The Doll (95 page)

I dropped in at my room, put on my old greatcoat and top-hat and thus disguised went out half an hour later into the streets. Staś's apartment was in darkness, so he wasn't home. Where might he be? I hailed a passing sledge and got out a few minutes later not far from the Prince's house. Several carriages were standing in the street, others still driving up; already the first floor was lit up, music playing, and in the windows, dancing shadows fluttered past from time to time. ‘Miss Łęcka is there,' thought I, and somehow my heart ached.

I looked around. Goodness, what clouds of snow! I could barely see the gas-lights flickering in the wind. Bed-time.

Wanting to hail a sledge, I crossed the street, and … almost bumped into Wokulski … standing under a tree, covered with snow, staring into the windows: ‘So that's it! Even if it's the death of me, my friend, you're to marry Mrs Stawska!'

Faced with this peril, I decided to act energetically. Next morning I went to Szuman, and said: ‘Do you know, doctor, what has happened to Staś?'

‘What, did he break a leg?'

‘Worse. Despite being invited twice, he wasn't at the Prince's ball but around midnight he disappeared from his house, and there, standing out in the snow, he watched the windows. Do you understand me?'

‘I do. No need to be a psychiatrist, for that.'

‘So,' I went on, ‘I have decided irrevocably to marry off Staś this year, even before Midsummer Day.'

‘To Miss Łęcka?' the doctor caught me up. ‘I'd advise you not to get involved in that.'

‘Not to Miss Łęcka, but to Mrs Stawska.'

The doctor began tapping his head: ‘It's a madhouse,' he cried. ‘Everyone included … You obviously have water on the brain, Mr Rzecki,' he added, a moment later.

‘You insult me, sir!' I cried impatiently.

He stopped, seized my lapels and said crossly: ‘Listen to me, sirrah … I'll use a simile you ought to understand. If you have a drawer full of wallets, for example, could you put ties in the same drawer? You couldn't. So, if Wokulski has his heart full of Miss Łęcka, how can you push Mrs Stawska in?'

I disentangled his hands from my lapels, and replied: ‘I'd take out the wallets and put the ties in, d'you see, learned sir?'

And I left at once, for his arrogance vexed me. He thinks he has a monopoly of common sense. From the doctor I went to Mrs Misiewicz. Mrs Stawska was at her store, I sent Helena into the other room to her toys, sat myself down with the old lady and began without more ado: ‘Dear madam! Do you think that Wokulski is an honourable man?'

‘Oh, my dear Mr Rzecki, how can you ask such a thing? He lowered the rent in his own house for us, saved Helena from disgrace, gave her a position at seventy-five roubles, sent little Helena ever so many toys …'

‘Very well,' I interrupted, ‘if you agree, madam, that he is a fine man, you must also admit, in the utmost secrecy, that he is very unfortunate.'

‘For goodness sake!' the old lady crossed herself, ‘he unfortunate, who has such a store, a company, a huge fortune? He who recently sold his apartment house! Unless he has debts I know nothing of.'

‘Not a penny,' I said, ‘and, after settling his business affairs, he has some six hundred thousand roubles, although two years ago he only had thirty thousand, plus the store of course. But, madam, money isn't everything, for a man has a heart as well as a pocket-book.'

‘Yet I hear he's getting married, to a pretty young lady, a Miss Łęcka.'

‘That is his misfortune: Wokulski cannot, must not marry her.'

‘Is there something the matter with him? Such a healthy man …'

‘He must not marry Miss Łęcka, she is no match for him. He needs a wife like …'

‘Like my Helena!' Mrs Misiewicz interposed promptly.

‘That's it!' I cried, ‘and not only like her, but her in person. Her very self, Mrs Helena Stawska is what we need for his wife.'

The old lady burst into tears: ‘Do you know, my dear Mr Rzecki, that this is my fondest wish? For I'll give my word that good Ludwik is dead … I've dreamed of him so often, and every time he was either naked, or somehow different from what he used to be …'

‘Besides,' said I, ‘even if he isn't dead, we'll get a divorce.'

‘That's it! Everything can be got for money.'

‘Just so! The whole point is that Mrs Stawska mustn't be obstinate.'

‘Worthy Mr Rzecki!' cried the dear old lady, ‘she, I promise you, is in love, poor little thing, with Wokulski. Her good humour is gone, she doesn't sleep nights, only sighs, the poor little woman's growing thin, and when you both were here yesterday, something happened to her … I, her own mother, didn't recognise her.'

‘So!
Basta!
' I interrupted, ‘my hand on it that Wokulski will be here as often as possible, and you … Pray make Mrs Stawska well disposed to him. We'll tear Staś out of the hands of that Miss Łęcka, and … surely, by midsummer, the wedding …'

‘For goodness sake — but what about poor Ludwik?'

‘He's dead, he's dead,' said I, ‘I give my word he is.'

‘Hm, in that case, God's will be done …'

‘Only pray keep it a secret. There's a great deal at stake.'

‘What do you take me for, Mr Rzecki,' said the old lady, offended. ‘Here,' she added, tapping her bosom, ‘here all secrets are buried as though they were in a tomb. And especially the secret of my own child and that noble man.'

Both of us were deeply moved. ‘Well, now,' said I after a moment, getting ready to take my leave, ‘could anyone have supposed that such a small thing as a doll might help make two people happy?'

‘A doll? How so?'

‘How so? Why, if Mrs Stawska hadn't bought the doll in our store, there'd have been no court case, Staś wouldn't have worried about Mrs Stawska's fate, Mrs Stawska wouldn't have fallen in love with him, so they wouldn't have got married … For, strictly speaking, if any warm feeling has been aroused in Staś for Mrs Stawska, it's only since the court case.'

‘Aroused, you say?'

‘Hm! Didn't you see how they were whispering yesterday, on that couch? Wokulski hasn't been so lively for a long time, nor so excited as yesterday.'

‘Heaven has sent you, my dear Mr Rzecki!' cried the old lady, and on bidding her farewell, she kissed my brow.

Today I'm really pleased with myself and even if I didn't want to, would have to admit I have the brains of Metternich. How I came upon the notion of Staś falling in love with Mrs Stawska, how I arranged everything so as not to be interrupted … Today I haven't the slightest doubt that both Mrs Stawska and Wokulski have fallen into the trap. She has been growing thin for several weeks (but is still prettier, the mischievous thing!) and he's quite lost his head. Providing he isn't at the Łęckis in the evening, which rarely happens in any case, for that young lady is everlastingly at balls, then the young fellow goes over to Mrs Stawska's, and stays there up to midnight. And how lively they are, as he tells her tales of Siberia, Moscow, Paris … I know this because Mrs Misiewicz tells me everything next day, as the greatest secret, of course.

Only one thing I didn't like. On learning that Wirski sometimes visits our ladies to let off steam, I set off to warn him. I was just leaving home, when I met Wirski in the passage. Of course I turned back, lit the lamp, we talked a little about politics … Then I changed the subject, and began formally: ‘I have to inform you, confidentially …'

‘I know what you mean!' he said, laughing.

‘What do you know?'

‘Why, that Wokulski is in love with Mrs Stawska!'

‘Good God,' I cried, ‘whoever told you?'

‘First of all, don't be afraid of betraying a secret,' he said, gravely, ‘because in our house, the secret is as good as buried in a well.'

‘But who told you?'

‘Well, my wife did, after she heard it from Mrs Kolerowa.'

‘And where did she get it from?'

‘Mrs Radzińska told Mrs Kolerowa, and Mrs Radzińska was told the secret under a most solemn oath by Mrs Denowa, you know, Mrs Misiewicz's friend.'

‘How careless of Mrs Misiewicz!'

‘Come, now!' says Wirski, ‘what was the poor old lady to do, when Mrs Denowa reproached her because Wokulski sits in their apartment till all hours, because there's something improper going on … Of course, the old lady got agitated and told her there was no question of anything like that, but of marriage, and that probably they'll get married by midsummer.'

It made my head ache, but what was to be done? Oh, these old ladies!

‘What's the latest in town?' I asked Wirski, to put an end to this worrying conversation.

‘Scandalous things,' says he, ‘with the Baroness! But give me a cigar, sir, for it's two long stories.'

I gave him the cigar, and he told me things which finally convinced me that sooner or later the wicked must be punished, the good rewarded, and that there is a spark of conscience in the stoniest of hearts. ‘When did you last visit our ladies?' Wirski begins.

‘Four … five days ago,' I replied, ‘you'll understand, sir, that I don't want to interrupt Wokulski, and I advise you not to, either. A young lady and a gentleman reach an understanding faster than we old folks.'

‘If you please, sir!' Wirski interrupted, ‘a man of fifty ain't old: he's ripe.'

‘Like an apple falling off a tree.'

‘You're right, sir: a man of fifty is very prone to falling. If it weren't for his wife and children … Mr Ignacy! Devil take me, if I wouldn't like to compete with the young fellows! But, sir, a man who's married is a cripple: women don't look at him, although … Mr Ignacy!'

At this point his eyes sparkled, and he performed such a pantomime that if he's truly pious, he'll go to confession tomorrow.

I've already noticed, generally speaking, that the gentry are such that they've no head for scholarship, nor yet for business, you never get them to work, but they're always ready for the bottle, for fighting and chasing women, even if they get to them in a coffin. Profligate creatures!

‘That's all very well,' say I, ‘but what were you going to tell me, Mr Wirski?'

‘Aha, what was I thinking of?' says he, his cigar smoking like a barrel of tar, ‘well, now — you remember those students in our apartment house, who lived above the Baroness?'

‘Maleski, Patkiewicz and the third one. How can I help remembering such young devils? Jolly fellows!'

‘Oh, very,' Wirski agreed, ‘may God be my witness if we could keep a young cook more than eight months, not with those rascals in the house. Mr Rzecki! I may tell that the three of them would populate all the orphanages … Evidently that's what they teach 'em at the University. In my time, in the country, if a father with a young son gave away three or four cows every year … Tut-tut! Even the priest was vexed then, for they depraved his flock. As for them, sir …'

‘You were about to tell me of the Baroness,' I interposed, for I don't like it when nonsense occupies a grizzled pate.

‘Just so. Well, now … The worst scoundrel was that Patkiewicz, who pretended to be a dead body. When evening came, and that monster got out on the stairs, then I may tell you, there was such squealing you'd think a whole pack of rats was passing by.'

‘But the Baroness …'

‘Just so, indeed … Well, now, my dear sir … Well, and Maleski was there too! Now, as you know, sir, the Baroness got a court order for the lads to move out by the 8th. But they don't budge … The 8th, 9th, 10th … There they still are, and the Baroness's spleen quite swelled up with vexation. In the end, after taking advice from her so-called lawyer and Maruszewicz, on February 15th she brings in a bailiff, with the police.

‘So up this bailiff goes to the third floor — bang, bang! The lads' door is locked, but they ask “Who's there?” from inside.

“‘Open in the name of the law,” says the bailiff.

“‘The law is all very well,” say they, inside, “but we don't have the key. Someone has locked us in, the Baroness no doubt.”

“‘You gentlemen are making fun of the police,” says the bailiff, “but you know you ought to move out.”

“‘Certainly,” they say, inside, “but after all, we can't get out through the keyhole. Not unless …”

‘So of course the bailiff sends the janitor for a carpenter, and waits on the stairs with the police. In about a half hour, along comes the carpenter; he opens the regular lock with a pick-lock, but can't do anything about the English snap-latch. He twists and turns, but in vain … So off he goes for tools, which takes him another half hour, and in the meantime there's running and banging in the yard, and the Baroness on the second floor gets a most terrible attack of the spasms.

‘The bailiff is still waiting on the stairs, when Maruszewicz rushes up: “Sir!” he shouts, “just take a look at what they're up to!” So the bailiff runs out into the yard, and sees this: the third-floor window was open (and this, mark you, in February!), and out of that window into the yard came flying pillows, quilts, books, human skulls and such-like. Shortly afterwards, out comes a trunk on a rope and after it — a bed.

“‘Well, and what have you to say to this?” cries Maruszewicz.

“‘I must file a report,” says the bailiff, “besides, they're moving out, so maybe it isn't worth interrupting 'em.” Then — another spectacle. A chair appears in the open window on the third floor, with Patkiewicz sitting on it, his two colleagues give him a push and — young Patkiewicz comes riding down in the chair on ropes! At this point, the bailiff came over faint, and one of the policemen crossed himself.

“‘He'll break his neck!” cry the women, “goodness gracious, may Heaven protect him!” Maruszewicz, being a nervous man, took refuge with the Baroness, and meanwhile the chair and Patkiewicz stop at the second floor, at the Baroness's window.