As a matter of fact, news of Wokulski arrived at the appointed time, though very strangely. Szuman called on Ignacy one evening at the end of September, and said with a smile: ‘Just look, sir, how that nincompoop interests people. A tenant in Zasławek told Szlangbaum that the late Duchess’s carter saw Wokulski not long ago in the Zasławek forest. He even described how he was dressed, and what sort of horse he was riding.’
‘It could well be!’ exclaimed Ignacy, in relief.
‘Nonsense! The Crimea, indeed, and Rome, and India — and Zasławek?’ the doctor retorted. ‘Better still, another Jew who deals in coal saw Wokulski in Dąbrowa, at almost the same time. What’s more, he claims to have found out that this very same Wokulski bought two loads of dynamite from a coal-miner who drinks too much … Well, surely you won’t try to defend him against such stupid behaviour?’
‘Whatever can this mean?’
‘Nothing. Evidently Szlangbaum has offered a reward to the Jews for information about Wokulski, so now each one of them will catch sight of Wokulski, even if he’s down a mousehole. The holy rouble has created sharp eyes,’ the doctor concluded with an ironic smile.
Rzecki had to admit that the rumours were meaningless, and that Szuman’s explanation was entirely natural. Yet his uneasiness for Wokulski intensified.
This uneasiness changed into genuine alarm in the face of a fact which brooked no doubt. On October 1st, one of the lawyers summoned Ignacy to his office, and showed him a document Wokulski had signed before leaving for Moscow. This was a formal will and testament, in which Wokulski bequeathed the money remaining in Warsaw, seventy thousand roubles of which was in the bank, and a hundred and twenty thousand with Szlangbaum.
To strangers, these arrangements were proof of Wokulski’s irresponsibility: to Rzecki, however, they seemed perfectly reasonable. The lawyer stated: the huge sum of a hundred and forty thousand went to Ochocki, twenty-five thousand to Rzecki, twenty thousand to Helena Stawska. The remaining five thousand were divided between his former servants and the poor people he had contact with. Of this sum, five hundred went to Węgiełek the joiner at Zasław, Wysocki the Warsaw carter, and the other Wysocki, his brother, the railwayman at Skierniewice.
Wokulski had asked the lawyer, in an emotional manner, that they should accept the bequests as coming from a dead man, and told him not to publish the will before October 1st.
Among the people who knew Wokulski, a quantity of talk arose, rumours flew around, insinuations, personal insults … In a conversation with Rzecki, Szuman expressed this view: ‘I knew of your bequest long ago … He gave Ochocki almost a million zloty because he discovered in him a lunatic of the same species as himself … And I understand the gift for pretty Mrs Stawska’s little daughter,’ he added, with a smile, ‘but one thing alone intrigues me.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Rzecki, biting his moustaches.
‘How does that railroad man Wysocki come to be among the beneficiaries?’
He made a note of the name and left, thoughtfully.
Great was Rzecki’s uneasiness at what might have have happened to Wokulski, why he should have made a will, and why he spoke in it like a man thinking of imminent death? Then, however, incidents occurred which brought a gleam of hope to Rzecki, and which explained Wokulski’s strange behaviour to a certain extent. In the first instance Ochocki, informed of the bequest, at once replied from St Petersburg that he accepted, and wanted to have all the cash at the beginning of November, and he also reserved the right to the interest payable on it for the month of October by Szlangbaum.
In addition, he wrote to Rzecki inquiring whether Ignacy wouldn’t let him have twenty-one thousand roubles in cash, out of his own capital of twenty-five thousand, in exchange for the sum payable on Midsummer day which Ochocki had on the mortgage of his country estate. ‘It is very important to me,’ he concluded, ‘to have everything I possess in my hands, as I absolutely must go abroad in November. I will explain why when we meet …’
‘Why is he going abroad all of a sudden, and why is he taking all his money with him?’ Rzecki asked himself, ‘and why, in the end, does he postpone explaining until we meet?’
Of course he agreed to Ochocki’s offer. It seemed to him that some comfort was rooted in this sudden departure and unspoken things. ‘Who knows,’ he thought, ‘whether Staś didn’t take his half million roubles to India with him? Perhaps Ochocki and he will meet in Paris, at this strange Geist’s? Some kind of metal … some balloon or other! Evidently he is concerned to keep the secret, at least until …’
On this occasion, however, Szuman wrecked his hopes by saying: ‘I’ve been having inquiries made in Paris about this famous Geist, thinking Wokulski may run foul of him. Well, Geist, who was once a very capable chemist, is today an out-and-out lunatic … The entire Academy laughs at his notions …’
The entire Academy’s derision of Geist shook Rzecki’s hopes very much. Surely the French Academy could evaluate those metals or balloons, if anyone could … But if the wise men had decided Geist was a lunatic, then surely Wokulski wouldn’t have anything to do with him.
‘So where and why has he gone away?’ Rzecki thought. ‘Well, obviously he’s gone travelling, because he didn’t like it here any more … If Ochocki had to quit his apartment for no better reason than Greek grammar, then there’s all the more reason for Wokulski to quit a town where one woman tormented him … And she wasn’t the only one! Was ever a man more slandered than he? But — why did he make a will and refer in it to death?’ Ignacy added.
This question was clarified by a visit from Mraczewski. The young man came to Warsaw unexpectedly, and called on Rzecki with an embarrassed expression. He spoke brokenly, but in the end mentioned that Mrs Stawska was hesitant to accept Wokulski’s bequest, and that he himself thought it worrying …
‘You’re a booby, my dear young man,’ Ignacy was indignant. ‘Wokulski bequeathed the twenty thousand to her, or to little Helena, because he liked her: and he liked her because he found peace in her home during his most difficult times. Surely you know he was in love with Izabela?’
‘I know that,’ replied Mraczewski, somewhat more calmly. ‘But I also know Mrs Stawska had a weakness for Wokulski …’
‘What of it? Today Wokulski is very nearly dead to all of us, and God knows when we shall see him again.’
Mraczewski’s face brightened. ‘That’s true,’ he said, ‘that’s true! Mrs Stawska may accept a bequest from a dead man, I don’t need to fear mention of him …’
And he left, very pleased to think that perhaps Wokulski was dead.
‘Staś was right,’ thought Ignacy, ‘to word his bequests so. He lessened the embarrassment of the beneficiaries, and above all that of honest Mrs Stawska.’
Rzecki called at the store only once every few days, and his only pursuit (unpaid, by the way) was that of arranging displays in the windows, which he usually did on Saturday nights. The old clerk loved arranging these displays, and Szlangbaum had himself asked him to do them, in the hope that Ignacy would invest his capital in the store at a low interest rate.
But even these rare visits sufficed for Ignacy to realise that fundamental changes for the worse had occurred in the store. The merchandise, though showy, was of poor quality although the prices were lower too; the clerks treated their customers in a haughty manner and committed small frauds which did not escape Mr Rzecki’s notice. Finally, two cashiers committed a fraud of over a hundred roubles. When Ignacy mentioned this to Szlangbaum, he heard in reply: ‘My dear sir, the public don’t know nothin’ about good merchandise, as long as it is cheap … As for the frauds, they happen everywhere. Besides, vere vill I get other clerks?’
Although he put a bold face on it, Szlangbaum was mortified all the same, and Szuman mocked him mercilessly. ‘It’s true, Mr Szlangbaum, that if there were no one but Jews in this country, we should all go a-begging!’ said the doctor. ‘Some would bamboozle us, and others wouldn’t let themselves be caught by ou
r tricks!’
Having a great deal of time on his hands, Ignacy pondered much, and he wondered why he was bothered nowadays by questions which had never formerly entered his head. ‘Why has our store declined?’ he asked himself. ‘Because Szlangbaum runs it, not Wokulski. And why isn’t Wokulski running it? Because, Ochocki said, Staś was stifled here ever since childhood, and finally even had to run away in order to get some fresh air.’ And he recalled the most significant moments of Wokulski’s life. When, still a shop assistant at Hopfer’s, he wanted to study, everyone teased him. When he entered the university, sacrifices were demanded of him. When he returned to the country, even work was denied him. When he made a fortune he was showered with suspicion, and when he fell in love, the woman he worshipped betrayed him in the most despicable way …
‘One has to admit,’ said Ignacy, ‘that in such conditions, he made the best he could of everything …’
But if the power of facts had driven Wokulski from the country, why hadn’t he, Rzecki, inherited the store, rather than Szlangbaum? Because he, Rzecki, had never thought of owning his own store. He had fought for the Hungarians or had waited for the Napoleons to rebuild the world. And what had happened? The world had got no better, the Napoleon dynasty had perished, and Szlangbaum became the store’s owner. ‘Terrible to think how many honest men are wasted here,’ he thought. ‘Katz shot himself, Wokulski is abroad, God knows where Klein is, and Lisiecki also went away because there was no room for him …’
In the face of these meditations, Igancy experienced pangs of conscience, under the influence of which a sort of plan for the future began to make itself apparent. ‘I’ll enter into business,’ he said, ‘with Mrs Stawska and Mraczewski. They have twenty thousand roubles, I have twenty-five thousand, and for that amount we could open a respectable store, even if it stood alongside Szlangbaum’s.’
This plan so dominated him that it made him feel better in health. Admittedly, he kept having pains in the shoulders more often, and shortness of breath, but he paid no attention … ‘I’ll go abroad for a cure,’ he thought, ‘I’ll get rid of this silly shortness of breath and set to work properly … After all, is Szlangbaum the only one to make a fortune here?’
He felt younger and more vital, although Szuman advised him not to go out, and recommended him to avoid excitement. But the doctor often forgot his own prescriptions. Once he called on Rzecki early in the morning, so indignant that he had forgotten to put his tie on. ‘Do you know, sir,’ he cried, ‘I have found out some fine things about Wokulski …’
Ignacy put down his knife and fork (he was just eating a steak with mushrooms), and felt a pain in his shoulder. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked, in a feeble voice.
‘Staś is capital!’ said Szuman. ‘I’ve unearthed that railwayman Wysocki, from Skierniewice. I interrogated him and do you know what I’ve found out?’
‘How should I know?’ asked Rzecki, feeling dizzy for a moment.
‘Just think of it, sir!’ said Szuman, irritated, ‘that creature … that fool … When he was travelling with the Łęckis to Cracow last May, he threw himself under a train at Skierniewice. Wysocki saved him …’
‘Hm …’ Rzecki muttered.
‘No “hm” about it, that’s what happened. From this I deduce that our dear Staś had suicidal mania as well as his romanticism. I’d bet my entire fortune on it that he’s dead.’
Suddenly he stopped, catching sight of a terrible change on Ignacy’s face. He became very confused, almost lifted him into bed and vowed he would never again bring up the matter.
But fate had it otherwise. At the end of October, the postman gave Rzecki a letter addressed to Wokulski. The letter came from Zasław, the writing was illiterate. ‘Can it be from Węgiełek?’ wondered Ignacy, and he opened it.
‘Dear Sir,’ wrote Węgiełek, ‘First we thank you, Sir, for remembering us and for the five hundred roubles and all the benefits we received from your generous hands, my mother, my wife and me thank you. In the second place, all three of us inquire as to your health, and whether you got home safe. Certainly you did, else you would not have sent that wonderful gift. Only my wife is very worried about you, at night she don’t sleep, and she even wanted me to go to Warsaw, just like a woman. For here, Sir, in September, on the very same day as you met my mother in the potato field as you were going to the Castle, a terrible thing happened. My mother had just come back from the field, and was cooking supper, when there were two terrible bangs in the Castle, like thunderbolts, and the window-panes rattled all over the village. My mother dropped a jug and told me right away. “Hurry over to the Castle, maybe Mr Wokulski is still there, let’s hope nothing has happened to him,” and so I go. Good God! I barely recognised the hill. Out of the four walls of the Castle, only one was still standing, the other three was smashed into atoms. The stone we wrote verses on last year was broken into at least twenty pieces, and on the spot where the fallen-in well had been, there was a hole, and the rubble had piled up as high as a barn over it. I think the walls collapsed out of old age, but my mother says maybe the late blacksmith I once told you of had done the damage.’
‘Without telling anyone that you had gone into the Castle just then, I dug for a week in the rubble to see whether — God forbid! — any accident had happened. Only when I found no trace did I place a holy cross on the spot, made of oak not painted, so there should be a memorial that you had been spared. But my wife, just like a woman, is still worried. So I humbly beg you, Sir, to let us know you are alive and well.’
‘The priest advised me to inscribe this on the cross:
non omnis moriar
so people may know that although the old Castle, an ancient monument, fell into ruins, yet not all has perished and still a great deal remains for our grandchildren to see …’
‘So Wokulski was in this country!’ cried Rzecki, comforted, and he sent for the doctor, asking him to come over at once. Within fifteen minutes Szuman appeared. He read the letter twice, and gazed in astonishment at the enlivened features of Rzecki. ‘What have you to say to that?’ asked Rzecki, triumphantly.
Szuman was still more astonished. ‘What have I to say?’ he repeated. ‘Why, what I predicted to Wokulski, even before his departure for Bulgaria, has come to pass. It’s clear, after all, that Staś killed himself in Zasław.’
Rzecki laughed aloud.
‘But pray consider, Ignacy,’ said the doctor, controlling his emotion with difficulty, ‘just think: he was seen in Dąbrowa, buying dynamite, then he was seen in the vicinity of Zasławek, then in Zasław itself. I think something must have happened between him and that … that accursed woman, in the Castle. For he once mentioned to me that he’d like to sink into the earth as deeply as the Zasław well.’
‘If he’d wanted to kill himself, he could have done so long ago. Besides, a revolver would have sufficed, not dynamite,’ Rzecki answered.
‘He has killed himself … But he was a crazy fool in all respects, and a revolver wasn’t enough. He needed a railroad train … Suicides can be choosy, I know that!’
Rzecki shook his head and laughed again.
‘What the devil do you think, then?’ asked the impatient Szuman. ‘Do you have some other hypothesis?’
‘I do. Staś was quite simply tortured by the Castle and its associations, so he wanted to destroy it just as Ochocki destroyed his Greek grammar after overworking. It is also a reply to the young woman, who apparently used to go into the ruins to mope …’
‘That would be childish! A man of forty-six doesn’t behave like a schoolboy.’
‘It’s a matter of temperament,’ Rzecki replied coolly. ‘Some men send back keepsakes, he blew his into smithereens. Though it’s a pity his Dulcinea wasn’t among the rubble.’
The doctor reflected: ‘A crazy fool! And where can he be, if he’s still alive?’
‘At this moment he is travelling light-heartedly. And he doesn’t write, because obviously he is sick of the lot of us,’ conclude
d Ignacy, more quietly. ‘Besides, if he’d perished, some traces would have remained.’
‘Well, I won’t swear that you may not be right, although I don’t believe it,’ Szuman muttered. He shook his head sadly and said: ‘Romantics must die out, that’s clear: today’s world isn’t for them. Common sense means we don’t believe either in the angelic nature of women, nor in the possibility of ideals. Anyone who doesn’t see this must perish or give way of his own accord. But what style he had!’ he concluded. ‘He died under the ruins of feudalism! He perished so that the very earth shook … An interesting type, very!’
Suddenly he seized his hat and hurried from the room, muttering: ‘Lunatics! Lunatics! They might infect the whole world with their madness …’
Rzecki was still smiling. ‘Confound it all,’ he told himself, ‘if I’m not right about Staś! He bade the young lady adieu, and left … That’s the whole secret. Once Ochocki comes back, we’ll learn the truth.’
He was in such good humour that he got his guitar out from under the bed and began humming to its accompaniment: ‘Spring awakens. … The wistful song of nightingales … In a green thicket … Two beautiful roses …’
A sharp pain in his chest reminded him he ought not to tire himself. Yet he felt tremendous energy within. ‘Staś has set to some great work,’ he thought, ‘Ochocki is going to join him, so I too must show what I can do … Away with dreams … The Napoleons aren’t going to set the world to rights, nor will anyone, if we go on behaving like lunatics. I’ll go into business with Mraczewski, I’ll bring in Lisiecki, I’ll find Klein and we’ll see, Mr Szlangbaum, whether you are the only one with sense! Confound it, what is easier than making money, if one has a mind to? And with such capital and such men, too!’
On Saturday, after the clerks had gone home in the evening, Ignacy took the key to the back door of the shop from Szlangbaum so as to arrange the display in the windows for the coming week. He lit one lamp, and helped by Kazimierz, took a jardinière and two Saxon vases out of the main window, replacing them by Japanese vases and an old Roman-style table. Then he told the servant to go to bed, for he was in the habit of arranging the smaller articles, especially the mechanical toys, by himself. Besides, he didn’t want the simple man to know that he played with the store toys.
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