The Waistcoat

The Waistcoat Author(s): Boleslaw Prus and N. B. Jopson Source: The Slavonic and East European Review, Vol. 9, No. 26 (Dec., 1930), pp. 283-291 Published by: the Modern Humanities Research Association and University College London, School of Slavonic and East European Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4202520 . Accessed: 12/06/2014 15:05 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected]. . Modern Humanities Research Association and University College London, School of Slavonic and East European Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The Slavonic and East European Review. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded from 62.122.79.21 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 15:05:08 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=mhra http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucl http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucl http://www.jstor.org/stable/4202520?origin=JSTOR-pdf http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp THE WAISTCOAT. From the Polish of BOLESLAW PRUS. Translated by N. B. JOPSON. SOME people make a hobby of collecting curios, more or less expen- sive in accordance with their purse. I, too, have a collection, but it is a modest one, and that is not surprising, as all things must have a beginning. It contains a play of mine, which I wrote at school during a Latin class; a few pressed flowers which I shall have to replace by some new ones, and I don't think there is anything else but a very old and worn waistcoat. Here it is: the front is faded and the back threadbare. Many spots, few buttons, -a small hole, caused probably by a cigarette burn. But the most interesting thing is its fastenings. The side of the strap with the buckle on it has been shortened and sewn on to the waistcoat in a very untailorly fashion, and the other one has been pricked bv the prongs of the buckle for almost the whole length. When you look at it, you at once guess that its owner must have grown thinner and thinner until he reached the stage of not needing a waistcoat at all, but only a well-buttoned frock coat from the undertaker. 1 must admit that today I would gladly get rid of the old relic, as it is giving me a deal of trouble. I haven't any cupboards yet for my collection, and I don't feel inclined to keep the poor old waistcoat among my own things. And yet there was a time when I bought it for a price which was much higher than its worth; and I would have paid even more if the man had been good at driving a bargain. There are times in life when you like to gather about you objects which remind you of sadness. The sadness I speak of, was not within my bosom, but dwelt in the lodging of my nearest neigh- bours. From my window I could look every day into their little room. In April there were three of them: Monsieur, Madame, and the little servant, who slept, I fancy, on a trunk behind the cupboard. It was a dark cherrywood cupboard. In July, if my memory does 283 T 2 This content downloaded from 62.122.79.21 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 15:05:08 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 284 THE SLAVONIC REVIEW. not betray me, there were only two of them left, Monsieur and Madame, for the servant had betaken herself to where she could get her three roubles a year and where they cooked a daily dinner. By October Madame was all alone. No, not quite alone, for the room had still a lot of furniture; two-beds, a table and a cup- board. But early in November all but the bare necessities were sold by auction, and of all her husband's possessions Madame had kept nothing but the waistcoat which I now possess. At the end of the month, Madame called a pedlar up to her room and sold him her umbrella for two zloty and the waistcoat for forty groschen. Then she locked up, went through the courtyard and gave the key up to the janitor. She looked up for a moment at what had been her window, where the snowflakes were now falling fast, and disappeared in the street. In the yard there was nobody but the pedlar. He had turned up the collar of his big coat, had thrust the newly-bought umbrella under his arm, wrapped his chapped hands in the waistcoat and was murmuring: " Old clothes! Anything to buy, anything to sell! I beckoned to him. " Anything to sell, Sir? " he asked, coming in. "No, I wish to buy something." "The umbrella, I suppose? " queried the little Jew. He threw the waistcoat on to the floor, blew the snow from his collar, and began eagerly to open the umbrella. " Fine thing that ! For a snow-storm like this there's nothing like an umbrella. I know, Sir, that you will have a silk umbrella, two maybe, but they are good only for summer." " What do you want for the waistcoat?" " Waistcoat, Sir? " he asked surprised, thinking about his own. But grasping my meaning, he picked up the one he had thrown on the floor. " This? " he said. "You are asking about this, Sir? " And, as if he had some suspicion, he asked: " Whate-ver can you want a waistcoat like this for, Sir? " " How much do you want for it? " The yellow eyes of the Jew glittered, and the end of his beaky nose became still redder. "You will give me a rouble, just a little rouble, won't you, Sir? " he said, displaying his wares in such a way as to show them to their best advantage. " I will give you half a rouble" This content downloaded from 62.122.79.21 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 15:05:08 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp THE WAISTCOAT. 285 "Half a rouble! For a lovely garment like that, Sir! Surely not, Sir! " he broke out. " Not a farthing more!" " You must have your little joke, Sir!" he said, patting my shoulder. " You know yourself how much it is worth. This is not a child's waistcoat, it is meant for a grown-up person " " Well, if you cannot let me have it for half a rouble, you can go. I will not give more." " Do not be angry, Sir! " he said, softening. "'Pon my soul, for half a rouble it is impossible ! But I trust to your generosity. Tell me yourself how much this is worth and I will agree. I will lose on it if I must, but let it be as you wish -" " The waistcoat is worth fifty groschen, and I offer you half a rouble." " Half a rouble, well then, half a rouble!" he sighed, thrusting the waistcoat into my hands. "Let me lose even, but don't let my words be like that wind! And he pointed to the window, outside which a. regular whirlwind was gathering. When I put my hand in my pocket for the money, the Wdlar, as if recollecting something all of a sudden, pulled the waistcoat away from me and feverishly began to rummage through its pockets. " What are you looking for? " " I may have left something in the pockets, Sir. I don't remem- ber," he said very simply; and, handing me back my purchase, he added: " Couldn't you just add a tiny bit, Sir? " Good-bye! " I said, opening the door. " At your service, Sir! I have a very fine fur coat at home." And with his hand thrust out even round the door, he was still saying as he went out: " Perhaps, Sir, you would like some cheap cheeses? " A few minutes later, he was shouting out again: " Old clothes, anything to buy, anything to sell! " and when I looked out of the window he gave me a friendly nod. The snow had begun to fall so thickly that it had almost grown dark. I spread the waistcoat on the table and began to dream now about Madame, who had gone off somewhere or other, now about the lodging next to mine and standing empty, and now about the owner of the waistcoat, upon which an ever thicker layer of snow was gathering. . . It is only three months ago from that September day when I heard them talking. In May Madame had once even hummed a This content downloaded from 62.122.79.21 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 15:05:08 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 286 THE SLAVONIC REVIEW. song, while he was laughing and reading the Sunday Courier. And today They had moved into our block of flats at the beginning of April. They got up fairly early, would take their tea out of a brass samovar and go off together to town: she to her lessons and he to his office. He was a very humble official, who looked on directors with the admiration and awe which a tourist bestows upon the Alps. He was obliged to work hard from morning till night. Sometimes I saw him even at midnight bending over his little table. His wife used to sit beside him and sew. Sometimes she would interrupt her work to look at him for a minute and would gently admonish him: " That will do now! Go to bed!" "And when are you going? " I? . . . I will just do a few more stitches. "And I will write a few lines . Once more they would bend their heads over their work. After a time Madame would say again: " Go to bed! Go to bed!" Sometimes my clock would answer her and strike: one. They were young people, neither pretty nor plain, just gentle and quiet. As far as I remember she was much thinner than her husband, who looked quite strong for a man in his humble position. Every Sunday noon they would go out for a walk, leaning on each other's arms, and they would return late at night. They probably had their dinner in town. Once I met them at the gate which divides the Botanical Garden from Lazienki Park. They had bought two big tumblers of excellent water and two big ginger- breads, and had the placid faces of two citizens who always take hot ham and horseradish with their tea. ... The poor need little to keep their mental balance; a little food, much work and plenty of health. The rest is somehow easily found. My neighbours did not, I think, suffer either from lack of food or, of course, of work. But with their health it was another story. Some time in July Monsieur got a cold-not a bad one, you know. But by a strange coincidence at the very same time he was over- come by such a severe hemorrhage that he lost consciousness. It was in the night. Madame tucked him up, brought the janitor's wife into the room and herself ran off for a doctor. She called on five, but found only one and him quite accidentally in the street. When the doctor glanced at her in the light of a dancing street lamp, he thought it as well first of all to reassure her, and as she was rather tottery, probably on account of exhaustion, and as there This content downloaded from 62.122.79.21 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 15:05:08 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp THE WAISTCOAT. 287 were no cabs around, he gave her his arm: and explained that the hemorrhage meant nothing. " Hemorrhage may come from the throat or the stomach or the nose, very seldom from the lungs. Moreover if the patient has always been well and has never coughed " " Only now and then," whispered Madame, halting to get her breath. " Now and then, oh, that's nothing! It may be a slight cold on the chest." " Yes, it is a cold," repeated Madame in a loud voice. " He has never had pneumonia?" " Yes, he has," said Madame, stopping again. Her legs shook a little. "Ah ! but a long time ago, I expect? " he said, catching her up. "Oh, yes, a very, very long time ago," she hastily confirmed. It was last winter." " Eighteen months ago?" " Not exactly, but before the New Year-oh, a long time ago. . " Ah, what a dark street, and the sky is a bit overcast, too," said the doctor. They went in. Madame anxiously asked the janitor for his news. He said there was nothing to report. Upstairs, the woman also said that nothing had happened. The patient was asleep. The doctor gently woke him, examined him and said that it was nothing. " That is what I said at the beginning," declared the patient. " Nothing at all," repeated Madame, squeezing his moist hands. 'I know very well that hemorrhage can come from the stomach or from the nose. Yours is from the nose, no doubt. You are so stout you need exercise, and you are always sitting. Isn't that so, doctor-he needs exercise? " " Yes, yes, exercise is what everyone needs, but your husband must lie down for a few days. Can he go to the country? " He can't," she said in a sad voice. " Never mind, he will stay in Warsaw then. I will come and see him. Meanwhile he must stay in bed and rest. But if the hemorrhage should recur -" the doctor added. " Then what, doctor? " asked Madame, as pale as wax. " Well, nothing. Your husband must rest, and everything will heal up." " In-the nose? " said Madame, clasping her hands. This content downloaded from 62.122.79.21 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 15:05:08 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 288 THE SLAVONIC REVIEW. " Yes, in the nose, of course. Do not worry, and leave the rest to God. Good night! " The words of the doctor had so soothed Madame that, after the fright she had gone through, she felt almost gay. " Well, so it isn't anything out of the common after all," she said, half laughing, half crying. She knelt down at the side of the patient's bed and began to kiss his hands. " Nothing out of the common," repeated Monsieur in a low voice, and he smiled. " Just think what a lot of blood a man can lose in war and yet be all right afterwards." " Now, do not speak," implored Madame. It was nearly daybreak. In summer the nights are short. The illness lasted much longer than one would have thought, so Monsieur stopped going to the office, and that, of course, did not matter much, for he had been taken on by the day only and so did not need to take any leave; he would be able to return whenever he wanted-if the place was still open. So, as he was getting a little stronger sitting at home, Madame obtained some more weekly lessons to help support the household. She usually went to town at eight in the morning and about one returned for a few hours to cook her husband's dinner on the stove, and then went out again for a bit. But they spent the evenings together. And Madame, who did not like being inactive, began to take in a little more sewing. At the end of August, Madame met the doctor in the street. They walked for a while together. At last she caught the doctor by the sleeve and said in a pleading voice: " But you will look in on your way, Doctor, won't you? He is so much calmer after every call." The doctor promised, and Madame went home in tears. In the meantime, through having to lead so sedentary a life, Monsieur had grown dispirited and querulous. He had begun to reproach his wife that she was over-careful about him and that he was bound to die in any case. At last he asked: " Hasn't the doctor told you that I would not live longer than a few months? " Madame turned white. " What do you say? " she said. Wherever do you get such notions from?" The patient got angry. " Now, come here close to me! " he exclaimed vehemently, seizing her hands. "Look me straight in the eyes and answer; didn't he tell you? " This content downloaded from 62.122.79.21 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 15:05:08 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp THE WAISTCOAT. 289 He plunged his feverish eyes into hers. So intense was the gaze that a stone wall might have whispered its secret if it had one. On the face of the woman was a strange calm. She smiled sweetly under his wild gaze. Only her eyes were a little glassy. " The doctor said that it was nothing, you have only got to rest a bit." Monsieur dropped her hand; he began to tremble and to laugh, and then, with gestures of relief, he said: " You see how nervous I am! I had got it into my head that the doctor had given me up. But you have convinced me. I am quite reassured now." And he laughed ever so merrily at his morbid forebodings. No more attacks of suspiciousness ever returned. The sweet calm of his wife was the best proof that his condition was not so bad. And why should it be bad? He coughed, of course he coughed, but that came from the cold on his chest. Sometimes, through being seated too long, there was blood-from his nose. And he had something like fever, but after all it was not real fever, only a touch of nerves. In fact, he felt better and better. He had an irresistible hankering after long excursions, but-he hadn't the strength. The time even arrived when he would not stay in bed any more, but sat up in a chair fully dressed and ready to go out, whenever that temporary weakness left him. Only one little thing still troubled him. One day, as he was putting on his waistcoat, he noticed that it was very loose. " Have I got as thin as all that? " he whispered. " Well, of course you have wasted a bit," Madame answered. "But you must not exaggerate." He looked at her intently. She had not even raised her eyes from her work. No, such calm could not be feigned. She must have learnt from the doctor that he was not so ill after all, and there was no cause to worry. In the beginning of September the nervous attacks so very like fever began to occur oftener and lasted nearly for days on end. " Nonsense ! " said the patient. " At this time of year, between summer and autumn, even the healthiest man gets a bit run down and nervous, and nobody feels quite right. There is only one thing that surprises me: why does my waistcoat hang so loosely on me? I must have grown dreadfully thin, and, of course, I cannot be well again till I get some flesh on me. That's a fact! " His wife listened to him with great attention and agreed that he was right. This content downloaded from 62.122.79.21 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 15:05:08 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 290 THE SLAVONIC REVIEW. So he continued to get up every day and dress with the help of his wife, for without her he could not have put on a single garment. She prevailed on him to put a heavy topcoat on over his suit. " It is not to be wondered at that I have no strength," he said, looking in the mirror. "Look at me!" " The face always changes like that," put in the wife. " True, but I am getting thin all over." " Isn't it your imagination? " asked Madame very doubtfully. " Well, perhaps you are right. For you know, the last few days I have noticed that-that my waistcoat " Go on with you! " interrupted his wife. "Now don't tell me that you have grown fat! " " Who knows? I have noticed-my waistcoat shows " In that case your strength must be returning to you." "Oho! You would like it all at once But first of all I must put some flesh on. Yet I must tell you that, even if I get fatter, I do not think I can recover my strength straight away. . . But what are you doing behind that cupboard? " he suddenly asked. " Nothing. I am looking in the trunk for a towel; I am not sure if it is clean." " Don't strain yourself. Your voice is quite altered. It is a heavy trunk, you know." The trunk must have been heavy indeed, for Madame was quite red in the face. But she was calm. From that day on, the patient gave special attention to his waistcoat. Every few days he would call his wife and say: " Look at it and make sure for yourself. Yesterday I could put my fingers here! You see?.. And today, it's impossible! I really am beginning to put on flesh." But one day the joy of the patient knew no bounds. When his wife returned from her lessons, he greeted her with shining eyes and said with emotion : " Listen. I'll tell you a secret. I have been cheating a bit over that waistcoat. To comfort you, I have shortened the strap every day and, of course, the waistcoat was tight. . . Yesterday, I could fasten the belt to the end and I was afraid that my secret would come out, but today . Do you know what I am going to say? Today, I give you my word of honour, instead of tightening the belt, I was obliged to loosen it a little. It really was too tight for me, although yesterday it was rather loose. Now I believe that I shall be well again. I do ! This doctor can think what he likes." This long speech had so tired him that he was obliged to lie This content downloaded from 62.122.79.21 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 15:05:08 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp THE WVAISTCOAT. 29I down. But like a man who has no need to pull in his straps, he did not go to bed, but rested in his wife's arms. " Well, well," he whispered. " Who would have guessed it? For two weeks I have been swindling my wife and saying that the waistcoat was too tight for me, and now it really is. Well, well! " So they sat holding each other the whole evening. The patient was more moved than he had ever been. " 0 God," he said, kissing her hands, " and I thought that I should grow thinner and thinner to-to the end. . . Today, for the first time in these two months, I believe that I may get well again. For, when a man is sick, everyone around him lies, most of all his own wife. But a waistcoat-a waistcoat can't lie ! * * * * .* * Today, as I look at the old garment, I see that two people have worked at its straps. Monsieur every day pulled the buckle to comfort his wife, and Madame every day shortened the belt to give her husband courage. " Will they ever meet again and tell each other the whole secret of the waistcoat? " I wondered, looking at the sky. But there was scarcely any sky left above the world. Only snow was falling so thick and cold that even the ashes of corpses in the graves were freezing. But who shall say that there is no sun behind those clouds? This content downloaded from 62.122.79.21 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 15:05:08 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Article Contents p. 283 p. 284 p. 285 p. 286 p. 287 p. 288 p. 289 p. 290 p. 291 Issue Table of Contents The Slavonic and East European Review, Vol. 9, No. 26 (Dec., 1930), pp. 249-508 Front Matter Scenes from The Tragedy of Man (A Dramatic Poem) [pp. 249-278] Poems Verses [p. 279] Clouds [p. 279] Gratitude [p. 280] Verses [p. 280] Haystacks [pp. 281-282] Verses [p. 282] The Waistcoat [pp. 283-291] Dalibor [pp. 292-296] Match-Making in the Tavern [pp. 297-302] Wild Men's Lair [pp. 302-307] The Jealous Sisters: An Albanian Folk Tale [pp. 308-311] The Bosnian Annexation Crisis (I) [pp. 312-334] The War Scare of 1875 (I) [pp. 335-349] The Polish Rising of 1830 [pp. 350-360] The Polish Rising in the Dramas of Wyspiański [pp. 361-374] Studies in Jugoslav Psychology [pp. 375-390] Madách and "The Tragedy of Man" [pp. 391-402] Vladimir Solovyev: His Teaching and Significance [pp. 403-410] Dostoyevsky and the Slavonic Question [pp. 411-423] Was Dostoyevsky an Epileptic? [pp. 424-431] Maxim Gorky and the Bolsheviks [pp. 432-448] Planning System in Soviet Russia [pp. 449-456] Obituaries Four Serbian Elder Statesmen [pp. 457-461] Sir Israel Gollancz [p. 462] Chronicle: Russia (Union of Soviet Socialist Republics) [pp. 462-471] Reviews Review: The First Russian Grammar in England [pp. 471-476] Review: untitled [pp. 477-480] Review: untitled [pp. 480-481] Review: untitled [pp. 481-483] Review: untitled [pp. 483-487] Review: untitled [pp. 487-488] Review: untitled [pp. 488-489] Review: untitled [pp. 489-491] Review: untitled [pp. 491-492] Review: untitled [p. 492] Review: untitled [pp. 492-493] Review: untitled [pp. 493-494] Review: untitled [pp. 494-495] Review: untitled [p. 495] Notes on Folish Books [pp. 495-496] Memorandum on the Russian Situation [pp. 497-503] Back Matter [pp. 504-508]