‘How that woman is compromising herself,’ our lawyer whispered. ‘Venturing into the law courts with a scoundrel like that adviser of hers!’
‘But we have claims against you, madam, for damages and loss,’ Maleski cried. ‘Who ever heard of a person refusing lodgings to respectable people at this time of year? Even if we find lodgings, they’ll be so wretched that two of us at least will die of consumption.’
Mr Patkiewicz, no doubt with a view to adding greater weight to the speaker’s words, began moving his ears and the skin on the top of his head, which provoked a new attack of mirth in the court.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it!’ said our lawyer.
‘Such a court case?’ asked Wokulski.
‘No — that fellow moving his ears. He’s an artist!’
Meanwhile the judge entered sentences and announced that Messrs Maleski and Patkiewicz were to pay the twelve roubles and fifty kopeks rent and leave the apartment before February 8th. At this point an unusual incident occurred. On hearing the sentence, Mr Patkiewicz underwent such a powerful moral shock that his face turned green and he swooned away. Fortunately he fell into the embrace of Mr Maleski; otherwise the poor devil would have injured himself quite dreadfully.
Of course, voices of sympathy were raised in the court room, and Mrs Stawska’s cook burst into tears. Embarrassed, the judge interrupted the sitting and, with a nod to Wokulski (how comes it they are acquainted?) went into his office, while two porters almost carried out the unfortunate young man, who this time really resembled a dead body.
Not until he was laid on a bench in the vestibule, and one of those present declared he should be sprinkled with water, did the sick man suddenly sit up and say, threateningly: ‘Come, now! No silly jokes, if you please.’
With this he at once put on his coat, energetically pulled on his shabby galoshes and quit the court with a light step, much to the confusion of the porters, the accused and the witnesses.
At this moment, a court official approached our bench and whispered to Wokulski that the judge would be pleased to have him to lunch. Staś went out, but Mrs Misiewicz began calling to me with desperate signals: ‘Oh dear me! Oh goodness!’ said she, ‘Do you know why the judge has summoned that most noble gentleman? He wants to tell him that Helena is lost! Oh, that wicked Baroness must have great friends in high places! She’s already won one case, and no doubt it will be the same with Helena. Oh, woe is me! Do you happen to have any cordial drops, Mr Rzecki?’
‘Are you poorly, madam?’
‘Not yet, though there’s such a smell in here … I’m terrible afraid for Helena’s sake … If they sentence her, she will certainly swoon and perhaps die if we don’t bring her around quickly. Don’t you think it would be a good idea, Mr Rzecki, if I were to beg the judge on my knees to …’
‘Quite unnecessary, madam. Our lawyer has just said that the Baroness may want to withdraw the charge, but it’s too late.’
‘But if we too yield?’ cried the old lady.
‘Come, not that, my dear madam,’ I exclaimed, somewhat impatiently, ‘either we leave the court completely cleared, or …’
‘We shall perish! Is that what you were going to say?’ the old lady interrupted. ‘Oh, don’t say so … You don’t even know, sir, how disagreeable it is at my age to hear death mentioned.’
I retreated from the despairing old lady and went to Mrs Stawska: ‘How do you feel?’
‘Very well,’ she replied energetically, ‘though last night I was terribly frightened; but now, after confession, I breathe more easily, and since I’ve been here I’ve been quite calm.’
I pressed her hand long … long … in the way that only true lovers press hands and hurried to my place, for Wokulski, followed by the judge, had come back into court.
My heart was beating like a hammer. I looked around. Mrs Misiewicz was evidently praying with her eyes shut, Mrs Stawska was very pale but firm, the Baroness was tugging at her wrap and our lawyer eyed the ceiling, stifling a yawn.
At this moment Wokulski too looked at Mrs Stawska, and — may the devil take me! — if I didn’t see an expression of sentiment in his eyes rarely to be found there. After a few more trials like this, I’m sure he’ll fall desperately in love with her.
The judge went on writing for a while, and when he had finished he informed those present that Krzeszowska’s case against Mrs Stawska over the theft of a doll would be heard. He called both parties and their witnesses into the centre.
I took my stand by the benches, consequently I was able to overhear the conversation of two old biddies, of whom the younger and red-faced one was explaining to the elder: ‘Now, just look: that pretty lady stole the other lady’s doll.’
‘Fancy coveting a doll!’
‘Well, never mind that. Not everyone can steal a mangle.’
‘It was you as stole the mangle,’ said a coarse voice from behind them, ‘him as takes his own property ain’t no thief, but him as gives fifteen roubles deposit and thinks he already owns the property …’
The judge was still writing, and I was trying to recall the speech I’d composed the previous day in Mrs Stawska’s defence and to shame the Baroness. But the words and phrases were so muddled in my head that I began looking around the court. Mrs Misiewicz was still quietly praying, and Marianna, next to her, was in tears. Baroness Krzeszowska’s face was grey, her lips drawn, her eyes downcast: but fury could be seen in every fold of her dress. Next to her stood Maruszewicz, staring at the floor, and behind him was the Baroness’s maidservant, as terrified as though they were about to lead her to the scaffold.
Our lawyer stifled his yawns. Wokulski clenched his fists, but Mrs Stawska was gazing at everyone in turn with such benign tranquillity that, had I been a sculptor, I would have taken her as a model for a statue of accused innocence.
Despite Marianna’s efforts, little Helena ran into the courtroom and caught her mother by the hand, asking in an undertone: ‘Mama, why has that gentleman told mama to come here? I’ll whisper something to you: you have been naughty, mama, and now you’ll have to stand in the corner.’
‘Clever little creature,’ said the red-faced biddy to the elder one.
‘Pity you ain’t as clever …’ muttered the coarse voice behind her.
‘Just you try being clever …’ the biddy replied crossly.
‘May you die in convulsions and do your mangling in Hell on the mangle o’mine,’ her enemy retorted.
‘Silence!’ cried the judge. ‘What has Baroness Krzeszowska to say in the case?’
‘Hear me, Your Worship!’ the Baroness began declaiming, placing one leg forward, ‘of my late child was left to me, as my dearest souvenir, a doll, which that lady over yonder very much liked (she pointed at Mrs Stawska), and so her did daughter.’
‘Was the accused ever in your apartment?’
‘Yes, I hired her to do sewing …’
‘And never paid her!’ roared Wirski from the back of the court.
‘Silence!’ the judge thundered at him. ‘Well, and what else?’
‘On the day I dismissed that woman,’ said the Baroness, ‘the doll vanished. I thought I’d die of grief, and at once began suspecting her … I had good cause, for a few days later my friend Mr Maruszewicz saw through the window that this woman, who lives opposite him, had my doll in her apartment and was changing its dress so it wouldn’t be recognised. I went into his apartment with my legal adviser, and looked through opera-glasses, and saw my doll really was in that woman’s apartment. So next day I went and took away the doll, which I see there on the bench, and made a complaint.’
‘Was Mr Maruszewicz certain that it was the same doll as the Baroness’s?’ the judge asked him.
‘That’s to say … properly speaking … I’m not certain.’
‘Why did Mr Maruszewicz say that to the Baroness?’
‘As a matter of fact … I didn’t mean …’
‘Don’t lie, sir!’ the Baroness cried, ‘you
came running to tell me, laughing, that Stawska had stolen the doll and that it was just like her …’
Maruszewicz began changing his expression, sweating and even shifting from one foot to the other, which is always proof of great contrition.
‘Wretch!’ muttered Wokulski, quite loudly. But I saw this comment didn’t console Maruszewicz. Indeed, he seemed to grow still more confused. The judge turned to Krzeszowska’s maid servant: ‘Was this doll in the apartment?’
‘I don’t know which …’ the witness murmured. The judge pushed the doll towards her, but the maidservant said not a word, only blinked and wrung her hands.
‘Oh, it’s Mimi!’ exclaimed little Helena.
‘There, your worship!’ the Baroness cried, ‘her own daughter is bearing witness against her!’
‘Do you recognise this doll?’ the judge asked little Helena.
‘Oh, I do! One just like it was in that lady’s room …’
‘Is this the same one?’
‘No, not this one … The other had a grey dress, and black shoes, but this one has brown shoes.’
‘Well, now,’ said the judge, putting the doll down, ‘what has Mrs Stawska to say?’
‘I bought this doll in Mr Wokulski’s store.’
‘And how much did you pay for it, madam, if you please?’ the Baroness hissed.
‘Three roubles.’
‘Ha ha ha!’ the Baroness laughed, ‘this doll cost fifteen …’
‘Who sold you the doll?’ the judge asked Mrs Stawska.
‘Mr Rzecki,’ she replied, with a blush.
‘What has Mr Rzecki to say?’ asked the judge.
This was precisely the moment to utter my speech. So I began: ‘Your worship … It is with painful surprise that I … I mean … I see before me evil triumphant, and so forth … this oppressed lady …’
Suddenly my mouth dried up, so I couldn’t utter a word. Fortunately Wokulski spoke up: ‘Rzecki was present at the sale, the doll was sold by me.’
‘For three roubles?’ asked the Baroness, her eyes glittering like those of a lizard.
‘Yes, for three roubles. It was shop-soiled, we were disposing of it.’
‘Would you sell me such a doll for three roubles?’
‘No, madam. Nothing will ever be sold to you in my store!’
‘What proof do you have, sir, that this doll was purchased in your store?’ asked the judge.
‘That’s the point!’ cried the Baroness, ‘the proof!’
‘Hush!’ the judge threatened her.
‘Where did you buy your doll, madam?’ Wokulski asked the Baroness.
‘At Lesser’s.’
‘So we have proof,’ said Wokulski. ‘I imported this kind of doll from abroad, in parts: heads and bodies separate. If you will unfasten the head, your honour, my name will be found inside.’
The Baroness started to grow uneasy. The judge picked up the doll which had caused so much chagrin and cut its waistcoat with his official scissors, then began very attentively unfastening the head from the torso. Helena, surprised at first, watched this operation then turned to her mother and said in a low voice: ‘Mama, why is that gentlemen undressing Mimi? She will be shy …’
Suddenly realising what was going on, she burst into tears and, hiding her face in Mrs Stawska’s dress, cried: ‘Oh, mama — why is he cutting her? It hurts terribly … Mama, mama, I don’t want them to cut Mimi up.’
‘Don’t cry, Helena, Mimi will get better and be still prettier,’ Wokulski soothed her, no less moved than she. Meanwhile, Mimi’s head had fallen amidst the papers. The judge looked inside and, handing the label to the Baroness, asked: ‘Well, madam, pray read what is written there?’
The Baroness pressed her lips together, but said nothing.
‘Then let Mr Maruszewicz read aloud what is written there.’
‘Jan Mincel and Stanisław Wokulski,’ groaned Maruszewicz.
‘Not Lesser?’
‘No.’
All this time, the Baroness’s maid had been behaving in a very ambiguous manner: she blushed, turned pale, hid between the benches … The judge was watching her out of the corner of his eye: suddenly he said: ‘Now, miss, pray tell us what happened to this doll? The truth, if you please, for you are under oath …’
The girl he addressed, clutched at her head with the utmost terror, fell on her knees at the bench, and replied: ‘The doll got broken, your honour.’
‘The doll of yours, Baroness Krzeszowska’s doll?’
‘The very same …’
‘Well, but only her head would break, so where’s-the rest?’
‘In the attic, your honour. Oh, what won’t I get for this?’
‘You won’t get anything: it would be worse not to tell the truth. And you, madam, the accuser, do you hear this?’
The Baroness looked down and folded her arms over her bosom like a martyr. The judge began writing. A gentleman seated on the second bench (the mangler, of course) exclaimed to the red-faced lady: ‘So now, did she steal it? Just look, madam, what comes of your chatter! Eh?’
‘If a woman is pretty, she can get out of going to jail,’ said the red-faced biddy to her neighbour.
‘You won’t, though!’ the mangler muttered.
‘You’re a fool!’
‘You’re a bigger one!’
‘Silence!’ the judge exclaimed. Then we were told to rise, and heard a judgement exculpating Mrs Stawska entirely.
‘Now,’ the judge ended, ‘you can enter a charge of slander.’
He came down into the court, shook Mrs Stawska by the hand and added: ‘I am sorry to have charged you, and am very pleased to congratulate you.’
Baroness Krzeszowska had spasms, and the red-faced lady said to her neighbour: ‘Even the judge is partial to a pretty face … But it won’t be so on the Day of Judgement,’ she sighed.
‘Oh, how she blasphemes!’ muttered the owner of the mangle.
We started leaving. Wokulski gave Mrs Stawska his arm and moved ahead, while I began carefully conducting Mrs Misiewicz down the grubby staircase.
‘I said it would end this way,’ the old lady assured me, ‘but you didn’t believe me.’
‘I didn’t believe you?’
‘Yes, you were ever so dejected … Goodness, what’s that?’
Her last words were directed towards the poor student who, along with his companion, was waiting at the door, obviously for Baroness Krzeszowska, and thinking it was she coming out, he’d done himself up like a dead body for the benefit of — Mrs Misiewicz. He at once saw his error, and was so ashamed that he ran a few steps forward. ‘Patkiewicz! Stop! Here they come!’ Maleski exclaimed.
‘Devil take you,’ Patkiewicz burst out, ‘you always have to compromise me.’
On hearing a noise in the doorway, he turned and once again displayed the dead body — to Wirski. This finally brought about the collapse of the young men: so they went home, very vexed with each other, and on different sides of the street. But by the time we caught up with them in our carriages, they were together again, and bowed to us with the utmost civility.
XXX
The Journal of the Old Clerk
I KNOW WHY I wrote so much about Mrs Stawska’s law-suit. This is why … There are many unbelievers in this world, and I too am sometimes an unbeliever and doubt Heavenly Providence. Sometimes, too, when political matters go badly, or when I see human misery and scoundrels triumphant (if one may use such a phrase), I sometimes think to myself: ‘You old fool, Ignacy Rzecki! You imagine the Napoleons will regain their throne, that Wokulski will do something extraordinary because he has talent, and will be happy because he’s honest. You think, you donkey, that although scoundrels prosper while honest people don’t, that nevertheless the evil ones will be shamed, and the good covered with glory in the end. Is that what you imagine? If so, you are very foolish. There is neither order nor justice in the world; it’s a battlefield. If the good conquer in the fight, it’s all right — while if
the bad do, then it’s bad: but don’t for a moment think there is a power which protects only the good … People are like leaves, blown by the wind: when it lands them in a flower-bed, they lie in a flower-bed: but when it throws them into mud — they lie in the mud.’
I have sometimes thought this to myself in moments of doubt; but Mrs Stawska’s trial led me to a completely opposite conclusion, to the belief that sooner or later good people will obtain justice. For, just consider … Mrs Stawska is an excellent lady, so she ought to be happy; Staś is a man beyond all price, so he too should be happy. Yet Staś is always vexed and sad (so much that I feel like weeping when I see him), and Mrs Stawska is put on trial for stealing. So — where’s the justice that rewards the good? You’ll see in a moment, you man of little faith! To help you understand that there is order in this world, I will copy out the following prophecy. In the first place, Mrs Stawska will marry Staś and be happy with him. In the second, Wokulski will renounce that Miss Łęcka of his, and will marry Mrs Stawska, and be happy with her. In the third, young Lulu will become Emperor of France this year, under the name of Napoleon IV he will beat the Germans to a frazzle and will bring justice to the whole world, as my late father prophesied.
That Wokulski will marry Mrs Stawska, and do something out of the ordinary — of this I haven’t the slightest doubt. Admittedly, he isn’t engaged to her yet, hasn’t even proposed, but … he himself doesn’t realise. But I can see it. I can clearly see how things will go, and would suffer my head to be chopped off that it will be so — I have a political nose!
Just watch what happens!
On the day after the trial, Wokulski was at Mrs Stawska’s in the evening, and stayed till eleven. Next day he was in Mrs Miller’s store, inspected the ledgers, and greatly praised Mrs Stawska, which discomfited Mrs Miller somewhat. Next day, however … Well, I admit he was at Mrs Miller’s not at Mrs Stawska’s, but odd things happened to me. Before noon (somehow there were no customers in the store), who should unexpectedly come up to me but young Szlangbaum, that Israelite who works in the Russian linen department. I looked up, there he was, rubbing his hands, his moustache twirled up, head high … And I thought to myself ‘Has he gone mad, or what?’ But he bows, with his head high, and says these very words: ‘I daresay, Mr Rzecki, that whatever happens, we’ll still be friends …’
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