The Doll

  ‘In an hour or so, perhaps a little longer,’ the individual replied.

  ‘Just imagine,’ said Łęcki, with a benevolent smile, ‘that a week ago an acquaintance of mine got twice as much for a house which had cost him a hundred and fifty thousand. As mine cost a hundred thousand, I ought to get some hundred and twenty-five, in proportion.’

  ‘Hm…hm…’ muttered the lawyer.

  ‘You’ll no doubt laugh,’ Tomasz went on, ‘when I tell you (for you love laughing at premonitions and dreams) that today I dreamed my house went for a hundred and twenty thousand. Pray notice I’m telling you this before the auction! In a few hours you’ll see that dreams are not to be laughed at. There are more things in Heaven and earth…’

  ‘Hm…hm…’ the lawyer replied, and both went through the first door of the building.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ thought Ignacy. ‘If Łęcki gets a hundred and twenty thousand for his house, that will mean Staś won’t pay ninety thousand for it.’

  Just then someone touched his arm slightly. Ignacy looked around and saw old Szlangbaum behind him. ‘Looking for me, eh?’ asked the venerable Jew, eyeing him sharply.

  ‘No, no…’ Ignacy replied in confusion.

  ‘You have no business matter to see me about?’ Szlangbaum repeated, blinking his red eyelids.

  ‘No, no …’

  ‘Gut,’ Szlangbaum muttered, and went off to join his co-religionists.

  Ignacy felt chilly; Szlangbaum’s presence in this place aroused new suspicions within him. To dispel them, Ignacy asked the doorman where the auctions were held. The doorman showed him the stairs.

  Ignacy hurried up them into a hall. He was impressed by a crowd of Jews listening to a speech with the utmost attention. Rzecki realised that at this moment a case was being heard, that the prosecutor was speaking and that it concerned fraud. It was stuffy in the court-room; the prosecutor’s speech was somewhat drowned by the rattle of droshkies outside. The magistrates looked as if they were dozing, the lawyer yawned, the accused looked as if he would be delighted to defraud the judges of the supreme court, the Hebrews were eyeing him with sympathy and listened to the charges with attention. Some grimaced and murmured: ‘Oh my!’ at the prosecutor’s more powerful charges.

  Ignacy left the court-room; he had not come for this case. Finding himself in a vestibule, Ignacy thought of ascending to the second floor; at the same moment, Baroness Krzeszowska passed him, accompanied by a man who looked like a bored teacher of dead languages. However, he was a lawyer, as was shown by a silver badge in the lapel of his very shabby frock-coat; and the grey trousers of this high priest of justice were as baggy at the knees as if their owner were in the habit of making proposals to the goddess Temida, instead of defending clients.

  ‘If it is not for an hour,’ said Mme Krzeszowska in a plaintive voice, ‘I shall go to the Capucines. Do you not think? …’

  ‘I don’t think a visit to the Capucines will influence the course of the auction,’ replied the lawyer, bored.

  ‘But if you sincerely want it to go well …’

  The lawyer in the baggy trousers made an impatient gesture: ‘Dear lady,’ said he, ‘I have already run about so much in the business of this auction that today at least I deserve a rest. Furthermore, I have a murder trial in a few minutes … Do you see those fine ladies yonder? They’re coming to listen to my speech of defence. An interesting case!’

  ‘So you are deserting me?’ cried the Baroness.

  ‘I’ll be in court,’ the lawyer interrupted, ‘I’ll be there for the auction, but pray leave me a few minutes at least to think about my murderer …’

  And he rushed through an open door, forbidding the doorman to let anyone in.

  ‘Good God!’ said the Baroness, aloud, ‘a wretched murderer has a defender, but a poor lone woman seeks a man to defend her honour, peace of mind, property — in vain!’

  As Ignacy did not want to be this man, he hurriedly fled downstairs, elbowing the fine, young and elegant ladies brought here by the wish to attend a celebrated murder trial. It would be better than the theatre: for the performers in this official spectacle act more realistically, if not better, than stage players.

  The lamentations of Baroness Krzeszowska resounded on the stairs along with the laughter of the fine, young and elegant ladies hastening in to see the murderer, his bloodstained garments, the axe with which he slew his victim, and the sweating judges. Ignacy fled from the vestibule to the other side of the street; on the corner of Kapitulna and Miodowa Streets he hastened into a café and hid himself in such a dark corner that even Baroness Krzeszowska would not have noticed him. He ordered a cup of foaming chocolate, hid behind a torn newspaper and saw that in this small room was another, still darker corner, in which was placed a certain ostentatiously plump individual and a hunchbacked Jew. Ignacy took the stately personage for a Count and the owner of great estates in the Ukraine at least, and the Jew for his agent; however, he overheard the conversation going on between them.

  ‘Sir,’ said the hunchbacked Jew, ‘were it not that no one in Warsaw knows Your Excellency, I wouldn’t even give you ten roubles for the business. But as it is, you’ll make twenty-five …’

  ‘And stand an hour in a stuffy court-room!’ the personage muttered.

  ‘That’s so,’ the Jew went on, ‘it’s hard to stand up in this age of ours, but such money doesn’t go on foot either. And how your reputation will go up when people find you wanted to buy a house for eighty thousand roubles!’

  ‘So be it. But I want the twenty-five roubles in cash, here and now.’

  ‘Heaven forbid,’ the Jew responded, ‘you’ll get five roubles now and twenty will go towards paying off your debts to the unfortunate Selig Kupferman, who hasn’t seen a penny of yours in two years, though he got a court order.’

  The stately personage banged the table-top and made to depart. The hunchbacked Jew caught him by the coat-tails, sat him down at the table again and offered six roubles in cash. After bargaining several minutes, both sides agreed on eight roubles, of which seven would be paid after the auction and a rouble now. The Jew resisted, but the majestic gentleman did away with his hesitation by a single argument: ‘After all, I have to pay for the tea and cakes we’ve had!’

  The Jew sighed, pulled an excessively crumpled little piece of paper from his greasy wallet, straightened the paper out and placed it on the marble table-top. Then he rose and lazily left the dark little room, whereupon Ignacy recognised old Szlangbaum through a hole in his newspaper.

  Ignacy hurriedly drank up his chocolate and fled into the street. He was already sick and tired of the auction, with which his ears and head were crammed. He wished to pass the remaining time in some way, and seeing the Capucine church open, went towards it, certain he would find tranquillity in its walls, and an agreeable coolness and that above all he would at least not hear about the auction.

  He went into the church and really did find silence and coolness there, not to mention a dead body on a catafalque, surrounded by unlit candles and flowers which had lost their smell. For some time past, Ignacy had disliked the sight of coffins, so he turned left and saw a woman in black kneeling on the ground. It was the Baroness Krzeszowska, humbly bowed to the earth: she was beating her breast and dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief now and then.

  ‘I’m positive she’s praying that the Łęcki property will go for sixty thousand roubles,’ thought Ignacy. But as the sight of Baroness Krzeszowska held no attraction, he withdrew on tip-toe and went over to the right-hand side of the church. Here he found only a couple of women: one was saying her rosary in an undertone, the other sleeping. There was no one else — except that from behind a pillar there appeared a man of medium height, erect despite his grey hair, whispering a prayer with bowed head. Rzecki recognised Mr Łęcki, and thought ‘He, of course, is praying that his house fetches a hundred and twenty thousand …’

  Then he hastily left the church, wondering how the good Lord would s
atisfy the contradictory pleas of Baroness Krzeszowska and Tomasz Łęcki.

  As he had not found what he was looking for either in the café or in the church, Ignacy began walking about in the street near the court. He was much confused: it seemed to him that every passer-by looked into his face mockingly, as much as to say: ‘Wouldn’t you be better employed, you old scamp, looking after the shop?’ or that one of the ‘gentlemen’ was about to leap out of every passing droshky to tell him the shop had burned down or collapsed. So again he wondered whether it would be better to give up the whole idea of the auction as a bad job, and go back to his ledgers and office — when he suddenly heard a desperate shriek.

  It was some Jew or other, leaning out of a window of the court and shouting something to the crowd of his co-religionists, who in turn all rushed to the door, pushing, thrusting tranquil passers-by aside and stamping their feet impatiently, like a frightened flock of sheep in a crowded byre.

  ‘Aha — the auction has started,’ said Ignacy to himself, following them up the stairs.

  At this moment he felt someone take hold of his arm and, turning, saw that same majestic gentleman who had obtained a rouble on account from Szlangbaum in the café. The stately personage was obviously in a hurry, for he was making way for himself with both fists among the packed mass of the Hebrews’ bodies, shouting: ‘Out of my way, Yids! I am going to the auction …’

  Against their custom, the Jews drew aside and looked at him with admiration: ‘What money he must have!’ one muttered to his neighbour.

  Ignacy, infinitely less presumptuous than the stately individual, yielded himself up to the favour and disfavour of fate, rather than push. The stream of Hebrews surrounded him on all sides. In front he saw a greasy collar, dirty neckerchief and still dirtier neck: behind, he could smell the odour of fresh onion: to the right, a grizzled beard pressed against his collar-bone, and to the left a powerful elbow was squeezing his ribs almost unbearably.

  They thronged about, pushed, clutched at his coat. Someone grabbed his legs, another reached into his pocket, someone thumped him between the shoulder blades. It reached the point where Ignacy thought they would entirely crush his chest. He raised his eyes to Heaven, and saw he was already within the door … Now! Now! They were stifling him … Suddenly he felt an empty space before him, struck his head on someone’s personal charms not very carefully veiled in a frock-coat and was inside the court-room.

  He breathed again. Behind him resounded the shrieks and curses of the would-be bidders and from time to time the comments of the door-man: ‘Gents, why are you pushing so? What’s this, gents? Are you a flock of sheep, then?’

  ‘I never thought it would be so hard to get into an auction sale,’ Ignacy sighed.

  He passed two court-rooms, so empty that there was not even a chair to be seen on the floor, nor a nail in the wall. These rooms formed the vestibule to one of the departments of justice, but were light and cheerful all the same. Floods of sun-beams and the warm July breeze, imbued with Warsaw dust, poured through the open windows. Ignacy could hear the twitter of sparrows and the ceaseless rattle of droshkies, and felt a curious sensation of disharmony: ‘Is it possible,’ thought he, ‘that a court should look as empty as an unrented apartment and yet be so cheerful?’

  It seemed to him that barred windows, grey damp walls and suspended handcuffs would be much more appropriate to a court-room in which people were sentenced to everlasting or at least lifelong imprisonment.

  But here was the main court-room, into which all the Hebrews were hastening, and where the whole business of the auction was concentrated. It was such a large room that forty people might have danced a mazurka in it — were it not for the low barrier which divided it into two sections, for civil cases and for auctions. In the civil portion were carved benches, in the auction part was a platform, with a table on it, circular and covered with green baize. Behind the table Ignacy saw three officials with chains around their necks and senatorial dignity on their faces: they were the auctioneers. In front of each official lay a heap of documents concerning the properties for sale. Between the table and barrier, immediately in front of the latter, was a crowd of would-be buyers. All had their heads raised and were gazing at the officials with a spiritual absorption that inspired ascetics gazing at a holy vision might have envied.

  Although the windows were open, a smell midway between the scent of hyacinths and aged putty prevailed in the court. Ignacy guessed it was the smell of Jewish gabardines.

  Except for the rattle of droshkies, it was quite quiet in the court-room. The auctioneers were silent, absorbed in their documents, the buyers equally silent, gazing at the auctioneers: the remainder of the public, gathered in the civilian portion of the hall and separated into groups, was certainly murmuring, but softly. It was not in their own interests to be overheard.

  Consequently the groan of Baroness Krzeszowska sounded all the louder as, clutching her lawyer by the lapel of his frock-coat, she cried feverishly: ‘Do not leave me, I beg you! I’ll pay you anything you ask …’

  ‘Please, Baroness — no threats,’ replied the lawyer.

  ‘I’m not threatening you in the least, but don’t leave me,’ the Baroness exclaimed with genuine feeling.

  ‘I’ll come back for the auction, but just now I have to go to my murderer …’

  ‘So! A wretched murderer arouses more of your sympathy than a deserted woman, whose property, honour, peace of mind …’

  The importuned lawyer fled so fast that his trousers looked even shinier around the knees than they really were. The Baroness began to run after him, but at this moment she fell into the embrace of an individual who wore very green spectacles and had the countenance of a sacristan.

  ‘Dear lady, what is wrong?’ the individual in green spectacles asked sweetly, ‘no lawyer vill inflate the price of your house … That is vat I am here for. Gif me one per cent for every thousand roubles over the initial sum, and tventy roubles for expenses …’

  The Baroness Krzeszowska started away from him and, recoiling like an actress in a tragic role, uttered a single word: ‘Satan!’ The individual in green spectacles realised he had missed the boat and withdrew in discomfiture. At the same time, his path was crossed by a second individual with the features of a confirmed scoundrel, who whispered to him for a few moments, making very lively gestures. Ignacy was certain these two gentlemen would come to blows, but they parted quite peaceably and the individual who looked a scoundrel drew near the Baroness Krzeszowska and said in a low voice: ‘If the Baroness is not careful, we may even not let the price reach seventy thousand …’

  ‘My saviour!’ cried the Baroness, ‘you see before you a wronged and deserted female, whose property, honour and peace of mind …’

  ‘What’s honour to me?’ said the individual with the visage of a scoundrel, ‘will you give me ten roubles deposit?’

  Both went off into the furthest corner of the room and were lost to Ignacy’s gaze behind a group of Hebrews. In the group were old Szlangbaum and a young, beardless Jew who was so pale and emaciated that Ignacy suspected he must very recently have entered into the bonds of matrimony. Old Szlangbaum was holding forth to the emaciated little Jew, whose eyes grew more and more sheepish; but just what he was holding forth about, Ignacy could not imagine.

  So he turned to the other side of the room and caught sight of Mr Łęcki with his lawyer, a few paces away; the latter was clearly bored and wanted to be off. ‘If only a hundred and fifteen … or a hundred and twenty thousand,’ said Mr Łęcki, ‘after all, you must know some method …’

  ‘Hm … hm …’ said the lawyer, looking longingly at the door, ‘you’re asking too much … A hundred and twenty thousand roubles for a house that cost sixty thousand …’

  ‘But, my dear man, it cost me a hundred thousand …’

  ‘Yes, but … you paid rather too much …’

  ‘Yet,’ Mr Łęcki interrupted, ‘I’m only asking a hundred and ten thousand. It str
ikes me you ought to help me, no matter what. Surely there are ways of which I know nothing, since I’m not a lawyer …’

  ‘Hm … hm …’ the lawyer muttered.

  Fortunately one of his colleagues (also in a frock-coat with badge) called him from the room: a moment later the individual in green spectacles with the look of a sacristan approached Mr Łęcki and said: ‘Vhat is the matter, Your Excellency? No lawyer will outbid you for the house. That is vat I am here for. Gif me tventy roubles for expenses and one per cent per thousand above sixty thousand …’

  Mr Łęcki eyed the sacristan with vast contempt: he put both hands in his trouser pockets (which struck even himself as odd) and declared: ‘I’ll pay one per cent per thousand over a hundred and twenty thousand …’

  The sacristan in green spectacles bowed, shrugged his left shoulder and replied: ‘You must excuse me, Excellency …’

  ‘Wait!’ Mr Łęcki interrupted, ‘over a hundred and ten …’

  ‘Excuse me …’

  ‘Over a hundred, then!’

  ‘Excuse me …’

  ‘May the devil take you! How much do you want?’

  ‘One per cent on any sum over seventy thousand, plus tventy roubles for expenses,’ said the sacristan, bowing low.

  ‘Will you take ten?’ asked Mr Łęcki, purple with fury.

  ‘I won’t say no even to a rouble …’

  Mr Łęcki produced a splendid wallet, took a whole bundle of rustling ten-rouble notes from it and gave one to the sacristan who bowed: ‘You’ll see, Your Excellency,’ the sacristan whispered.

  Two Jews were standing near Ignacy: one was tall and swarthy, with a beard so black as to be blue, while the other was bald, with such long whiskers that they reached down to the lapels of his frock-coat. Catching sight of Łęcki’s ten-rouble notes, the gentleman with the whiskers smiled and said in an undertone to the handsome dark man: ‘See the bank-notes yonder gent has? Listen how they rustle … They’re glad to see me. You understand me, Mr Cynader?’