IN the studio I find, most unexpectedly, the Suslovskis and Kazia. They have come to give me a surprise.
Why did Antek tell them that surely I should be back soon?
Neither Kazia nor the Suslovskis know me, because I am disguised. I approach Kazia and take her hand; she draws back, somewhat frightened.
“Kazia, dost thou not know me?” And laughter seizes me at sight of her astonishment.
“But it is Vladek,” says Antek.
Kazia looks at me more carefully; at last she cries,—
“Tfu! what an ugly grandfather!”
I an ugly grandfather! I am curious to know where she saw a handsomer. But for poor Kazia, reared in the ascetic principles of her father, of course every minstrel is ugly!
I withdraw to our kitchen, and after a few minutes reappear in my natural form. Kazia and her parents inquire what this masquerade means.
“A very simple thing. You see, sometimes we painters render one another a friendly service, and pose to one another for pictures. As Antek, who posed to me for an old Jew. You didn’t know him, Kazia, did you, in the picture? I am posing for Tsepkovski. Such is the custom among painters, especially as there is a lack of models in Warsaw.”
“We have come to give thee a surprise,” said Kazia; “besides, I have never visited a studio in my life. Oh, what disorder! Is it this way with all painters?”
“More or less, more or less.”
Pan Suslovski declares that he would rather find a little more system; and in this respect he hopes for a change in the future. I want to break his head with my lyre. Meanwhile Kazia smiles with coquettishness, and says,—
“There is one painter, a great good-for-nothing, with whom it will be different; only let me take the matter in hand, all will be put in order, arranged, cleaned, fumigated.”
Thus speaking, she raises her nose, which is in the air, looks at the festoons of spider-webs adorning the corners of our studio, and adds,—
“Such disorder might discourage a merchant even. Some one will come, and immediately find himself, as it were, in an old clothes shop. For example, look at that armor; terrible how rusty it is! Still, all that is needed is to call a servant, tell her to crush a little brick; and all will begin to shine like a new samovar.”
Jesus Mary! She talks of merchants, and wants to clean with brick-dust my armor dug out of a tomb—O Kazia, Kazia!
Suslovski, now happy, kisses her on the forehead; and Antek gives out certain ominous sounds which call to mind the grunting of a wild boar.
Kazia threatens me with forefinger on her nose, and talks on,—
“I beg thee to remember that all will be changed.” Then she concludes, “And if a certain gentleman will not come to us this evening, he will be bad, and people will not love him.”
So saying, she closes her eyes. I cannot say that there was not much charm in those tricks of hers. I promise to come; and I conduct my future family to the groundfloor.
Returning, I find Antek looking awry and distrustfully on a whole package of hundred ruble notes which are lying on the table.
“What is that?”
“Dost know what has happened?”
“I do not.”
“I, like a common thief, robbed a man.”
“How?”
“I sold him my corpses.”
“And is that the money?”
“It is; I am a low usurer.”
I embrace Antek; I congratulate him from my whole heart; he begins to relate how it happened,—
“I sit here after your departure, till some gentleman comes and asks if I am Svyatetski. I answer, ‘I am curious to know why I should not be Svyatetski!’ Then he says, ‘I saw your picture and I want to buy it.’ I say, ‘You are free to do so; but permit me to say that a man must be an idiot to buy a wretched picture!’ ‘I am not an idiot,’ says he; ‘but I have a fancy to buy pictures painted by idiots.’ ‘If that is so, very well,’ I answer. He asks the price. I say, ‘What is that to me?’ ‘I will give you so much and so much?’ ‘That is well! if you will give that price, then give it.’ He gave it, and went away. He left his card with the name Byalkovski, M. D. I am a low usurer, and that’s the end of the matter!”
“Long life to the corpses! Antek, get married.”
“I would rather hang myself; I am a low usurer, nothing more.”