Thus is justice meted out, and the only consolation is, that however bad things may be, they might be worse. And men rejoice that the worse has not yet come to pass. In Poland, as everywhere, there is always cause for gratitude. A man looked upwards, when a swallow, which was flying above his head, dropped something on his nose. "How lucky," he said, "that the cow has no wings."
People are unconcerned here in Poland in spite of their torments. They live like a mutilated man, who proves that it is possible to have but one leg, one arm, one eye, and still be a man. They are like Josias Rantzau, who had only some few pieces of himself left and yet kept up his courage and good temper. They live, deprived of all political life, all social endeavour, all direct pursuit of national aims, and they live the more intensely the life left to them. They live and feel as elsewhere, and they rest satisfied with speaking that which must not be written or printed.
At this moment the sky is as clear as on a sunshiny day in the south, and the sight I have before me beyond the wire is full of peaceful beauty. In the foreground, a large lawn studded with beds of tall rose-trees and flame-coloured pelargoniums. A beautiful effect is made by a shrub with white leaves among them. All around are grouped the mighty old trees of the park. Outside the gateway a carriage with four horses waits us to take us to the neighbouring manor.
In short, life is charming for the moment.
Merimée used to summarise his views of life as follows: Harlequin fell out of the window from the fifth storey. When he passed the third, somebody asked him how he felt. "Pretty well," he answered, "provided that this continues."
We all know how the fall will end, but as long as one is in the air, it is not so bad.
