The Doll (63 page)

So, in my anxiety to console the sobbing woman at any price, I remarked with the utmost mildness: ‘Madam, pray calm yourself. What would you have us do? Can we help at all?'

There was so much sympathy in my voice that the agent's nose turned even redder. One of the Baroness's eyes dried up, though the other continued weeping, as a sign that she did not consider her argument closed, nor me defeated.

‘I demand …I demand …' said she, sighing, ‘I demand that I am not driven from the place where my child died …where everything reminds me of her …I cannot, no, I cannot tear myself away from her room …I cannot move her things and her toys…It is vile to exploit misfortune in this way.'

‘Who is exploiting misfortune?' I inquired.

‘Everyone, starting with the landlord, who makes me pay seven hundred roubles …'

‘Pardon me, madam,' the agent exclaimed, ‘seven fine rooms, two kitchens the size of drawing-rooms, two closets …Why don't you let someone else have three of the rooms? There are two front doors, after all.'

‘I will not let anyone else have them,' she replied firmly, ‘because I am convinced my wandering husband will come to his senses any day now, and come back to me …'

‘In that case, you must go on paying seven hundred roubles …'

‘If not more,' I murmured.

The Baroness looked at me as though she wanted to shrivel me up into a cinder and drown me in her tears. Oh, what a very grand woman, to be sure …It makes my flesh creep to think of her.

‘Never mind about the rent,' she said.

‘Very sensible,' Wirski praised her, bowing.

‘Never mind about the landlord's demands …But I cannot pay seven hundred roubles for an apartment in a house like this.'

‘What do you expect?' I inquired.

‘This house is a disgrace to respectable people,' she exclaimed with a gesture, ‘it is not for myself, but for decency's sake that I beg …'

‘What?'

‘That those students who live upstairs be removed …They won't let me look out of the windows and demoralise everyone …' Suddenly she jumped up from the sofa: ‘There, do you hear that?' she cried pointing to the door which led to the room overlooking the yard. In fact, I heard the voice of the eccentric dark-haired young student, who was shouting from the third floor: ‘Marysia! Marysia, come up here …'

‘Marysia!' the Baroness cried.

‘Here, madam …What is it?' the girl answered, rather red in the face. ‘Don't stir from this apartment! There you are, sir,' said the Baroness, ‘it is like this for days at a time. And in the evenings the laundry-girls go up there …Sir!' she exclaimed, pressing her hands together piously, ‘drive those nihilists out, they are a source of depravity and danger to the whole house. They keep tea and sugar in human skulls …They poke the samovar with human bones! They want to bring a whole corpse into the house …'

She began crying again so that I thought she would have hysterics: ‘Those gentlemen,' I said, ‘do not pay their rent, so it is very possible that …'

The Baroness dried her eyes: ‘But of course,' she interrupted, ‘you must get rid of them …But sir,' she exclaimed, ‘although they are wicked and depraved, that …that Stawska female is even worse …'

I was amazed to see the flame of hatred which glittered in the eyes of madame the Baroness, at the mention of the name ‘Stawska'.

‘Mrs Stawska lives here?' I asked involuntarily, ‘that pretty …'

‘Ah, another of her victims!' the Baroness cried, pointing at me, and she began speaking in a deep voice, her eyes flashing: ‘Grey-haired old man, mind what you are at! For she is a woman whose husband, accused of murder, has run away abroad …So how does she live? How does she manage to dress so well?'

‘She works like a Trojan,' the agent whispered.

‘You too!' the Baroness exclaimed, ‘my husband — I am convinced it is he — sends her bouquets from the country. The agent of this house is in love with her, and collects her rent at the end of the month …'

‘But, madam …' the former landowner protested, and his face grew as red as his nose.

‘Even that good-for-nothing Maruszewicz,' the Baroness went on, ‘even he watches her through the window for days at a time …'

The Baroness's dramatic voice went into sobs again: ‘And to think,' she groaned, ‘that a woman like that has a daughter, a daughter she is bringing up for hellfire, while I …I believe in justice and heavenly mercy, but I cannot understand — no, I cannot understand the justice which has deprived me and yet leaves her child to that…that …Sir!' she exclaimed at the top of her voice, ‘you may leave those nihilists if you will, but she …you must get rid of her! Let her apartment remain empty, I will pay for it, providing she has no roof over her head …'

I found this detestable. I made a sign to the agent that we should take our leave and said coldly, with a bow: ‘You must allow the landlord, Mr Wokulski, to decide this for himself.'

The Baroness crossed her arms like a person shot in the heart: ‘Ah! So that's how it is?' she hissed, ‘already you and that …that Wokulski are in league with her! Ha! I will, therefore await God's judgement …'

We left, not being detained any longer; on the stairs I staggered like a drunk man.

‘What do you know of this Mrs Stawska?' I asked Wirski.

‘She's the most honest woman in the world,' he replied, ‘young, pretty, keeps the whole household …Her mother's pension is barely enough for the rent.'

‘So she has a mother?'

‘Yes. She is a good woman, too.'

‘And how much rent do they pay?'

‘Three hundred roubles,' the agent replied, ‘it's like taking money from orphans …'

‘Let us call on these ladies,' said I.

‘Very gladly,' he exclaimed, ‘and as for what that crazy woman says about them — why, pay no attention. She hates Stawska, though I can't think why. Perhaps because she's pretty and has a little daughter just like an angel.'

‘Where do they live?'

‘In the front wing, on the second floor.'

I don't remember coming down the main stairs, nor crossing the yard, nor yet going up to the second floor of the wing. Before me stood Mrs Stawska and Wokulski …My goodness, what a fine pair they would make; but what of it, since she has a husband already? These are matters in which I have not the slightest desire to meddle. To me it seems one thing, to them it would seem another, and to fate something different again …

Fate, fate! It draws people together strangely. Had I not gone into Hopfer's wine-cellars years ago, to see Machalski, I would not have met Wokulski. Again, had I not urged him to go to the theatre, perhaps he would not have met Miss Łecka. I have unwittingly stirred up trouble for him, and do not want to do so again. Let the Lord God do it…

When we stopped at the door of Mrs Stawska's apartment, the agent smiled mischievously and whispered: ‘Mind now …First we must find out if the young lady is at home. She is well worth seeing, my dear sir!'

‘I know it, I know it …'

The agent did not ring, but knocked once, then again. Suddenly the door opened quite violently, and there was a fat, dumpy servant-girl with her sleeves rolled up and soapy hands an athlete might have envied: ‘Oh, it's the agent,' she exclaimed, ‘I thought it was him again …'

‘What, has someone been making a nuisance of himself?' Wirski asked, in an outraged tone of voice.

‘No, nobody ain't,' the girl said in peasant speech, ‘only someone sent a bouquet today. They say it's that Maruszewicz from over the way.'

‘Scoundrel!' the agent hissed.

‘Men are all alike. If they take a fancy to a girl, they're after her like moths around a candle.'

‘Are both the ladies at home?' Wirski asked.

The fat servant-girl looked at me suspiciously: ‘Are you with that gentleman?' she asked him.

‘Yes, he is the landlord's plenipotentiary.'

‘Is he young or old?' she inquired further, gazing at me like a judge eyeing a prisoner.

‘He's old — can't you see for yourself?' the agent replied.

‘Middle-aged,' I interrupted. (For goodness sake, they will be calling fifteen-year-old boys ‘old' next!)

‘Both the ladies are at home,' said the servant-girl, ‘but a young girl just came to the young mistress for a lesson. But the old lady is in her room.'

‘Hm …' the agent muttered, ‘well, announce us to the old lady.'

We went into the kitchen, where a pail filled with soap suds and children's underclothing stood. A child's drawers, blouses and stockings were hanging up to dry on a line near the hearth. (It is always obvious when there's a child in the house.)

We heard the voice of an elderly lady through the half-open door: ‘With the agent? …Some gentleman?' said the invisible lady, ‘perhaps it is Ludwik, for I was just dreaming …'

‘Come in, if you please,' said the servant, opening the door to a little drawing-room.

It was a small, pearly-coloured room, with emerald-green furniture, a piano, both windows full of pink and white flowers, prizes of the Fine Arts Society on the walls, a lamp with tulip-shaped glass on the table. After the tomb-like drawing-room of the Baroness Krzeszowska with its furniture done up in dark covering, it seemed more cheerful here. The room looked as if a guest was expected. But the chairs, too symmetrically placed around the table, showed that the guest had not yet arrived.

After a moment, a lady advanced in years came in, wearing an ash-coloured dress. I was struck by the almost white colour of her hair around a thin face which was not, however, too old, and very regular. The lady's features were somehow familiar.

Meanwhile, the agent had undone two buttons on his stained frock-coat and, having bowed with the elegance of a true gentleman, said: ‘May I present Mr Rzecki, the plenipotentiary of our landlord, and my colleague …'

We glanced at each other. I admit I was somewhat startled by our suddenly being ‘colleagues'. Wirski noticed this and added, with a smile: ‘I say “colleague” because we have both been abroad and seen interesting things …'

‘So you have been abroad? Fancy that!' the old lady exclaimed.

‘In 1849, and somewhat later,' I interposed.

‘And did you ever come across Ludwik Stawski, by any chance?'

‘Come, madam,' Wirski exclaimed, smiling and bowing, ‘Mr Rzecki was abroad thirty years ago, and your son-in-law left only four years ago …'

The old lady made a gesture as if to chase away a fly: ‘That's so,' she said, ‘whatever am I talking about? But I keep on thinking about Ludwik.…Pray be seated.'

We did so, while the former landowner bowed again to the imposing old lady, and she to him. Not until now did I observe that the ash-coloured dress was darned in many places, and a strange melancholy came upon me at the sight of these two people, one in a stained frock-coat, the other in a darned dress, behaving like princes. The levelling plough of time had passed over them both …

‘I expect you know about our trouble,' said the imposing lady, turning to me, ‘my son-in-law was involved in a very terrible matter four years ago …Most unjustly …Some dreadful woman was murdered …Oh, dear, I don't like to speak of it …Enough that someone close warned him he was suspected. Most unjustly, Mr …'

‘Rzecki,' the former landowner put in.

‘Most unjustly, Mr Rzecki …Well, and the poor fellow fled abroad. Last year the real murderer was found out, Ludwik's innocence established, but what of that, when he hasn't written to us for two years?'

Here she leaned towards me and whispered: ‘Helena, my daughter, Mr …'

‘Rzecki,' the agent exclaimed.

‘My daughter, Mr Rzecki, is being ruined …frankly, she is ruining herself by advertising in foreign newspapers, but nothing ever comes of it…She's still a young woman, Mr …'

‘Rzecki,' Wirski prompted.

‘A young woman, Mr Rzecki, not at all plain …'

‘Perfectly lovely,' the agent interrupted warmly.

‘I was quite like her,' the elderly lady went on with a sigh, nodding to the former landowner, ‘here's my daughter, sir, not at all plain, still young, with a little child …and perhaps longing for others. Although, Mr Wirski, I vow I have never heard a word of complaint from her …She suffers in silence, but I understand how she suffers …I too was thirty when …'

‘Which of us wasn't, once?' the agent sighed deeply.

The door squeaked and in ran a little girl with knitting-needles in her hand: ‘Please, grandma,' she cried, ‘I shall never finish this dress for my dolly …'

‘Helena,' the old lady exclaimed sternly, ‘you have not said good-day.'

The little girl made two curtsies, to which I replied clumsily, and Mr Wirski like a prince, and she went on showing her grandma the needles from which a little black woollen square was dangling: ‘Please grandma, the winter is coming, and my dolly won't have anything to wear in the street. Please grandma, I have dropped another stitch …'

(A perfectly lovely child …Goodness me, why isn't Staś her father? Perhaps he would not behave so foolishly?)

Her grandma apologised to me, took the wool and the needles, and at this moment in came Mrs Stawska.

I must confess that at the sight of her I behaved with dignity: but Wirski quite lost his head. He jumped up like a student, fastened a button on his frock-coat, then blushed and began stammering: ‘May I present Mr Rzecki, our landlord's plenipotentiary …'

‘How do you do?' said Mrs Stawska, bowing, her eyes lowered. But a powerful blush and traces of alarm on her face suggested I was not a welcome visitor.

‘Just wait,' thought I. And I imagined Wokulski in my place in the room: ‘Just wait, I'll prove to you you have nothing to fear …'