The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [272]
A powerful flush appeared on Wokulski’s face. Izabela noticed this without looking, and went on: ‘Finally, what you call the aristocracy, and what I call the upper class, is a good race. Perhaps a certain part of it idles too much: but when anyone of that class sets about doing something, he is at once marked by energy, good sense and nobility. Excuse me for quoting what the Prince has often said to me about you: “If Wokulski were not a fine gentleman, he wouldn’t be what he is today.”’
‘The Prince is mistaken,’ Wokulski replied drily. ‘What I have, and what I know weren’t given to me by genteel birth, but by hard work. I’ve done more, so I own more than others.’
‘But could you have done more if you’d been born someone else?’ Izabela asked. ‘My cousin Ochocki is a scientist and democrat like you, and despite that he believes there are good and bad races of men, as does the Prince. He quotes you as proof of inheritance: “Wokulski,” he says, “has won success from destiny, but his toughness of spirit comes from his breeding.”’
‘I am very grateful to all those who do me the honour of including me in some privileged race,’ said Wokulski, ‘but I shall never believe in privilege without work, and shall always set the benefits to society of the low-born higher than any well-bred pretensions.’
‘Don’t you think there is benefit to society in the cultivation of refined feelings and elegant manners?’
‘Of course, but that role in society is played by women. Nature gave them more sensitive hearts, more lively imaginations, more subtle minds — it is they, not the aristocracy, who preserve elegance, kindliness in manners in everyday life, and can arouse the most elevated feelings in us. Woman is the lamp whose light gilds the road of civilisation. She is the unseen source of actions requiring unusual effort or strength.’
Now Izabela blushed. They walked on for a time in silence. The sun had already set, and the moon’s scythe was gleaming in the west, between the trees. Wokulski, lost in thought, was comparing the two conversations of the day, one with Mrs Wąsowska, the other with Izabela: ‘How different these two women are! … And was I not right to attach myself to this one?’
‘May I ask you a question that troubles me?’ asked Izabela suddenly, in a soft voice.
‘Pray do …’
‘Is it not true that when you left for Paris you were very offended with me?’
He wanted to reply that it had been worse than offence, for it had been the suspicion of deceit, but said nothing.
‘I feel guilty towards you … I suspected you …’ she began.
‘Of malversions in acquiring your father’s house through money-lenders?’ Wokulski asked, smiling.
‘Oh no!’ she replied vivaciously, ‘on the contrary, I suspected you of a very Christian action, which I couldn’t have forgiven in anyone else. For a time I thought you had bought our house … and paid too dearly for it.’
‘Surely your mind is at rest now?’
‘Yes. I know that the Baroness Krzeszowska wants to pay ninety thousand for it.’
‘Really? She has said nothing to me, though I can foresee what will happen.’
‘I am so pleased you lost nothing, for … now I can thank you with my whole heart,’ said Izabela, giving him her hand. ‘I understand the significance of what you did. My father would have been abused or cheated by the Baroness, but you saved him from ruin, perhaps from death. One doesn’t forget such things.’
Wokulski kissed her hand.
‘It’s dark already,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Let us go back to the palace. Surely everyone else has left the park.’
‘If she isn’t an angel, then I’m a swine,’ Wokulski thought.
Everyone was already in the palace, where supper was soon served. The evening passed gaily. Towards eleven, Ochocki took Wokulski to his apartment. ‘Well?’ Ochocki said, ‘I hear that