The Doll (103 page)

The Baroness solemnly assured the lawyer that her husband the Baron, despite all the depravities and the torments to which he had subjected her, possessed no funds at all. At this point, she had an attack of the spasms, which induced the lawyer to beat a hasty retreat. However, when the high priest of justice had quit her apartment, she returned to her senses very swiftly, and, after calling Marysia, said to her in an unusual calm voice: ‘It will be necessary, Marysia, to put up new curtains, for I have a feeling that our unfortunate master is coming back.'

A few days later, the Prince in person was at the Baroness's house. They were closeted together in the most distant room, and held a long conversation, during which the Baroness burst into tears several times and swooned away once. What could they have been talking of? Even Marysia didn't know. But when the Prince had gone, the Baroness at once ordered Maruszewicz to be summoned, and when he hastened in, she said in a strangely mild voice, interwoven with sighs: ‘I have the idea, Mr Maruszewicz, that my errant husband has finally come to his senses. Pray be kind enough, therefore, to go into town and buy a man's robe and a pair of slippers. Buy them in your size, for the two of you, poor things, are both equally slender.'

Mr Maruszewicz's eyebrows went up, but he took the money and made the purchases. The Baroness thought that the price of forty roubles for a robe, and six roubles for slippers was rather high, but Mr Maruszewicz told her he didn't know anything about prices, and that he'd bought them in the best stores, so nothing further was said.

Then, a few days later, two Jews called at Baroness Krzeszowska's apartment to ask whether the Baron was at home…Instead of falling upon them with a shriek, as she usually did, the Baroness very calmly invited them to leave. Then, calling Kasper, she said: ‘I have the idea, my dear Kasper, that our poor master will be moving in today or tomorrow. You must put a carpet on the stairs to the second floor. But mind, my child, that they don't steal the rods…And it must be beaten every few days.'

Henceforward she no longer scolded Marysia, wrote no letters, didn't torment the janitor…All she did was to walk about in the large apartment, arms folded, pale, quiet, agitated. At the sound of a droshky stopping in front of the house, she would rush to the window: at the sound of the door-bell, she would rush to the threshold and eavesdrop through the half-open door to know who was talking to Marysia. After a few days of this kind of life, she grew still paler and more agitated. She ran faster for shorter distances, often sank into a chair with her heart beating, and finally took to her bed.

‘Tell them to take up the carpet on the stairs,' she said to Marysia in a hoarse voice, ‘some scoundrel must have lent your master money again.'

Hardly had she said this, than there was a brisk ring at the door-bell. The Baroness sent Marysia first and she herself, touched by a premonition, began dressing despite her headache. Everything slithered through her fingers. Meanwhile, Marysia, opening the door on its chain, saw a very distinguished gentleman with a silk umbrella and valise on the landing. Behind the gentleman, who looked rather like a butler despite his carefully trimmed moustache and copious side-whiskers, were porters with trunks and bags.

‘What is it?' the servant girl asked automatically.

‘Open the door,' replied the gentleman with the valise, ‘it's the Baron's things, and mine,' The door opened, the gentleman ordered the porters to put the trunks and bags in the vestibule, and inquired: ‘Where's His Excellency's study?'

At this moment the Baroness hurried in, her robe undone, hair in disorder. ‘What's this?' she cried, in an emotional voice. ‘Oh, it's you, Leon. Where's your master?'

‘At Stepek's café, I believe…I should like to put away the things, but I don't see either my master's study, nor a room for me.'

‘Wait a moment,' cried the Baroness feverishly, ‘Marysia will move out of the kitchen, and you can…'

‘Me in the kitchen, madam?' asked the gentleman named Leon, ‘surely madam is joking? According to my agreement with His Excellency, I am to have my own room.'

The Baroness became embarrassed. ‘What am I saying?' she exclaimed, ‘will you, Leon, move into the third floor for the time being, into the apartment that used to be the students.'

‘Now I understand you,' Leon replied, ‘if there are several rooms, I might even live with the chef.'

‘What chef?'

‘Surely Your Excellencies can't do without a chef? Take the things upstairs,' he turned to the porters.

‘What are you doing?' the Baroness shrieked, seeing them collecting all the trunks and bags.

‘They're taking my things. Carry on!' Leon commanded.

‘And His Excellency's?'

‘Oh, here you are,' the servant replied, handing Marysia the valise and umbrella.

‘But the bed-linen? His clothes? His things?' the Baroness cried, wringing her hands.

‘Pray don't create a scene in front of the servants, madam,' said Leon threateningly, ‘His Excellency should have all those things at home.'

‘That's so, that's so,' whispered the Baroness, mortified.

Once installed upstairs, whither they still had to bring a bed, table, some chairs and a wash-basin with a jug of water, Mr Leon put on his tail-coat, white tie, a clean shirt (a trifle too small for him), went back to the Baroness and sat himself down gravely in the hall. ‘Within a half hour,' he told Marysia, looking at his gold watch, ‘His Excellency should be here, for he has a nap every day between four and five o'clock. Well, now, miss—are you bored here?' he added, ‘if so, I'll liven you up…'

‘Marysia, come here!' called the Baroness, from her room.

‘Why are you rushing off, miss?' Leon inquired, ‘will the old girl's business vanish, then? Let her wait a bit.'

‘I dare not, she's terrible when she's angry,' whispered Marysia, breaking away from him.

‘That's because you spoiled her. They'll bang nails into your head if you let them. You'll find things easier with the Baron, he's a connoisseur. But you'll have to dress different, not like a school ma'am. We don't like nuns.'

‘Marysia! Marysia!'

‘Well, run along, but take it easy,' Leon advised.

Despite Leon's prediction, the Baron arrived at his wife's apartment nearer five than four. He wore a new frock-coat and fresh hat and carried a cane with a silver horse-shoe in his hand. His expression was calm, but his faithful servant saw powerful emotion underneath. While still in the hall, the Baron's eye-glasses fell off twice and his left cheek twitched a great deal more than it had done before the duel, or when he'd been struck with a billiard cue: ‘Announce me to Her Excellency,' he said in a somewhat stifled voice. Leon opened the drawing-room door and almost threateningly cried: ‘His Excellency!'

And when the Baron had gone in, he shut the door, sent away Marysia, who had hurried out of the kitchen—and began eaves-dropping.

The Baroness, seated on the sofa with a book, rose on seeing her husband. When the Baron made a deep bow, she wanted to curtsy back, but sank on the sofa instead. ‘My husband…' she whispered, covering her face. ‘Oh! What have you been doing?'

‘I am very sorry,' said the Baron, bowing a second time, ‘to pay my respects to you in such circumstances.'

‘I am ready to forgive all, if…'

‘That is very gratifying to us both,' the Baron interrupted, ‘for I too am ready to overlook everything concerning myself. Unfortunately, you have deigned to take advantage of my good name which, although not marked in the history of the world by anything remarkable, yet deserves to be spared that.'

‘Your name?' the Baroness repeated.

‘Yes, madam,' replied the Baron, bowing for the third time, his hat still in his hand. ‘Forgive me for mentioning this painful matter, but…for some time past, my name has been figuring in all the law courts. At this moment, you apparently have, on hand, three court cases: two with tenants, and one with your former lawyer, who is an out-and-out scoundrel and no mistake.'

‘But, husband mine!' cried the Baroness, jumping up, ‘recollect that you at this moment have eleven court cases on hand, respecting debts of thirty thousand roubles.'

‘Pardon me! I have seventeen court cases respecting thirty-nine thousand roubles of debts, if my memory serves. But they are cases over debts. Not a single one have I brought against a respectable woman for stealing a doll…My sins do not include writing a single anonymous letter to blacken an innocent woman, nor has a single one of my creditors been obliged to run away from Warsaw, pursued by scandal, as has happened to a certain Mrs Stawska, thanks to the interference of Baroness Krzeszowska.'

‘Stawska was your mistress.'

‘Pardon me! I don't deny I sought her favours, but I declare on my honour that she is the noblest woman I ever met in my life. Pray do not be vexed by this superlative applied to another person, and pray deign to believe me when I say that Mrs Stawska left even my…my attempts unanswered. And because, madam, I have the honour of knowing the average woman…so my evidence means something.'

‘What, therefore, is it that you want, my husband?' asked the Baroness, now in a firm voice.

‘I want…to defend the name we both bear. I want…to enjoin respect for Baroness Krzeszowska in this house. I want to terminate the court cases, and give you protection. To do so, I am obliged to ask you for hospitality. But when I settle my accounts…'

‘You will leave me?'

‘Undoubtedly.'

‘And your debts?'

The Baron rose. ‘My debts are of no interest to you, madam,' he said, in a tone of profound conviction. ‘If Mr Wokulski, an ordinary gentleman, can make several millions in the course of a few years, then a man with my name can pay off forty thousand in debts, and I too will demonstrate that I know how to work.'

‘You are ill, husband mine,' replied the Baroness. ‘You know very well that I come from a family which made its own fortune, and I can tell you that you will never be able to work, not even to support yourself…Not even to feed the poorest of men.'

‘So you reject the protection I am offering you, madam, thanks to the persuasion of the Prince and concern for the honour of my name?'

‘Not at all! Pray begin to look after me at last, for hitherto…'

‘As far as I am concerned,' the Baron interrupted, with another bow, ‘I shall try to forget the past.'

‘You forgot it long ago…You haven't even visited our daughter's grave…'

Thus the Baron installed himself in his wife's abode. He broke off all the law-suits against the tenants, and told the Baroness's former lawyer that he would have him horse-whipped if he ever spoke disrespectfully of his client, wrote a letter of apology to Mrs Stawska and sent her (to Częstochowa) an enormous bouquet. Finally, he engaged a chef and paid visits with his spouse to various persons in society, having first of all told Maruszewicz, who spread it around town, that if any lady did not return the call, the Baron would require satisfaction from her husband.

Drawing-room society was much upset by the Baron's wild claims; however, everyone returned calls on the Baron and Baroness, and almost everyone entered into closer social relations with them. In return, the Baroness—and this was a sign of the utmost delicacy of feeling on her part—paid off her husband's debts without a word to anyone. She was haughty to some of the creditors, she wept with others, and deducted various amounts from nearly everyone on account of money-lender's interest. She grew agitated—but she paid.

She had several pounds of her husband's promissory notes in a separate drawer of her writing desk when the following incident occurred. Wokulski's store was to be taken over in July by Henryk Szlangbaum; and since the new owner did not want to take over the debts or claims of the previous owner, Mr Rzecki was obliged to settle accounts urgently. Among others, he sent a bill for several hundred roubles to Baron Krzeszowski, with the request for an early reply. The note, like all communications of this sort, fell into the hands of the Baroness who, instead of paying, sent Rzecki an insolent letter in which she did not hesitate to refer to swindles, the dishonest purchase of her mare, and so forth.

Within twenty-four hours of sending this letter, Rzecki appeared at the Baron's house, stating that he wished to see him. The Baron received him very cordially, although he did not conceal his surprise on seeing that the former second of his opponent was very irritated.

‘I am visiting you because I have a claim to make,' the old clerk began. ‘The day before yesterday I ventured to send you a bill…'

‘Yes, of course…I owe you gentlemen something…How much is it?'

‘Two hundred and thirty-six roubles, thirty kopeks.'

‘I will endeavour to satisfy you tomorrow.'

‘That is not all,' Rzecki interrupted, ‘for yesterday I received this letter from your worthy spouse.'

The Baron read the piece of paper Rzecki handed him, pondered and replied: ‘I am very sorry the Baroness used such uncivil language, but…as for that mare, she's right. Mr Wokulski (though I don't hold it against him) let me have the mare for six hundred, but took a receipt for eight hundred.'

Rzecki went livid with rage: ‘Baron, I regret this incident, but…One of us has been the victim of a trick…A nasty trick, sir! And here's the proof.'

He produced two sheets of paper from his pocket and gave one to Krzeszowski. The Baron glanced at it, and exclaimed: ‘So it was that scoundrel Maruszewicz! Upon my word, he gave me only six hundred roubles, and talked about the business-like attitude of Wokulski into the bargain…'

‘And this?' asked Rzecki, handing him another sheet.

The Baron looked over the document from top to bottom. His lips whitened. ‘Now I understand it all,' he said, ‘this receipt is forged, forged by Maruszewicz. I never borrowed any money from Wokulski.'