The Doll

  ‘That’s true, but whoever would have expected it?’ Mrs Misiewicz replied.

  ‘It was just our misfortune,’ Mrs Stawska whispered.

  I sat down in an armchair, pressed my hands so that the bones cracked, and listened with calm desperation to Mrs Misiewicz’s lamentations of the disgrace which came upon their family every few years, of death which was the limit of human sufferings, of the late Mr Misiewicz’s nankeen trousers and sundry other things. Before an hour had passed, I was certain that the proceedings over the doll would terminate in wholesale suicide, during which I, expiring at Mrs Stawska’s feet, would dare confess I loved her.

  Then someone gave a loud ring at the kitchen door-bell. ‘The police!’ Mrs Misiewicz shrieked.

  ‘Are the ladies in?’ the newcomer asked Marianna in a voice so self-assured that I at once regained courage. ‘It’s Wokulski,’ I told Mrs Stawska, and twirled my whiskers. A blush resembling the petals of a pale rose on snow appeared on Mrs Stawska’s charming face. A heavenly creature! Oh, why am I not Wokulski? Then wouldn’t I …?

  Staś entered. Mrs Stawska went to greet him. ‘You don’t despise us?’ she asked in a stifled voice. Wokulski looked into her eyes with amazement … once, then again (believe me) he kissed her hand. The delicacy with which he did so is best attested by the fact that there was none of the lip-smacking which is usually heard on such occasions.

  ‘So you have come, noble Mr Wokulski? You’re not ashamed of poor women overcome with disgrace?’ Mrs Misiewicz began her speech of welcome for I don’t know how many times.

  ‘Allow me,’ Wokulski interrupted, ‘your situation is certainly disagreeable, ladies, but I see no reason for despair. The matter will be cleared up in a few weeks: only then will despair be possible — but not for any of you ladies, only for the crazy Baroness. How are you, Helena?’ he added, kissing the little girl.

  His voice was so tranquil and firm, and his manner so entirely unaffected, that Mrs Misiewicz stopped lamenting and Mrs Stawska looked somewhat more cheerful.

  ‘So what are we to do, noble Mr Wokulski, who isn’t ashamed to …?’ Mrs Misiewicz began.

  ‘We must wait for the trial,’ Wokulski interposed, ‘to inform the Baroness in court that she is lying, to start a case against her for defamation of character, and not to forgive her a moment of it, even if she goes to jail. A month or two in a cell will do her a great deal of good. In any case, I’ve spoken to my lawyer, who will come to see you tomorrow, ladies.’

  ‘God has sent you to us, Mr Wokulski,’ cried Mrs Misiewicz in a voice that was already quite natural, pulling the kerchief off her head.

  ‘I’ve come here on a more important matter,’ said Staś to Mrs Stawska (obviously he was in a hurry to say goodbye to her, the donkey!), ‘have you given up your lessons?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then give them up for good and all. It’s wretched work, and doesn’t pay. Go into trade.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, madam, you. Do you know accounting?’

  ‘I studied it …’ Mrs Stawska murmured. She was so upset that she sat down.

  ‘Excellent. Because the responsibility for yet another store and its owner, a widow, has fallen on me. Because almost all the capital is mine, I must have someone I can trust in the business. Will you therefore accept the post of cashier, with wages … of seventy-five roubles a month, to start with?’

  ‘Do you hear that, Helena?’ Mrs Misiewicz turned to her daughter, making a grimace of the utmost surprise as she did so.

  ‘So you, sir, would entrust your cash-office to me, against whom a law-suit …?’ Mrs Stawska began, and burst into tears.

  However, both ladies soon calmed down, and half an hour later we were all drinking tea, not only talking, but even laughing. Wokulski was the cause! There’s no one in the world like him! How is it possible not to love him? True enough, I may have an equally kind heart, but I still need a little something more — in a word, the half million roubles my dear Staś possesses.

  Soon after Christmas, I installed Mrs Stawska in the store of Mrs Miller, and the latter welcomed the new cashier very cordially, spending half an hour to explain to me how noble, wise and handsome Wokulski is … That he’d saved the store from bankruptcy, and her and her children from poverty, and how good it would be if such a man were to marry. A charming creature, for all her thirty-five years! Scarcely has she taken one husband to the Powazki cemetery than right away (upon my soul!) she’d like to get married again, to Wokulski of course. I can’t reckon up how many of these women there are chasing Wokulski (or his thousands of roubles?).

  For her part, Mrs Stawska is delighted with everything: the job, which brings her in a better wage than she ever had before, and a new apartment which Wirski found for her. It is not a bad apartment at all: they have a vestibule, a little kitchen with a sink and water laid on, three very nice little rooms and above all, a garden. For the time being it contains three dried-up sticks and a pile of bricks, but Mrs Stawska is convinced that in summer she’ll make a paradise of it. A paradise no bigger than a handkerchief!

  The year 1879 began with a victory in Afghanistan for the British, who entered Kabul under General Roberts. No doubt Kabul sauce will get dearer! But Roberts is a gallant fellow: he has only one hand, but for all that he hit the Afghans till their feathers flew … Although it’s not hard to defeat savages: I’d like to see how you’d perform, Mr Roberts, if you had Hungarian infantry to deal with!

  Wokulski also had a battle just after New Year, with that trading company he established. I think that one more session would suffice for him to dispel all his partners to the four winds. Strange folk, though they’re all intelligentsia: industrialists, merchants, gentlefolk, princes! He established a company for them, but they regard him as an enemy of this company, and claim that they’re the only ones who are making any contribution. He pays them seven per cent half-yearly, but they still grimace and would like to lower the wages of their workers.

  As for these dear workers, on whose behalf Wokulski is protesting! What don’t they say of him! Don’t they call him an exploiter (N.B. in our line of business, he pays the biggest wages and bonuses), and some set traps for others …

  I have been unhappy to observe that for some time now, habits hitherto unknown have begun blossoming among our people: such as working little, complaining very loudly, quietly spinning intrigues and starting rumours. But what are other people’s affairs to me?

  I will now finish off, with the utmost expedition, my account of a tragedy which ought to cause every noble heart to quake.

  I’d almost forgotten the shameful law-suit brought by Baroness Krzeszowska against pure, innocent, wonderful Mrs Stawska, when — towards the end of January — two thunderbolts fell on us: the news that plague had broken out in Vietlanka, and a summons to court for Wokulski and me on the next day. My feet were hurting and the pain went from heels to knees, then to my stomach, aiming of course towards my heart. I thought to myself: ‘Is it plague or paralysis?’ But as Wokulski accepted his summons quite indifferently, I too took courage.

  In the evening I went confidently to the ladies in their new apartment, and on the way I heard in the street ‘Clink-clink, clink-clink!’ Oh goodness, can they be taking away prisoners? What a terrible omen. … Dear me, what sad thoughts overcome me: what if the court doesn’t believe us? (mistakes are possible, after all), and suppose they should hurl that most noble of women in prison, for a week, even for a day! What then? She’d never survive, nor would I … Or if I did, then it would only be so that poor little Helena should have a guardian …

  Yes! I must live. But what sort of life would it be?

  I went into the house. Another tableau! Mrs Stawska sitting pale on a little stool, and Mrs Misiewicz with a kerchief soaked in cooling water over her head. The old lady smelled of camphor from two yards away and spoke in a mournful voice: ‘Oh, noble Mr Rzecki, who isn’t ashamed of unhappy humiliated women … Just fancy the misfortune
: Helena’s court case tomorrow … Just think what will happen if the court makes a mistake, and condemns this unhappy woman to the hulks? But calm yourself, Helena, be brave, perhaps God will avert it … Though last night I had a terrible dream …’

  (She had a dream, and I met prisoners … It won’t pass without a disaster!)

  ‘But,’ say I, ‘for goodness sake! Our case is proved, we’ll win it … Besides, what is this compared to the terrible matter of the plague?’ I added, to turn Mrs Misiewicz’s attention another way.

  And I managed beautifully! For didn’t she shriek out: ‘The plague? Here in Warsaw? There now, Helena, didn’t I tell you? Ah, we’re all done for! During the plague everyone shuts themselves up indoors … They pass food to you on poles … They pull the dead bodies out on hooks!’

  Ugh … I saw I’d upset the worthy old thing, so in order to stop her dwelling on the plague, I mentioned the trial again, whereupon the dear lady replied with a long exposition on the disgrace pursuing her family, on the possible imprisonment of Mrs Stawska, on the way the samovar was leaking … In a word, the last evening before the court case, when energy was most needed, that last evening passed for us between plague and death, disgrace and prison. My mind grew so muddled that when I found myself outside in the street I didn’t know whether to turn right or left.

  Next morning (the case was to be heard at ten o’clock), I went by eight in a carriage to my ladies, but found no one home. They had all gone to confession: mother, daughter, granddaughter and cook, and they united themselves with God until nine-thirty while unfortunate I (after all, this was January) walked up and down in front of the gate in the frost, and thought: ‘A fine business! They’ll be late for court, if they aren’t already, the court will give a verdict in absentia, they’ll of course condemn Mrs Stawska, they’ll think she has absconded and will send out a warrant for her arrest … It’s always the way with these women!’

  Finally all four of them arrived, with Wirski (can that pious man also have been to confession today?) and we went to court in two droshkies: I and Mrs Stawska and little Helena, Wirski with Mrs Misiewicz and the cook. Too bad they didn’t take the frying-pans, samovar and oil-stove with them! In front of the court we saw Wokulski’s carriage, in which he and his lawyer had driven up. They were waiting for us at the stairs, which looked as muddy as if a battalion of infantry had passed that way — and their expressions were perfectly calm. I would even wager they’d been talking about something entirely different, not about Mrs Stawska at all.

  ‘Oh, my dear Mr Wokulski, who isn’t ashamed of poor women covered in …’ Mrs Misiewicz began. But Staś gave her his arm, the lawyer Mrs Stawska, Wirski took little Helena by the hand, and I assisted Marianna, and thus we went into the court-room.

  It reminded me of a school: the judge was sitting on an elevation, like a professor at his desk, and facing him on two rows of benches were lodged the accused and witnesses. At this moment, my youthful years came so clearly to my mind, that I involuntarily glanced to the stove, certain I would see there a porter with his cane, and the bench on which we were whipped. I even wanted, in my absent-minded way, to cry out: ‘I won’t do it again, teacher!’ but I recollected myself in time.

  We began installing our ladies on the benches, and squabbling as we did so with the Jews who, as I later was informed, are the most patient of all audiences at court cases, especially those involving stealing or cheating. We even found a seat for honest Marianna, whose face, as she sat down, looked as though she wanted to cross herself and say a prayer.

  Wokulski, our lawyer and I placed ourselves on the front bench, next to an individual in a torn overcoat with a black eye, at whom one of the policemen was looking in a nasty manner.

  ‘Some other incident with the police, no doubt,’ thought I.

  Suddenly my mouth dropped open of its own accord for surprise: for I now perceived a whole crowd of persons known to me in front of the judge’s bench. To the left of the table was Baroness Krzeszowska, her poor little thing of a lawyer and that scoundrel Maruszewicz, while to the right were the two students. One was marked by his very shabby overcoat and unusually fluent speech; the other by a still shabbier overcoat, a coloured scarf around his neck, and he looked, goodness me, as if he’d escaped from a morgue.

  I looked more closely at him. Yes, it was he, the same skinny young man who, during Wokulski’s first visit to Mrs Stawska, had dropped a herring on the Baroness’s head. The dear fellow! But I never saw anyone so thin and yellow-looking.

  At first, I thought a court case was going on between these charming young men and the Baroness in respect to that herring. Then, however, I realised that something else was the matter — namely, that Baroness Krzeszowska, now that she was the owner of the house, wanted to expel from it her most fervent enemies, who were at the same time her least profitable tenants. The case between the Baroness and the young men had reached its climax.

  One of the students, a handsome lad with whiskers and sideburns, rising on tiptoe and falling back on his heels, was telling the judge something: meanwhile he was executing circular movements with his right hand, and with his left twirling his moustache, sticking out his little finger which was adorned by a ring without any jewels in it.

  The second young man was gloomily silent, hiding himself behind his colleague. I noticed something odd in his attitude: he was pressing both hands to his chest, with his palms extended as though he were holding a book or picture.

  ‘What are your names, gentlemen?’ asked the judge.

  ‘Maleski,’ said the owner of the side-burns with a bow, ‘and Patkiewicz,’ he added, indicating his gloomy companion with a very distinguished gesture.

  ‘But where is the third gentlemen?’

  ‘He’s poorly,’ Mr Maleski replied airily, ‘he is our sub-tenant, and in any case he very rarely stays in our apartment.’

  ‘How so? Very rarely? Where does he go by day?’

  ‘He’s at the University, in the anatomical laboratory, sometimes having dinner.’

  ‘But at night?’

  ‘In that respect, I can only give you confidential information, your honour.’

  ‘But where is he registered as living?’

  ‘Oh, he’s registered at our address, because he don’t want to be subject to the authorities,’ Mr Maleski explained in a lordly manner.

  The judge turned to Baroness Krzeszowska: ‘So you, madam, don’t want to keep these gentlemen on?’

  ‘Not at any price,’ the Baroness lamented. ‘All night long they roar, howl, stamp and whistle … There isn’t a servant girl in the house they haven’t inveigled into the apartment. Oh, Lord!’ she cried, turning away her head.

  The judge was startled by this exclamation, but not I … For I’d seen that Mr Patkiewicz, without removing his hands from his chest, had suddenly turned up his eyes and dropped his jaw so that he looked like a living corpse. His face and entire attitude would indeed have appalled even a healthy man.

  ‘The most dreadful thing is that these gentlemen pour some liquid or other out of their windows …’

  ‘On you, madam?’ asked Mr Maleski, impudently.

  The Baroness turned livid with rage, but was silent: she was ashamed to admit it.

  ‘What more?’ said the judge.

  ‘The very worst of all (which has brought me into a nervous decline) is that these gentlemen knock on my windows several times a day with a human skull …’

  ‘Do you indeed, gentlemen?’ asked the judge.

  ‘Allow me the privilege of explaining to your honour,’ replied Maleski, with the attitude of a man about to dance a minuet, ‘we are looked after by the caretaker of the house, who lives downstairs; so as not to waste time going up and down to the third floor, we have a long piece of string, and we tie to it whatever comes to hand (sometimes it may even be a human skull) … and we knock on his window with it,’ he concluded, in such dulcet tones that no one could be alarmed by an equally delicate tapping.

/>   ‘Oh Heavens!’ cried the Baroness, tottering.

  ‘A sick woman, evidently,’ Maleski muttered.

  ‘Not so,’ the Baroness cried, ‘pray hear me, your honour! I can’t bear to see that other one … He keeps making faces like a dead body … I lost my daughter not long ago,’ she concluded in tears.

  ‘On my word of honour, the lady is seeing things,’ said Maleski, ‘who here looks like a dead body? Patkiewicz? A handsome young fellow like Patkiewicz?’ he added, pushing forward his colleague who, at this very moment, was pretending for the fifth time to be a dead body.

  Everyone burst out laughing: to preserve his gravity, the judge buried himself in documents and, after a long pause, decreed that laughing was not allowed and anyone disturbing the peace would be fined.

  Taking advantage of the confusion, Patkiewicz tugged his colleague by the sleeve and gloomily whispered: ‘What’s this, you beast, are you making fun of me in public, Maleski?’

  ‘Well, but you’re handsome, Patkiewicz. Women go crazy over you.’

  ‘Not on that account, though,’ Patkiewicz muttered in a much more tranquil tone.

  ‘Well, now — will you gentlemen pay the twelve roubles fifty kopeks for the month of January?’ asked the judge.

  This time, Mr Patkiewicz imitated a man who had a cataract and the left side of his face paralysed. Mr Maleski plunged meanwhile into deep meditation. ‘If we could stay until the vacation,’ he said after a moment, ‘then … But no! Let the Baroness take away our furniture!’

  ‘No, I don’t want any more, I don’t … Just move out, gentlemen! I won’t claim any rent!’ the Baroness cried.