The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [206]
Suddenly an alarming hissing sound reached us from the kitchen. The female in a wrap rushed out, whispering on the way: ‘Kasia, go in and watch that gentleman!’ And a very wretched little girl in a brown dress and dirty stockings came into the room. She sat down on a chair by the door and watched me with a gaze as suspicious as it was mournful. I would never have believed that people would take me for a thief in my old age …We sat in silence like this for some five minutes, observing one another, when suddenly a shriek was audible, and a banging on the stairs, and at this moment the ragged boy called Wicek ran in from the passage, with someone angrily shouting after him: ‘Oh, you rascal! I’ll give it to you yet …’
I divined that Wicek was lively by nature and that the person scolding him was his father. Then the gentleman himself appeared, wearing a stained frock-coat and trousers frayed around the cuffs. He also had a thick grizzled beard and red eyes. He came in, bowed civilly to me and asked: ‘Have I the honour of speaking to Mr Wokulski?’
‘No, sir. I am only the friend and manager of Mr Wokulski …’
‘Aha,’ he interrupted, shaking me by the hand, ‘I have had the pleasure of noticing you in the store. A fine store, that!’ he sighed, ‘such stores lead to apartment houses, to landed property …that sort of thing.’
‘Did you ever own a property?’ I inquired.
‘Bah! Why mention it? I expect you will want to see the accounts of the house,’ the agent replied, ‘I’ll be brief: we have two kinds of tenants — some have not paid rent for six months, and the others pay fines to the magistrates, or tax arrears for the landlord. Furthermore, the caretaker gets no wages, the roof leaks, the police keep telling us to remove the garbage, one tenant has started a lawsuit over the cellar rights, and two more are going to court over an incident on account of the attic — as for the ninety roubles I owe to the respected Mr Wokulski …’
‘Pray do not worry,’ I interrupted, ‘Staś — that is, Mr Wokulski — will certainly cancel your debt until October, and will then make a new contract with you.’
The poor former landowner shook me cordially by the hand. An agent like this, who had once owned his own property, seemed a very interesting individual to me; but even more interesting was the house, which produced no income!
I am bashful by nature: I am shy talking to people I don’t know and afraid of going into other people’s houses (Good Heavens! How long is it since I was in someone else’s house?) But this time the devil got into me, and I asked to meet the tenants of this strange house. Back in 1849 things were sometimes hot, yet a man still got ahead!
‘Sir,’ I said to the agent, ‘would you very kindly introduce me to some of the tenants? Staś — that’s to say, Mr Wokulski — asked me to look after his interests till he gets back from Paris …’
‘Paris! …’ the agent sighed, ‘I remember Paris in 1859 …I remember how they welcomed the Emperor back from the Italian campaign …’
‘Sir!’ I cried, ‘you saw Napoleon’s triumphal return to Paris?’
He gave me his hand and replied: ‘I saw something better, sir. I was in Italy during the campaign and saw how the Italians welcomed the French on the eve of the battle of Magenta …’
‘Magenta? In 1859?’ I asked.
‘At Magenta, sir …’
The former landowner, who could not afford to have the stains cleaned off his frock-coat, and I looked at one another. We gazed into each other’s eyes …Magenta! …1859! Dear me …
‘Tell me, sir,’ said I, ‘how the Italians welcomed you on the eve of the battle of Magenta?’
‘In 1859, Mr Rzecki — I have the honour of addressing Mr Rzecki?’
‘Yes, sir — I am Rzecki, former lieutenant, sir, of the Hungarian infantry, sir …’
We gazed at one another.