The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [279]
‘Not yet.’
‘Well, no hurry. But you’ve completely forgotten your uncle. And he, poor soul, lies not far from here, three miles away, at Zasław. Perhaps you might go there tomorrow? It’s a pretty district, and there are the castle ruins. You might spend some time very pleasantly, and do something about the memorial stone. You know,’ the old lady added, sighing, ‘I’ve changed my mind. There’s no need to demolish the stone near the castle. Leave it where it is, and arrange to have these words engraved on it: “In every spot, and at every moment …” You know them?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘More people visit the castle than the cemetery, they will read it, and perhaps think of the final limits of everything in this world, even of love …’
Wokulski left the Duchess in great agitation: ‘What did that conversation mean?’ he wondered. Fortunately he met Izabela walking toward the lake, and forgot everything else.
Next day, the whole company went to Zasław. They passed woods, green hillocks, valleys with yellow paths. The region was pretty, the weather even better, but Wokulski, lost in unhappy thoughts, paid no attention to anything. He was no longer alone with Izabela as he had been the day before: he was not even sitting near her in the brake, but opposite to Felicja, and above all … But this was merely an illusion, he even smiled inwardly at his own premonitions. Starski seemed to be glancing at Izabela in a strange way, so that she blushed.
‘Oh nonsense,’ he told himself, ‘why should she deceive me. I’m not even her fiancé …’
He roused himself, and was only slightly displeased that Starski was sitting next to Izabela. But only slightly … ‘Well, after all, I can’t prevent her,’ he thought, ‘from sitting with whom she chooses. And I won’t degrade myself by jealousy which in any case is a vile feeling, and most often founded merely on appearances. Besides, if she and Starski wanted to exchange melting looks, they wouldn’t behave so obviously. I’m a madman.’
A few hours later, they arrived. Zasław, formerly a small town but now only an insignificant settlement, stands in a valley surrounded by marsh-land. All the buildings are one-storeyed, wooden and old, apart from the church and former town hall. In the middle of the market-place, or rather square, filled with booths and taverns, stands a great pile of rubbish and a well, its ramshackle roof supported on four rotting posts. As it was the sabbath, the market was empty and all the booths shut. A mile outside the town, to the south, lay a group of hills. On one stood the ruins of the castle, consisting of two hexagonal towers from whose tops and windows was hanging copious vegetation: a group of old oak trees grew on another.
When the travellers halted in the market-place, Wokulski got out in order to call on the priest, while Starski took command. ‘So we,’ he said, ‘shall go in the brake to those oaks, and eat what God provides and the cooks prepare. Then the brake can come back for Mr Wokulski.’
‘No, thank you,’ replied Wokulski, ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be, and prefer to walk. In any case, I must visit the ruins too.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Izabela exclaimed, ‘I want to see the Duchess’s favourite stone,’ she added in a lower voice, ‘so please let me know how long you’ll be.’
The brake moved off, Wokulski entered the presbytery and finished his business within fifteen minutes. The priest told him that no one in the town would object if an inscription were made on the castle stone, providing it was not indecent or impious … On learning it concerned a memorial for the late captain Wokulski, whom he had known personally, the priest offered to help facilitate the matter. ‘We have here,’ he said, ‘a certain Węgiełek, a lively young scamp, partly a smith and partly a joiner, so perhaps he will be able to engrave on the stone. I’ll send for him.’
Soon Węgiełek appeared, a fellow in his twenties, with a cheerful and intelligent face. On learning