Read Online The Bronski House by Philip Marsden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Philip Marsden
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mother’s makeshift classes – walking or riding. She walked with Uncle Nicholas out beyond the avenue. She loved to hear him name the trees and flowers, identify the call of each bird.
One afternoon they returned via the Druków church. Inside it was cool and dark. In silence, the two of them stepped up to the chancel and knelt – Uncle Nicholas huge and barrel-shaped in his old camlet coat, Helena slim beside him with a blue velvet ribbon in the tangle of her hair.
Uncle Nicholas pointed out the commemorative plaques to his father, his grandfather and other O’Breifnes.
‘Uncle Nicholas,’ she asked, ‘have your family lived here for a very long time?’
The first O’Breifne at Druków, he explained, was the General; he would have been her great-grandfather. The Russians were very proud of him, even though he was not Russian. In Serbia he had once saved the Russian army from the Turks. On the night before the battle a nun named Dovergill had come and warned him that the Turks would attack the following day. He prepared his positions well and was victorious. But when the general asked in the neighbouring convents for Dovergill, he drew a blank. ‘Dovergill? Devorgil? There is no nun by that name.’
Only later did he find out who she was – an ancestor of his, an Irish queen of the twelfth century. She had been abducted by the King of Leinster and the row that followed led to the invasion of the Normans. This, said Uncle Nicholas, was the beginning of the end for the ancient Irish kings and chiefs. Four centuries later, they suffered their final defeat at the Battle of the Boyne, when the O’Briefnes themselves fled Ireland to end up in Russia.
General O’Breifne, he continued, bought Druków and its five thousand souls. The serfs were mainly Polish Catholics. One day he rode down to inspect the estate. He found a great number of them in church. A Mass was being said. The general strode in just in time to hear an anxious petition raised to protect them all from the ‘Russian general’ who had bought them. General O’Breifne walked up the aisle. His spurs clanked on the stone floor. He knelt at the front. The priest fell silent.
‘Carry on,’ the general said, and the priest stammered on through the liturgy.
‘When the Mass was over the general rose from his knees and turned to face the congregation. “Please, there is no need to fear. I am not Russian. My name is O’Breifne and I am a Catholic. I come from a very old Catholic country – a country far to the west called Ireland.”’
O’Breifne meant nothing to them, nor Ireland, and they were not at all convinced by this foreigner and his strange name.
‘Only when he returned with a Polish wife,’ said Uncle Nicholas, ‘did the people begin to believe him.’
Klepawicze was no more than a few hours’ ride away from Druków and Adam Broński was a frequent visitor. He was closely involved with the Polish underground movement and, wrote Helena, had the unquestioning respect of the peasants.
Though he completely ignored her, one thing about Adam made a particular impression on Helena at that time: he seemed utterly oblivious to rank. Her mother found this very strange. He appeared to come to Druków more to be with the land agent than with the O’Breifnes.
‘Wartime, dear. Farmers are very important in wartime. Adam must do his duty.’ And because he had such good manners, was the heir to Klepawicze, and was the son of Pan Stanisław Broński, she forgave him.
One morning, Adam rode over to help the agent clean the carp pond. Helena sat on the bank and watched. The two men opened the sluices and Adam stripped to the waist. He bent to pick the wriggling fish from the mud.
‘Breeding!’ he cried, or, ‘Cooking!’ and threw the fish into one or other of two galvanized bowls.
After lunch Helena stood before the high mirror in her bedroom. How could she get Adam to talk to her? Panna Konstancja had said if she made herself smart for
One afternoon they returned via the Druków church. Inside it was cool and dark. In silence, the two of them stepped up to the chancel and knelt – Uncle Nicholas huge and barrel-shaped in his old camlet coat, Helena slim beside him with a blue velvet ribbon in the tangle of her hair.
Uncle Nicholas pointed out the commemorative plaques to his father, his grandfather and other O’Breifnes.
‘Uncle Nicholas,’ she asked, ‘have your family lived here for a very long time?’
The first O’Breifne at Druków, he explained, was the General; he would have been her great-grandfather. The Russians were very proud of him, even though he was not Russian. In Serbia he had once saved the Russian army from the Turks. On the night before the battle a nun named Dovergill had come and warned him that the Turks would attack the following day. He prepared his positions well and was victorious. But when the general asked in the neighbouring convents for Dovergill, he drew a blank. ‘Dovergill? Devorgil? There is no nun by that name.’
Only later did he find out who she was – an ancestor of his, an Irish queen of the twelfth century. She had been abducted by the King of Leinster and the row that followed led to the invasion of the Normans. This, said Uncle Nicholas, was the beginning of the end for the ancient Irish kings and chiefs. Four centuries later, they suffered their final defeat at the Battle of the Boyne, when the O’Briefnes themselves fled Ireland to end up in Russia.
General O’Breifne, he continued, bought Druków and its five thousand souls. The serfs were mainly Polish Catholics. One day he rode down to inspect the estate. He found a great number of them in church. A Mass was being said. The general strode in just in time to hear an anxious petition raised to protect them all from the ‘Russian general’ who had bought them. General O’Breifne walked up the aisle. His spurs clanked on the stone floor. He knelt at the front. The priest fell silent.
‘Carry on,’ the general said, and the priest stammered on through the liturgy.
‘When the Mass was over the general rose from his knees and turned to face the congregation. “Please, there is no need to fear. I am not Russian. My name is O’Breifne and I am a Catholic. I come from a very old Catholic country – a country far to the west called Ireland.”’
O’Breifne meant nothing to them, nor Ireland, and they were not at all convinced by this foreigner and his strange name.
‘Only when he returned with a Polish wife,’ said Uncle Nicholas, ‘did the people begin to believe him.’
Klepawicze was no more than a few hours’ ride away from Druków and Adam Broński was a frequent visitor. He was closely involved with the Polish underground movement and, wrote Helena, had the unquestioning respect of the peasants.
Though he completely ignored her, one thing about Adam made a particular impression on Helena at that time: he seemed utterly oblivious to rank. Her mother found this very strange. He appeared to come to Druków more to be with the land agent than with the O’Breifnes.
‘Wartime, dear. Farmers are very important in wartime. Adam must do his duty.’ And because he had such good manners, was the heir to Klepawicze, and was the son of Pan Stanisław Broński, she forgave him.
One morning, Adam rode over to help the agent clean the carp pond. Helena sat on the bank and watched. The two men opened the sluices and Adam stripped to the waist. He bent to pick the wriggling fish from the mud.
‘Breeding!’ he cried, or, ‘Cooking!’ and threw the fish into one or other of two galvanized bowls.
After lunch Helena stood before the high mirror in her bedroom. How could she get Adam to talk to her? Panna Konstancja had said if she made herself smart for
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