Authors: Boleslaw Prus
Izabela, frustrated, lets the fashion magazine fall and reclines on the
chaise-longue.
Her hands, clasped as if in prayer, rest on the arm and she looks at the sky dreamily. The Easter collection, the new toilette, the clouds â all blend together in her mind's eye against a background of remorse for the dinner-service and a slight feeling of shame at having sold it.
âOh, never mind â¦' she tells herself, and again she wishes the clouds would part, even if only for a while. But the clouds thicken and within her heart remorse, shame and uneasiness increase. Her gaze falls on the little table by the
chaise-longue,
and on a prayer-book bound in ivory. Izabela picks it up and slowly, page by page, seeks the âActe de resignation' and when she has found it, she begins to read: â
Que votre nom soit béni à jamais, bien qui avez voulu m'éprouver par cette peine
.' As she reads, the grey sky lightens and at the last words â
et d'attendre en paix votre divin secours
â¦' the clouds break asunder, a fragment of bright blue appears. Izabela's boudoir fills with light and her soul with tranquillity. Now she is certain that her prayers have been heard, that she will have the most splendid toilette and smartest church for the Easter collection.
At this moment the boudoir door softly opens: Flora appears, tall, in black, timid, holding a letter between two fingers and saying softly: âFrom Countess Karolowa.'
âAh, about the collection,' Izabela replies with a charming smile. âYou haven't been to see me all day, Flora.'
âI didn't want to interrupt.'
âMy boredom?' Izabela asks. âWho knows if it mightn't be more amusing to bore ourselves together?'
âThe letter â¦' says the woman in black timidly, holding it out to Izabela.
âI know what it says,' Izabela interrupts. âSit here with me for a while and, if it is not too much trouble, read me the letter.'
Flora shyly sits down, carefully takes a paper-knife from the bureau and slits the envelope very carefully. She replaces the paper-knife then puts down the envelope, unfolds the letter and reads a letter in French in a quiet and melodious voice:
Dear Bela, forgive me for referring to a matter which only you and your father have the right to decide. I know, my dear, that you are disposing of your dinner-service and the silver, since you told me so yourself. I also know that a purchaser has been found, who offers five thousand roubles. In my opinion this is not enough, though nowadays it will be difficult to expect more. After a conversation I have had with Mme Krzeszowska, however, I begin to fear lest these heirlooms may not have fallen into the wrong hands.
I should like to prevent this, so I propose to offer you three thousand roubles as a loan, with the dinner-service and silver as security. I think the things will be better in my possession, since your father is in such difficulties. You may have them again whenever you wish, and without repaying the debt, in the event of my death.
I do not insist, merely suggest this. Consider which will be the more convenient to you, and think above all of the consequences.
I know you well enough to understand you would be painfully hurt should you hear at some time in the future that our family heirlooms adorn the table of some banker, or form part of his daughter's dowry.
A thousand kisses from
Joanna
P.S. Imagine how fortunate my orphanage has been! Yesterday in the celebrated Wokulski's shop, I alluded to a small donation for the orphans. I hoped for ten roubles or so, but he â believe it or not! â gave me a thousand, one thousand roubles, and said he would not have ventured to give me a lesser sum. A few more like Wokulski, and I feel I might become a democrat in my old age!
Flora finished the letter but dared not raise her eyes. Finally she plucked up courage and looked: Izabela was seated on the
chaise-longue
, pale, her fists clenched.
âWhat have you to say to that, Flora?' she asked presently.
âI think,' said Flora quietly, âthat your dear aunt makes her position very clear.'
âHow humiliating!' Izabela whispered angrily, striking her hand on the
chaise-longue
.
âIt is humiliating to offer three thousand roubles when other people offer five. But I see no other cause for humiliation.'
âHow she treats us! We must be ruined already â¦'
âNot at all, Bela,' Flora interrupted, with animation. âThis unkind letter proves we are not ruined. Aunt likes being unkind but also knows how to spare the unfortunate. If you were threatened by ruin, she would be a sensitive and kindly comforter.'
âI would not thank her for it.'
âYou need have no fear. Tomorrow we shall obtain five thousand roubles with which we can keep going for six months ⦠well, three months. A month or two â¦'
âThey will auction our house.'
âThat is merely a formality. You may profit by it, since nowadays a house is merely a burden. And you are to inherit a hundred thousand roubles from Aunt Hortensja. Moreover,' Flora added presently, raising her eyebrows, âI am not at all sure but that your father may not still have a fortune. Everyone believes he has â¦'
Izabela leaned forward to seize Flora's hand.
âFlora,' she said in a low voice, âwhy tell me such things? Do you regard me as a marriageable woman who sees and understands nothing? You think I don't know', she added, still more softly, âthat for a month now you have been borrowing money for the housekeeping from MikoÅaj? â¦'
âPerhaps it is your father's wish.'
âAnd does he ask you to slip a few roubles into his purse every morning?'
Flora looked her in the eyes and shook her head.
âYou know too much,' she replied, âbut that is not the whole of the matter. For the last two weeks or so your father has ten roubles and more every day.'
âSo he is contracting debts â¦'
âNo, your father never contracts debts in town. The moneylenders come to the apartment with the cash, and your father transacts his business with them in his study. You don't know him in this respect.'
âSo where is he getting this money from?'
âI don't know. All I know is that he has money, and has always had some.'
âBut why is he permitting me to sell the silver?' Izabela asked.
âPerhaps to vex the family.'
âAnd who has bought up his bills of exchange?'
Miss Flora made a gesture of resignation.
âIt was not Krzeszowska,' she said, âI know that for certain. It was either Aunt Hortensja, or â¦'
âOr â¦'
âYour father himself. You know how often your father has done things to vex the rest of the family and laugh at them afterwardsâ¦'
âWhy should he want to vex you and me?'
âHe thinks your mind is at rest. A daughter should trust her father implicitly!'
âAh, I understand â¦' said Izabela, pondering.
Her black-robed cousin slowly rose and went out softly.
Izabela began to look around her room again, at the black boughs waving outside the windows, at a few sparrows chirping and perhaps building a nest, at the sky which had become uniformly grey without any bright streaks. The question of the Easter collection and her new toilette haunted her, but both matters seemed so trivial to her now, almost laughable, that while thinking of them she imperceptibly shrugged.
She was tormented by other questions: should she not hand the dinner-service over to her aunt? And where was her father getting that money? If he had had it before, why did he allow debts to be contracted from MikoÅaj? And if he had none, where was he able to obtain it? If she let her aunt have the dinner-service and silver, she might lose the last opportunity of disposing of them at a profit; but if she sold them for five thousand, these heirlooms might in reality be acquired by the wrong sort of people, just as the Countess said.
Suddenly she broke off: her quick ear had caught a sound in the other rooms. It was a man's footsteps, level, measured. The carpet in the drawing room stifled them, but in the dining room they again grew louder, and softer again in her bedroom, as if someone were tip-toeing.
âCome in, papa,' Izabela said, hearing a tap on her door.
Tomasz came in. She rose from the
chaise-longue,
but her father made her sit down again. He embraced her, kissed her forehead, then seated himself beside her, glancing at the large looking-glass on one wall. There he observed his own handsome features, his grey moustache, irreproachable black waistcoat and smooth trousers which looked as if they had just come from the tailor, and saw that all was well.
âI hear', he told his daughter with a smile, âthat you have been receiving correspondence that has upset you.'
âOh papa, if you only knew the tone aunt uses â¦'
âProbably the tone of a woman with disordered nerves. You should not be vexed with her.'
âIf it were only that ⦠But I am afraid she may be right, and that our silver may find its way to the table of some banker or other.'
She leaned her head on her father's shoulder. Tomasz glanced involuntarily at the mirror and admitted to himself that they formed a remarkably fine couple. The uneasiness on his daughter's face made a particularly striking contrast with his own tranquillity. He smiled.
âBankers' tables!' he echoed. âOur ancestral silver has already graced the table of Tartars, Cossacks and rebellious peasantry â far from disgracing us, this has only brought us honour. He who fights must risk losing.'
âThey were lost in wars â¦' Izabela interposed.
âAnd is there no war on today? It is the weapons that have changed, that's all. Instead of an axe or scythe or scimitar, they fight with roubles. Joanna understood this very well when she sold her family estate â not merely a dinner-service â and demolished the ruins of her castle to build granaries.'
âSo we have lostâ¦' Izabela whispered.
âNo, my child,' said Tomasz, straightening his back. âWe are just beginning to win, and that no doubt is what my sister and her coterie are afraid of. They are so fast asleep that they take fright at every sign of vitality, every bold step I take,' he added as if to himself.
âYou, papa?'
âYes. They thought I would beg them for help. Joanna would be glad to make me her plenipotentiary. But I declined a pension with thanks, and have drawn closer to the bourgeoisie. I have gained their respect, and this is beginning to alarm our little world. They expected me to go under, but now they see I may go forward to the top.'
âYou, papa?'
âYes, I. Hitherto I said nothing, for I lacked suitable partners. But today I met a man who understands my ideas, and I shall begin to act.'
âWho can he be?' Izabela looked at her father in surprise.
âA certain Wokulski, a tradesman, a man of iron. With his help I plan to organize our bourgeoisie and form a company for trading with the East. In this way I will support our industry â¦'
âYou, papa?'
âAnd then we shall see who will get to the top, albeit, perhaps, through elections to the city council â¦'
Izabela listened to this with wide-open eyes.
âIs not this man of whom you speak, papa,' she whispered, âis he not a speculator, an adventurer?'
âSo you do not know him?' Tomasz inquired. âHe is one of our tradesmen.'
âYes, I know his shop, it is very elegant,' said Izabela, thoughtfully. âThere's an old clerk who looks eccentric but is really very civil ⦠Ah, I believe I met the proprietor too. He looks like a boor â¦'
âWokulski a boor?' asked Tomasz in surprise. âI agree he is somewhat stiff in his manners, but he is most civil.'
Izabela shook her head.
âHe's a disagreeable man,' she replied animatedly. âNow I remember him. When I was in his shop on Tuesday I asked him the price of a fan. You should have seen how he looked at me! He didn't answer, but beckoned with that huge red hand of his to a clerk (quite an elegant young man), and muttered in a voice in which I could hear his anger: “Mr Morawski ⦠or Mraczewski” (I don't recall) “this lady wants to know the price of this fan.” Oh, you have picked on a very disappointing partner, papa,' Izabela smiled.
âHe's a man of extraordinary energy, a man of iron,' replied Tomasz. âSuch men behave like that. You will make their acquaintance, for I plan to hold a few evening parties here, at home. They're all originals, but he is more so than the rest.'
âYou intend to receive these men, papa?'
âI must have talks with some of them. And as for our own people,' he added, looking his daughter in the eye, âI promise you that when they learn who has been here, not one of them will be absent from my drawing-room.'
At this moment Flora entered to announce dinner. Tomasz gave his hand to his daughter and the three went into the dining-room; the tureen and MikoÅaj were already there, the latter in a frock coat and large white tie.
âI can't help smiling at Bela,' said Tomasz to Flora, who was serving soup from the tureen, âjust think, Flora â Wokulski makes the impression of a boor on her! Do you know him?'
âEveryone knows Wokulski nowadays,' Flora replied, handing MikoÅaj a plate for his master. âHe is not elegant, I agree â but he's a striking man.'
âLike a tree-trunk with red hands,' Izabela interposed with a smile.
âHe reminds me of Trosti, that Colonel of the Rifles, in Paris,' said Tomasz.
âAnd he makes me think of the statue of the victorious gladiator,' said Flora in a melodious tone. âDo you remember, Belaâthe one with the uplifted sword that we saw in Florence. A stern face, even fierce â but handsome.'
âAnd his red hands?' Izabela asked.
âHe got them frozen in Siberia,' Flora said significantly.
â
Repenting the enthusiasm of his youth
,' said Tomasz. âWe can forgive him that.'