The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [151]
Feelings of tranquillity and unshakeable certainty so dominated all others in Wokulski’s soul just now that when he got home, instead of dreaming (as usually happened), he set to work. He brought out a thick exercise-book, already nearly full, then a book with Polish—English exercises, and began writing down sentences, pronouncing them in an undertone and trying to imitate his teacher, Mr William Collins, as closely as possible.
But during pauses of several minutes, he thought either of tomorrow’s visit to Baron Krzeszowski and how to free him from his debts, or of Oberman, whom he had saved from ruin. ‘If a blessing is of any value,’ he told himself, ‘then I cede to her the whole capital of Oberman’s, together with added interest…’
Then it occurred to him that this was not a very splendid gift for Izabela—making only one man happy! He could not do it for the whole world: but it would be worth elevating at least a few people in order to celebrate getting to know Izabela better. ‘Krzeszowski will be the second,’ he thought, ‘though it is no service to save such fellows. Aha!’ He struck his forehead and, putting aside his English exercises, brought out the file of his private correspondence. This was a morocco case, in which incoming letters were filed according to date, with an index in the front.
‘Aha!’ he said, ‘the letter of my penitent and her guardian…page 603…’
He found the page and read the two letters attentively: one was elegantly written, the other as if scrawled by a childish hand. The first informed him that Maria So-and-So, formerly a girl of loose conduct, was now learning to sew and make dresses, and was behaving piously, obediently, modestly and nicely. In the second letter, Maria herself…thanked him for his help and asked only to be found some occupation:
‘Dear and Respected Sir,’ she wrote, ‘since God has given you so much money, do not spend it on a sinner like me. For now I can earn my own living, if I find something to set my hands to, but there are many people in Warsaw whose need is greater than mine, unhappy and disgraced though I am…’
Wokulski was sorry this request had been unanswered for several days. He replied at once and called the servant. ‘Have this letter delivered in the morning,’ he said, ‘at the Magdalenes.’
‘Very good, sir,’ the servant replied, trying to stifle a yawn.
‘And bring the carter Wysocki to me, the man in Tamka Street, d’you know him?’
‘Course I do…But have you heard, sir…?’
‘Be sure he comes in the morning, that’s all.’
‘Why shouldn’t I, sir? But have you heard Oberman lost a lot of money? He was here this evening, he swore he would kill himself or do himself an injury if you didn’t forgive him. So I said to him, “Don’t be silly,” I said, “don’t kill yourself, wait a bit…the old man’s got a soft heart.” And he says, “That’s what I thought, but even so there will be a row, and even if he cuts my wages, my son is going to be a doctor, and old age is just around the corner…”’
‘Come now, be off to bed with you,’ Wokulski interrupted.
‘All right, sir, all right,’ the servant replied, crossly, ‘though working for the likes of you is worse than being in prison, that it is…A man can’t even go to bed when he chooses…’ He took the letter and went out.
Next day, about nine in the morning, the servant awoke Wokulski and told him Wysocki was waiting. ‘Tell him to come in.’
The carter entered next moment. He was respectably dressed, had a ruddy complexion and cheerful look. He approached the bed and kissed Wokulski’s hand.
‘Wysocki, I understand there’s a room vacant in your house?’
‘Indeed there is, sir, for my uncle has died and those beasts of tenants wouldn’t pay the rent so I turned ’em out. The scoundrels could always find money for vodka, but never for