The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [207]
‘In 1859,’ the former landowner went on, ‘I was nineteen years younger than I am today, and had some ten thousand roubles a year …Those were the days, Mr Rzecki …It’s true I used to spend the interest and even some of the capital …So when the expropriations came …’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘peasants are human beings too, sir, Mr …’
‘Wirski,’ the agent put in.
‘Mr Wirski,’ said I, ‘the peasants …’
‘It makes no difference to me,’ he interrupted, ‘what the peasants are …Suffice it to say that in 1859 I had some ten thousand a year income (plus loans), and was in Italy. I was curious about the country which was driving out the Huns …And as I had no wife or children, I had no reason to economise either, so I went as a volunteer with the front-line French troops …We reached Magenta, Mr Rzecki, without knowing where we were, nor which of us would see the next day’s sunrise …You know that feeling, sir, when a man uncertain of tomorrow is in the company of men equally uncertain of their tomorrow?’
‘Do I! Go on, Mr Wirski …’
‘May the devil take me,’ said the former landowner, ‘if such days aren’t the finest in a man’s life …You’re young, cheerful, healthy, you have no wife or children around your neck, you drink and sing and every now and then you look at the dark wall behind which tomorrow is hidden. Ha, you cry, more wine there, for I don’t know what’s behind that wall …Wine, there! Even kisses …! Mr Rzecki,’ the agent muttered, leaning towards me.
‘So when you were with the front-line troops at Magenta …?’ I persisted.
‘I marched with the cuirassiers,’ said the agent. ‘Do you know the cuirassiers at all, Mr Rzecki? There’s only one sun in the sky, but a squadron of cuirassiers is like a hundred suns …’
‘They’re heavy troops,’ I interposed, ‘the infantry can crack them like a nut-cracker cracking nuts …’
‘So we were drawing nearer, Mr Rzecki, to some little Italian town, when the local peasants told us the Austrian corps was not far off. We sent them into the town with the order, or rather — request — that when the population caught sight of us, they should make no sign …’
‘Certainly not,’ said I, ‘with the enemy in the vicinity.’
‘Within a half-hour,’ the agent went on, ‘we were inside the town …A narrow street, crowds on both sides, we could hardly pass through in marching order, women in the windows and on balconies.… And such women, Mr Rzecki! Each one with a bunch of roses in her hand. Those in the street didn’t utter a word, for the Austrians were close by …But the women on the balconies plucked their bouquets to pieces and showered the sweating, dusty cuirassiers with rose-petals thick as snow …Oh, Mr Rzecki, if you’d seen that now: crimson, pink, white — and their hands, those Italian women …The lieutenant blew kisses right and left …Meanwhile, a snowstorm of pink petals scattered over the golden helmets, breastplates and snorting horses …To crown it all, an old Italian with a crooked stick and flowing grey hair stepped up to the lieutenant. He seized the neck of his horse, embraced it, and with a cry of “Evviva l’Italia!” dropped dead on the spot! That was our evening before Magenta.’
Thus spoke the former landowner, and tears flowed from his eyes down to his stained frock-coat.
‘May the devil take me, Mr Wirski,’ I cried, ‘if Staś doesn’t let you have this apartment for nothing!’
‘We pay a hundred and eighty roubles a year,’ the agent sobbed. We both dabbed our eyes.
‘Sir,’ I said, ‘Magenta was Magenta, but business is business. You may care to introduce me to some of the tenants.’
‘Come along,’ said the agent, jumping up from his shabby chair, ‘come along, I’ll show you the oddest of them …’
He hurried out of the parlour and, sticking his head through the door into what appeared to be the kitchen, cried: ‘Manya, I’m going out. As for Wicek, I’ll attend to you this evening …’
‘I’m not the landlord, papa, that you should settle your accounts with me,’ replied a childish voice.
‘Forgive him,’ I murmured to the agent.
‘I should think so, indeed!’ he replied, ‘he wouldn’t go to sleep if he didn’t