The Doll (46 page)

‘As it happens, it wasn't Goldcygier,' Konstanty remarked.

‘Then who was it? The councillor? Or the tailor, I suppose…'

‘No, it was this person,' said the servant, handing a visiting card to Krzeszowski, ‘a respectable person but I sent him away like you said.'

‘What!' the Count asked in surprise, glancing at the card, ‘didn't you give orders to receive Wokulski?'

‘No, I didn't,' the Baron agreed, ‘a low person, and certainly not fit for society.'

Count Liciński sat up in his chair rather significantly: ‘I never expected to hear such a remark about that gentleman…from you. Oh dear me, no…'

‘Pray don't take what I said as derogatory,' the Baron explained hastily, ‘Mr Wokulski has done nothing to be ashamed of, only…a minor dirty trick which may pass in trade, but not in society.'

Both the Count in his armchair and Konstanty on the threshold eyed the Baron attentively. ‘Judge for yourself,' the Baron went on, ‘I yielded up my mare to Baroness Krzeszowska (my legal spouse before God and man) for eight hundred roubles. Madame Krzeszowska—to spite me (I've no idea why!)—decided to sell it. So a purchaser was found in Mr Wokulski who, by taking advantage of a woman's weakness, thought he would make a profit out of the mare—two hundred roubles—as he only gave six hundred for her.'

‘He was in the right, dear me, yes,' the Count interposed.

‘Well, I suppose so…Yes, I know he was. But a man who throws away thousands of roubles just for show, and then makes twenty-five per cent profit in an underhand manner and out of hysterical females—such a man is not behaving with the best of taste. He isn't a gentleman. He committed no crime, but…he's as unbalanced in his relations with other people as someone who gives presents of carpets and shawls to his friends, but would take a handkerchief away from a stranger. You can't deny it…'

The Count said nothing; not for a while did he exclaim, ‘Dear me…But are you positive of it?'

‘Absolutely. The arrangement between Madame Krzeszowski and that…gentleman was made by my Maruszewicz, and I know it from him.'

‘Dear me. However that may be, Wokulski is a good tradesman, and is in charge of our partnership.'

‘Just as long as he doesn't cheat you…'

Konstanty, still on the threshold, had begun to nod his head condescendingly, then impatiently exclaimed: ‘Eh! Whatever are you talking about? Pah! You're no better than a little child, to be sure…'

The Count glanced at him curiously, and the Baron burst out: ‘Why, you fool, who asked your opinion?'

‘Why shouldn't I give it, when you chatter and behave like a little child…I'm only a footman, but I'd sooner trust a man who gives me two roubles when he calls than one who borrows three and is in no hurry to repay it. That's it—Mr Wokulski gave me two roubles today, but Mr Maruszewicz…'

‘Be off with you!' the Baron roared, seizing a carafe, at the sight of which Konstanty saw fit to put the thickness of the door between himself and his master.

‘That flunkey is a knave,' the Baron added, evidently very vexed.

‘Do you have a weakness for this Maruszewicz fellow?' the Count inquired.

‘He's an honest young man…He's got me out of all kinds of scrapes…He's given me ever so many proofs of his dog-like attachment…'

‘Dear me,' the Count muttered thoughtfully. He stayed a few minutes longer without speaking, then bade the Baron goodbye.

On his way home, Count Liciński's thoughts reverted several times to Wokulski. He considered it quite natural that a tradesman should profit even on a race-horse: at the same time, he felt some distaste for such transactions and was displeased that Wokulski should hobnob with Maruszewicz, a dubious individual to say the least. ‘As usual, a newly rich parvenu,' the Count muttered, ‘we took to him prematurely, though…he may manage the partnership…under strict control, of course, by us.'

A few days later, at about nine in the morning, Wokulski received two letters: one from Mrs Meliton, the other from the Prince's lawyer. He opened the first impatiently: in it, Mrs Meliton wrote only these words: ‘In the Łazienki park today at the usual time.' He read it several times, then reluctantly took up the lawyer's, which also invited him at eleven in the morning to a conference about the Łęcki house purchase. Wokulski sighed deeply; he had the time.

At eleven prompt, he was in the lawyer's office, where he found old Szlangbaum. He could not help noticing that the grey-haired Jew looked very grave against the background of the brown furniture and tapestry, and that it suited the lawyer, in his brown morocco slippers, very well.

‘You are lucky, Mr Wokulski,' Szlangbaum exclaimed, ‘no sooner do you want to purchase a house than the price of houses goes up. Upon my word, in six months you will make your deposit on this house, and then some over! And me too…'

‘You think so?' Wokulski replied carelessly.

‘I don't think, I'm making money already,' said the Jew, ‘yesterday Baroness Krzeszowska's lawyer borrowed ten thousand roubles from me until New Year, and paid me eight hundred roubles interest in advance.'

‘What's that? Is she short of money already?' Wokulski asked the lawyer.

‘She has ninety thousand in the bank, but the Baron has frozen it. Fine marriage articles, I must say,' the lawyer smiled, ‘the husband freezes money which is indubitably the property of his wife, against whom he is starting an action for separation. It's true that I never write such marriage articles, ha ha…' the lawyer laughed, puffing smoke from his great amber pipe.

‘Why did the Baroness borrow ten thousand from you, Mr Szlangbaum?' Wokulski asked.

‘Don't you know?' the Jew replied, ‘houses are going up, and the lawyer told the Baroness she would not get the Łęcki house for less than seventy thousand. She'd like to buy it for ten thousand, of course, but what can she do?'

The lawyer sat down at his desk and said: ‘So, my dear Mr Wokulski, the Łęcki house is to be bought not (he nodded) in my name but that of (he bowed) Mr S. Szlangbaum.'

‘I'll buy it, to be sure,' the Jew murmured.

‘But for ninety thousand roubles,' Wokulski interrupted, ‘not a penny less, and by auction,' he added emphatically.

‘Why not? It ain't my money! If you want to pay, there will be others to outbid you…If I had as many thousands as there are respectable Catholic people to be found for the purpose here in Warsaw, why then, I'd be richer than Rothschild.'

‘So your opponents at the sale will be respectable people,' the lawyer repeated, ‘very well. Now I'll give Mr Szlangbaum the money.'

‘No need,' the Jew put in.

‘Then we will draw up a nice little document, authorising Mr S. Szlangbaum to draw ninety thousand on Mr S. Wokulski, and this will ensure him the newly acquired apartment house. If, however, Mr Szlangbaum has not repaid the money by 1 January, 1879…'

‘And I won't!'

‘Then, Mr Łęcki's apartment house, purchased by him, will become the property of Mr S. Wokulski.'

‘It could do so now…I won't even look at it,' the Jew replied with a gesture.

‘Excellent,' the lawyer exclaimed, ‘we'll have the document by tomorrow and the house within a week or ten days. I hope to goodness you don't lose a few thousand on it, my dear Stanisław.'

‘I shall profit,' Wokulski replied, and bade goodbye to the lawyer and Szlangbaum.

‘But…but…' the lawyer exclaimed, as he accompanied Wokulski out, ‘our Counts are forming a partnership, except that they are decreasing their contributions and demanding a very detailed account of the transaction.'

‘They are quite right.'

‘Count Liciński is proving particularly shrewd. I can't think what has come over him…'

‘He is providing money, so he is cautious. As long as he was only giving his word, he could afford to be rash.'

‘Not at all,' the lawyer interposed, ‘there's more to it than that,

and I am investigating. Someone is interfering…'

‘Not with you, but with me,' Wokulski smiled, ‘yet I don't care, and would not mind at all if these gentlemen didn't join our partnership.'

He bade farewell to the lawyer once more and hurried to the store. There he found several important matters which detained him longer than he expected. He was not in the Łazienki park until one-thirty.

The harsh chill of the park excited rather than calmed him. He hurried so that sometimes he wondered whether he was attracting the attention of passers-by. Then he slowed down and felt that his chest would burst with impatience: ‘Surely I won't meet them now,' he repeated desperately.

Just by the lake, he caught sight of Izabela's ash-coloured wrap against a background of green shrubs. She was standing on the bank with the Countess and her father, throwing crumbs to the swans, one of which had even waddled out of the water and stood at Izabela's feet.

Tomasz was first to notice him: ‘What a fortunate coincidence,' he exclaimed to Wokulski, ‘you in the Łazienki at this time of day!'

Wokulski bowed to the ladies, noticing the blush on Izabela's face with a sensation of delighted surprise: ‘I come here whenever I am overworked…which is quite often.'

‘Take care of yourself, Mr Wokulski,' Tomasz warned, shaking a finger at him gravely, ‘and apropos,' he added in an undertone, ‘just think—Baroness Krzeszowska wants to give me seventy thousand for my house. I shall certainly get a hundred thousand, perhaps a hundred and ten thousand. Thank goodness for auction sales.'

‘I see you so rarely, Mr Wokulski,' the Countess interposed, ‘that I must get down to business immediately.'

‘I am at your service, madam.'

‘My dear sir,' she exclaimed, pressing her hands together with mock humility, ‘I entreat you for a roll of calico for my orphans. Just see how I have learned to beg for charity.'

‘Will you deign to accept two rolls?'

‘Only if one is of thick linen…'

‘Aunt, you are going too far,' Izabela interrupted with a smile, ‘if you do not want to lose your entire fortune,' she added to Wokulski, ‘you had better run away. I'll take you in the direction of the Orangery, and the others can rest here awhile…'

‘Bela, aren't you afraid?…' her aunt exclaimed.

‘Surely you don't suppose, aunt, that anything bad can happen to me in the company of Mr Wokulski?'

The blood ran to Wokulski's head; an imperceptible smile flitted across the Countess's lips.

It was one of those moments when Nature puts a brake on her immense powers, and suspends her eternal labours to emphasise the happiness of small and insignificant beings. The breeze was scarcely blowing, and then only to cool the fledgelings in their nests and help insects winging their way to nuptial festivities. The leaves on the trees stirred so gently that it was as if they were moved not by a material breath, but by the shifting sun-beams. Here and there, in the moisture-drenched undergrowth, colourful dew drops shimmered like the particles of a rainbow from Heaven. Thus everything was appropriate: the sun and trees, the light and shade, the swans on the lake, the swarms of mosquitoes hovering over the swans, even the glittering waves on the blue water. At this moment it seemed to Wokulski that time itself had quit the earth, leaving behind only a few white streaks in the sky—and that from now on nothing would change: everything would remain the same forever and ever—he and Izabela would walk forever through radiant meadows, both surrounded by green clouds of trees, in which the curious eyes of a bird would glitter here and there, like a couple of black diamonds—that he would be filled with immeasurable silence, and she always so dreamy and blushing, that those two white butterflies, kissing in the air, would be before them forever, as now.

They were half-way to the Orangery when Izabela, evidently embarrassed by the tranquillity in Nature and between them, began to say: ‘A beautiful day, is it not? It's so hot in town, but here it is delightfully cool. I love the Łazienki at this time of day; there are hardly any people, so everyone can find a corner entirely for himself. Do you like solitude?'

‘I have grown used to it.'

‘Have you seen Rossi?' she added, blushing still more, ‘have you?' she insisted, looking into his eyes in surprise.

‘No, but I'm going to.'

‘My aunt and I have already been to two performances.'

‘I shall go to them all…'

‘Oh, that is splendid! You'll see what a great artist he is. He plays Romeo particularly well—although he is no longer in his first youth. Aunt and I know him personally, we met in Paris…He's a most charming man, but a great tragedian primarily. He mingles very faithful realism in his acting with the most poetic idealism.'

‘He must be very great,' Wokulski said, ‘if he arouses so much admiration and sympathy in you.'

‘Yes, you are right. I know I shall never do anything extraordinary, but at least I know how to appreciate unusual people. In every walk of life…even on the stage…Just think, though, that Warsaw doesn't appreciate him as it should.'

‘Is that possible? After all, he's a foreigner…'

‘You are malicious,' she replied, with a smile, ‘but I put it down to Warsaw, not to Rossi. Really, I am ashamed of our city. If I were the public (of the male sex), I'd overwhelm him with bouquets, and my hands would be quite swollen from applauding. Here, though, the applause is rather sparing, and no one thinks of bouquets. We are still barbarians, really…'

‘Applause and bouquets are such small things that…at Rossi's next performance he may well have too many, rather than not enough,' said Wokulski.

‘Are you sure?' she asked, looking eloquently into his eyes.

‘Quite sure…I guarantee it…'