The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [211]
So it is Maruszewicz, I thought: a fine pair!
‘Not at all,’ said the man’s voice behind the door, more quietly, and again two kisses were heard, certainly on the lady’s hand.
I glanced at the former landowner. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling, and his shoulders went up almost to his ears: ‘Scoundrel!’ he whispered, indicating the door.
‘You know him?’
‘Hm …’
‘So,’ said the Baroness in the other room, ‘take these three roubles to the Holy Cross Church and pay for three votive masses, so that God may bring him back to his senses …Or, no,’ she added, in a somewhat different tone, ‘pay one votive mass for him, and two for the soul of my poor little girl …’
Suppressed sobbing interrupted her words: ‘Pray calm yourself,’ urged Maruszewicz, mildly.
‘Go, please go now,’ she replied.
Suddenly the drawing-room door opened and Maruszewicz halted on the threshold as though turned to stone, while behind him I saw the yellowish face and bloodshot eyes of Madame the Baroness. The agent and I rose. Maruszewicz withdrew into the depths of the other room and evidently left by another door, while the Baroness exclaimed crossly: ‘Marysia! Marysia!’
In ran the girl in white cap, black dress and white apron. This get-up would have made her look like a nurse, if her eyes had not sparkled so mischievously.
‘How could you bring these gentlemen in here?’ the Baroness asked.
‘You told me to …’
‘Blockhead! Off with you,’ the Baroness hissed. Then she turned to us: ‘What do you want, Mr Wirski?’
‘Mr Rzecki here is the representative of the landlord,’ the agent replied.
‘I see. Very well,’ said the Baroness, coming into the drawingroom slowly without asking us to be seated. This is what she looked like: a black dress, yellowish face, livid lips, eyes red from weeping and hair tightly combed back. She folded her arms like Napoleon, looked at me and said: ‘I see. So you’re the representative of…let me see — Mr Wokulski, isn’t it? Pray tell him from me, sir, that either I leave this apartment, for which I pay him seven hundred roubles very regularly, — do I not, Mr Wirski?’
The agent bowed. ‘Or,’ the Baroness went on, ‘Mr Wokulski rids his house of all this dirt and immorality …’
‘Immorality?’ I inquired.
‘Yes, sir,’ the Baroness insisted, nodding, ‘those laundry-girls who sing vile songs all day long in the yard, and laugh upstairs in the evenings with those …students. Those criminals, who throw cigarettes down at me, or pour dirty water …And finally that Mrs Stawska, who is goodness knows what — a widow, a divorcée, who lives on goodness knows what …That woman seduces the husbands of virtuous, terribly unfortunate wives …’
She began blinking, then burst into tears: ‘It’s monstrous,’ she sobbed, ‘to be chained to such a hateful house by the memory of a child which will never be erased from my heart. She used to run through these very rooms …She used to play down there in the yard …And she looked out of the windows which I, her bereaved mother, am not allowed to look out of…They want to drive me away …They all want to drive me out …I am in everybody’s way …Yet I cannot move from here, for each plank on the floor bears traces of her little feet …Her tears and her laughter are associated with every wall …’
She sank onto the sofa and burst into sobs: ‘Ah!’ she wept, ‘men are worse than beasts. They want to drive me away from this place where my little girl breathed her last …Her little bed and all her toys are still in their place. I dust her room myself, so that not the smallest thing is moved. I have been over every inch of the floor on my knees, I have kissed every trace of my little girl, yet they want to drive me out. You will drive out my suffering, my longing, my despair sooner!’
She covered her face and sobbed in a heart-rending manner. I noticed that the agent’s nose was turning red and could feel tears in my own eyes. The Baroness’s grief for her dead child so disarmed me that I had not the courage to mention raising the rent.