The soul of miss Izabela was a curious phenomena.
If anyone honestly asked her: what is life, and who is she herself? she'd doubtlessly answer that the world is an enchanted garden, full of magical castles, and she - a goddess, or a nymph hidden in human form. A veil protected her from wind, carriage from the rain, furs from the cold, umbrella and cloves from the sun. And so she lived, day in, day out, month in, month out, year in, year out, greater than men, and even greater than the laws of nature. Twice she had encountered a terrible storm, once in Alps, another time - on the Mediterranean. The bravest blenched, but miss Izabela listened to the crash of the rocks and creaking on the ship with laughter, not in the least aware of the possibility of danger. The nature made for her a spectacle of lightning, storm and sea spray, as it had shown her the other times the moon over Geneva lake, or ripped open the cover of clouds over the waterfalls of Rhine. The same, after all, the technicians in theatres do every day, and they don't terrify even the weakest-hearted ladies.
This world of eternal spring, where silk rustled, where only sculpted trees grew, and where clay covered itself with artistic paintings, this world had its special populace. Its proper citizens were princesses and princes, counts and countesses or very old and very affluent aristocracy of both sexes. This whole society, between which there moved finely-dressed butlers, lady companions, poor cousins and cousins who hungered for higher stations, this whole society had an eternal holiday.
Apart from this magical world, there was another one - the common one. Generally, for people from this lower world [Izabela] had a good heart. The words from the Bible - - sprang to her mind. They must've apparently committed some heavy sin if they were sentenced to work - but then, such angels as her couldn't not pity their fate. Such as her, for whom the biggest work was touching the electric bell or giving an order.
—Prus spoofing The Beautiful Elite trope
If anyone honestly asked her: what is life, and who is she herself? she'd doubtlessly answer that the world is an enchanted garden, full of magical castles, and she - a goddess, or a nymph hidden in human form. A veil protected her from wind, carriage from the rain, furs from the cold, umbrella and cloves from the sun. And so she lived, day in, day out, month in, month out, year in, year out, greater than men, and even greater than the laws of nature. Twice she had encountered a terrible storm, once in Alps, another time - on the Mediterranean. The bravest blenched, but miss Izabela listened to the crash of the rocks and creaking on the ship with laughter, not in the least aware of the possibility of danger. The nature made for her a spectacle of lightning, storm and sea spray, as it had shown her the other times the moon over Geneva lake, or ripped open the cover of clouds over the waterfalls of Rhine. The same, after all, the technicians in theatres do every day, and they don't terrify even the weakest-hearted ladies.
This world of eternal spring, where silk rustled, where only sculpted trees grew, and where clay covered itself with artistic paintings, this world had its special populace. Its proper citizens were princesses and princes, counts and countesses or very old and very affluent aristocracy of both sexes. This whole society, between which there moved finely-dressed butlers, lady companions, poor cousins and cousins who hungered for higher stations, this whole society had an eternal holiday.
Apart from this magical world, there was another one - the common one. Generally, for people from this lower world [Izabela] had a good heart. The words from the Bible - - sprang to her mind. They must've apparently committed some heavy sin if they were sentenced to work - but then, such angels as her couldn't not pity their fate. Such as her, for whom the biggest work was touching the electric bell or giving an order.
—Prus spoofing The Beautiful Elite trope
