The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [174]
A new group of persons entered the court a few moments after the lawyer. They consisted of a married couple apparently in the butchering line of business, an old lady with a teenage grandson and two gentlemen: one was stout and grey-haired, the other curly-haired and consumptive-looking. Both had humble expressions and shabby clothing but on catching sight of them, the Jews began whispering together and pointing at them with expressions of admiration and respect. Both stopped so near Ignacy that he involuntarily overheard some comments the grey-haired gentleman made to his curly-haired companion: ‘Do as I do, Ksawery. I am in no hurry, I assure you. I’ve been going to buy a nice little house for three years now, something costing a hundred thousand or so, for my old age — but I’m in no hurry. I see in the papers what houses are up for auction, I read them slowly, I work it all out in my head, then I come here to see what offers people make. And now that I’ve gained experience and want to buy a property — the prices all go up in a most impractical way, damnation take them, and I have had to start all my calculations over again. But when we start, I assure you we’ll beat down the prices …’
‘Silence!’ someone at the table shouted. The court-room grew quiet, and Ignacy listened to the description of an apartment house situated in so-and-so street, with three wings and three floors, a driveway, garden and the like. During this important event, Mr Łęcki went pale then pink by turns, and Baroness Krzeszowska kept sniffing a crystal flask in a gold case.
‘Why, I know that house!’ the individual in green glasses like a sacristan, suddenly exclaimed, ‘I know that house! It’s worth a hundred and twenty thousand roubles at least …’
‘What d’you mean?’ exclaimed the gentleman with the look of a scoundrel, next to the Baroness Krzeszowska, ‘what sort of a house is it? It’s a positive ruin, it’s a morgue …’
Mr Łęcki turned very pink. He nodded to the sacristan and asked in a whisper: ‘Who is that scoundrel?’
‘Him?’ asked the sacristan, ‘he’ll be hanged one day … Don’t pay no attention, Your Excellency.’ And he added loudly: ‘Upon my word, a man could safely pay a hundred and thirty thousand for it.’
‘Who is that scoundrel?’ the Baroness asked the individual with a wicked look on his face, ‘who’s that in the green spectacles?’
‘Him?’ asked the man, ‘he’s a well-known criminal … he left jail not so long ago. Don’t pay any attention to him, madam. Not worth spitting on …’
‘Silence, there!’ an official voice called from the table.
Smiling in a familiar manner, the sacristan winked at Mr Łęcki and pushed his way between the bidders to the table. There were a total of four: the Baroness’s lawyer, the stately individual, old Szlangbaum and the emaciated Jew, next to whom the sacristan stopped.
‘Sixty thousand and five hundred roubles,’ said Baroness Krzeszowska’s lawyer.
‘Good God! It’s not worth a penny more,’ put in the individual with the face of a scoundrel. The Baroness glanced triumphantly at Mr Łęcki.
‘Sixty-five thousand,’ said the majestic individual.
‘Sixty-six …’ added Szlangbaum.
‘Seventy thousand!’ cried the sacristan.
‘O! O! O!’ the Baroness burst into tears, collapsing on the shabby sofa. Her lawyer hastily quit the table and hurried off to defend his murderer.
‘Seventy-five thousand!’ shouted the stately individual.
‘This is killing me!’ the Baroness groaned.
There was a stir in the court-room. An aged Lithuanian took the Baroness by the arm, of which Maruszewicz (who had appeared from Heaven knows where for this solemn occasion) relieved him. Sobbing, leaning on Maruszewicz, the Baroness left the courtroom,