The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [149]
‘So there is one difference only between them and me—they are paid, and it is not proper to pay me. Impossible, even…’
Izabela shook her head.
‘What I am asking,’ Wokulski continued, ‘does not exceed the boundaries of the most commonplace human relationships. Ladies always give orders—we carry them out, that’s all. People in your social sphere do not even have to ask for favours: they take them as a right. On the other hand, I have fought my way to it, and am now begging you for it, because it would be a sort of distinction for me to carry out your orders. Merciful Heaven! If coachmen and footmen can wear your colours, why should not I deserve that honour?’
‘Ah, so that is what you mean? It is not necessary to give you my scarf—you have already taken it by force. But as for taking it back…It’s too late, even if only on account of the Baron’s letter.’
She gave him her hand again, which Wokulski respectfully kissed. Footsteps were heard in the next room, and Tomasz came in, beaming after his nap. His handsome face wore such a cordial expression that Wokulski thought: ‘I’d be a scoundrel if your thirty thousand roubles didn’t bring you in ten thousand a year, you honest old man.’
They sat together another fifteen minutes, talking of an entertainment for charitable purposes held in the ‘Swiss Valley’, of Rossi’s arrival and of the trip to Paris. Finally Wokulski regretfully left his agreeable companions, promising to come more often and to travel to Paris with them.
‘You will see how amusing it is there,’ said Izabela in farewell.
XVII
Germination of Certain Crops—and Illusions
IT WAS eight-thirty in the evening when Wokulski returned home. The sun had just set, but a strong eye could already have perceived the larger stars glittering in the blue and gold sky. The merry cries of passers-by were audible in the streets; joyful tranquillity had taken up its abode in Wokulski’s heart.
He recalled Izabela’s every movement, every smile, every glance and every expression, seeking with anxious concern for a shadow of dislike or pride in them. In vain. She had treated him as an equal and a friend, had invited him to visit them more often, and had even demanded that he ask a favour…‘Suppose I had proposed to her at that moment?’ he thought, ‘then what?’ And he attentively considered the image of her features which filled his soul; but again he could perceive no shadow of dislike. Instead—a playful smile. ‘She’d have replied,’ he thought, ‘that we still do not know each other well enough, that I ought to deserve her hand…Yes, that is certainly what she would have replied,’ he repeated, continually recalling to mind those unmistakable signs of liking.
‘On the whole,’ he thought, ‘I have been unjustly prejudiced against high society. After all, they are men and women like the rest of us: perhaps they have greater sensibility. Knowing that we are boors chasing after profits, they avoid us. But when they discover our honest hearts, they attract us to them…What a delicious wife such a woman would make! Of course I ought to deserve her, first. Of course!’
Influenced by these thoughts, he felt a great benevolence awaken within him, encompassing first the Łęcki household, then their relatives, then his own store and all the people who worked in it, then all the tradesmen he had dealings with, finally the entire country and all mankind. It seemed to Wokulski that every passer-by in the street was his blood-relative, nearer or more distant, whether cheerful or mournful. And he very nearly stopped on the pavement to accost people, like a beggar, and to ask them: ‘Is there anything you need? Ask me, command me, please—in her name…’
‘Life has gone badly for me hitherto,’ he told himself. ‘I was an egoist. Ochocki—now, there is a splendid soul: he wants to fix wings upon mankind, and can forget his own happiness for that idea. Fame is nonsense, of course, but work for the general good—that’s the foundation.’ Then he added with a smile: ‘This woman has already made me a rich man, and a well-known man, but