The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [171]
‘I’m positive she’s praying that the Łęcki property will go for sixty thousand roubles,’ thought Ignacy. But as the sight of Baroness Krzeszowska held no attraction, he withdrew on tip-toe and went over to the right-hand side of the church. Here he found only a couple of women: one was saying her rosary in an undertone, the other sleeping. There was no one else — except that from behind a pillar there appeared a man of medium height, erect despite his grey hair, whispering a prayer with bowed head. Rzecki recognised Mr Łęcki, and thought ‘He, of course, is praying that his house fetches a hundred and twenty thousand …’
Then he hastily left the church, wondering how the good Lord would satisfy the contradictory pleas of Baroness Krzeszowska and Tomasz Łęcki.
As he had not found what he was looking for either in the café or in the church, Ignacy began walking about in the street near the court. He was much confused: it seemed to him that every passer-by looked into his face mockingly, as much as to say: ‘Wouldn’t you be better employed, you old scamp, looking after the shop?’ or that one of the ‘gentlemen’ was about to leap out of every passing droshky to tell him the shop had burned down or collapsed. So again he wondered whether it would be better to give up the whole idea of the auction as a bad job, and go back to his ledgers and office — when he suddenly heard a desperate shriek.
It was some Jew or other, leaning out of a window of the court and shouting something to the crowd of his co-religionists, who in turn all rushed to the door, pushing, thrusting tranquil passers-by aside and stamping their feet impatiently, like a frightened flock of sheep in a crowded byre.
‘Aha — the auction has started,’ said Ignacy to himself, following them up the stairs.
At this moment he felt someone take hold of his arm and, turning, saw that same majestic gentleman who had obtained a rouble on account from Szlangbaum in the café. The stately personage was obviously in a hurry, for he was making way for himself with both fists among the packed mass of the Hebrews’ bodies, shouting: ‘Out of my way, Yids! I am going to the auction …’
Against their custom, the Jews drew aside and looked at him with admiration: ‘What money he must have!’ one muttered to his neighbour.
Ignacy, infinitely less presumptuous than the stately individual, yielded himself up to the favour and disfavour of fate, rather than push. The stream of Hebrews surrounded him on all sides. In front he saw a greasy collar, dirty neckerchief and still dirtier neck: behind, he could smell the odour of fresh onion: to the right, a grizzled beard pressed against his collar-bone, and to the left a powerful elbow was squeezing his ribs almost unbearably.
They thronged about, pushed, clutched at his coat. Someone grabbed his legs, another reached into his pocket, someone thumped him between the shoulder blades. It reached the point where Ignacy thought they would entirely crush his chest. He raised his eyes to Heaven, and saw he was already within the door … Now! Now! They were stifling him … Suddenly he felt an empty space before him, struck his head on someone’s personal charms not very carefully veiled in a frock-coat and was inside the court-room.
He breathed again. Behind him resounded the shrieks and curses of the would-be bidders and from time to time the comments of the door-man: ‘Gents, why are you pushing so? What’s this, gents? Are you a flock of sheep, then?’
‘I never thought it would be so hard to get into an auction sale,’ Ignacy sighed.
He passed two court-rooms, so empty that there was not even a chair to be seen on the floor, nor a nail in the wall. These rooms formed the vestibule to one of the departments of justice, but were light and cheerful all the same. Floods of sun-beams and the warm July breeze, imbued with Warsaw dust, poured through the open windows. Ignacy could hear the twitter of sparrows and