The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [86]
Dozens of such suitors pass through our store. Some mothers, aunts or fathers simply bring their eligible young ladies to us. The mother, aunt or father will buy something for a rouble, and meanwhile the young lady walks about the store, sits down, shows off her figure, puts forward her right foot, then her left, displays her hands…All with the aim of trapping Staś, who, more often than not, isn’t even in the store, or—if he is—doesn’t even look at the property, as much as to say: ‘Mr Rzecki is in charge of appraisals…’
Poor Staś is not liked, except by families with grown-up daughters, widows and eligible young ladies, who seem bolder than Hungarian infantry. Not surprising, though—he has set all the silk and wool manufacturers, and the tradesmen who sell their own products, against him.
One Sunday (this rarely happens), I went to a café for my breakfast. A glass of anisette and a portion of herring at the counter, then a small portion of tripe and a carafe of porter at my table—quite a feast! I paid nearly a rouble, but how much smoke I swallowed, and what I overheard! It was enough to keep me going for several years.
In a room as stuffy and dark as a smoked-herring factory, where they served me my tripe, some six gentlemen were sitting around a table. They were portly and well-dressed individuals; certainly tradesmen, landowners or perhaps manufacturers. Each looked as if he had from three to five thousand roubles income a year.
As I did not know any of these gentlemen, and they certainly did not know me, I cannot accuse them of deliberately bedevilling me. However, just fancy the coincidence—at the moment I entered, they were talking about Wokulski! I could not see who was speaking on account of the smoke, and I dared not look up from my plate.
‘He done very well for himself,’ said a coarse voice. ‘When he was young, he used to wait on the likes of us, but now he’s doing well he prefers to dance attendance on great gentlefolk.’
‘These gentlemen of today,’ an asthmatic individual put in, ‘are no better than he is. Would they have been at home to an ex-tradesman at a Count’s house in the old days? And an ex-tradesman who made his fortune by marrying…Why, it’s laughable…’
‘Never mind about the marrying,’ the coarse voice replied, after coughing a little, ‘a good marriage is nothing to be ashamed of. But those millions he made in war supplies have an unsavoury smell about them.’
‘Yet he apparently never cheated anyone,’ a third remarked, in an undertone.
‘That’s the only way to make millions,’ the bass voice thundered, ‘and anyhow why does he turn up his nose at the likes of us?…why try to elbow his way among the aristocracy?’
‘People say’, another voice added, ‘that he wants to form a trading company of nobility alone…’
‘Aha! He’ll skin them, then bolt,’ the asthmatic individual interrupted.
‘No,’ said the bass, ‘he’ll never wash off the stain of those war supplies, not even with kitchen soap. A haberdasher in military supplies, indeed! A Warsaw tradesman going to Bulgaria, indeed!’
‘Yet your brother, the engineer, went even further after profit,’ said the undertone.
‘Of course,’ the bass interposed, ‘but at least he never imported calico from Moscow…Confound the man, he’s ruining our industry.’
‘Ha ha!’ chuckled a voice hitherto silent, ‘that is no longer any concern of a tradesman. A tradesman’s aim is to import cheaper goods and make more profit for himself. Isn’t that so? Ha ha!’
‘However that may be, I wouldn’t give you a penny for his patriotism,’ the bass declared.
‘Yet it seems to me,’ the low voice said, ‘that Wokulski has shown his patriotism by more than words…’
‘So much the worse for him,’ said the bass, ‘he showed it when he was penniless, but has cooled off now that he has roubles in his pocket…’
‘Come now, do you always have to accuse people either of treachery to Poland or dishonesty? That’s not nice…’ the low voice said,