but they want to tame him so that he will serve them, fetch and carry and even bite people they don’t like.’
He took his fur cap and left, with a brief nod. Always the eccentric.
The day passed wretchedly for me; I even made several errors in my accounts. Then, as I was thinking of closing the store, Staś appeared. He seemed to have grown thinner in the past few days. He greeted the clerks indifferently and began turning over papers on his desk. ‘Are you looking for something?’ I asked.
‘Wasn’t there a letter from the Prince?’ he asked, without looking me in the eye.
‘I sent all the letters on to your apartment.’
‘I know, but one might have been overlooked.’
I’d sooner have had a tooth out than hear this question. So Szuman was right. Staś mortified that the Prince hasn’t invited him to the ball!
When the store was closed and the gentlemen gone, Staś said: ‘What are you doing tonight? Won’t you invite me in for tea?’
Of course I gladly did so, and recalled the good old days, when Staś used to spend nearly every evening at my place. How far off those times are! Today he was gloomy, I was embarrassed, and although we both had a great deal to say, neither looked the other in the eye. We even began talking about the weather, and it was not until a glass of tea in which there was a half glass of brandy, that my tongue grew slightly loose. ‘They’re still saying,’ I remarked, ‘that you’re selling the store.’
‘I’ve almost sold it,’ replied Wokulski.
‘To the Jews?’
He jumped up, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, began walking around the room: ‘To whom else?’ he asked. ‘To those who don’t buy the store when they have money, or to those who would buy it because they’ve got none? The store is worth some hundred and twenty thousand roubles — am I to throw it in the mud?’
‘The Jews are ousting us all, something terrible …’
/> ‘Out of what? Positions we don’t hold, or into positions we force them to take, beg them to take? None of our gentlemen will buy my store, but everyone will give a Jew money to buy it for him … and pay him a good percentage on the capital invested.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Of course it is, I know who is lending money to Szlangbaum …’
‘Is Szlangbaum buying it?’
‘Who else? Maybe Klein, Lisiecki or Zięba? They’d never get the credit or, if they did, would squander it.’
‘There’s going to be trouble with the Jews,’ I muttered.
‘There already has been a great deal, it’s gone on for over eighteen centuries, and what’s the outcome? Very noble individuals have perished in anti-Jewish persecutions, and the only ones to survive were those who could protect themselves from destruction. So now what sort of Jews do we have? Persistent, patient, sly, self-reliant, quick-witted, and commanding a mastery of the one weapon left to them — money. By wiping out everything that was good, we have produced an artificial selection and protected the worst.’
‘Have you considered, though, that when your store gets into their hands, some dozen Jews will obtain well-paid work, and a dozen of our own people will lose it?’
‘That’s not my fault,’ said Wokulski, irritated. ‘It’s not my fault if the people with whom I have social contacts insist on my selling the store. Society will lose, that’s true, but that is what society wants.’
‘And your obligations?’
‘What obligations?’ he exclaimed. ‘Towards those who call me an exploiter, or to those who rob me? An obligation carried out ought to bring a man something, otherwise he’s a victim, from whom no one has the right to demand anything. And I, what do I have to gain? Hatred and cheating on one hand, contempt on the other. Just tell me — is there any crime I haven’t been accused of, and for what? For making a fortune, and giving subsistence to hundreds of people.’
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