Who defeated Napoleon?

That summer professor Caranfil had gone to spent the summer holiday at Neamu
Monastery, and on the day the things he told me about happened, he had gone on a trip with
some friends and acquaintances in the surroundings of the monastery and beyond the
Procovului hermitage. When he came home to father Christian, where he used to live, had got
very dark and Caranfil thought with pleasure at the soft bedding where he would rest. Going
inside, he looked as usually at the engravings in the room. On one of the walls, the portrets of
Alexander the Second and Maria Feodorvna , somehow have been affected by the passing of
time, were places next to the shooting of Maximiliam . On the front wall was the saint Agur,
and further, the face of Napoleon, made after the representation of time.
Caranfil got ready to sleep thinking of all sorts of things. He had spent well that day, in the
company of nice and happy people...Then Caranfil smiled. A few days later he would make
another trip to the Neamu Fortress, where he had never been before. Poor Stephen the Great,
he thought, big man!.Caranfil, in a patriotic approach, took out his coat, made two steps
through the room and stopped in front of Napoleon.
Terrible figure, the professor added the professor fixing n the emperors faceBut he also
gave the hell at Waterloo and the duke of
Caranfil stopped there, as he had a hard time remembering the name of the hero of
Waterloo..
I should sleep, he said, for that I have to get up tomorrow morningTomorrow I wont go
anywhere..Ill finish reading Tolstoi...and the day after tomorrowWhat was his name?the
duke ofofWell, damn him! he finished, and went to bed.
Caranfil put his arms under his head and closed his eyes, determined to sleep, but
something did not let him to... Wait, this can not be possible mate...! And he put all his
attention to find the name of the British Hero in the multitude of information and numbers
stored inside his head.
In the end, why do I care?... thought Caranfil, when he saw the duce refused to come to
the light...I should sleep better... And he made a very precise move to prove that by all means
he wanted to sleep.
Nevertheless, I have to remember... added shortly after Caranfil....duke...what was his
name...of... But the duke obstinately refused to come out.
Well, from now, enough! Imposed the professor to himself and turned to the wall. He stood
in that position for a while, then opened his eyes and said: There is still time. The duke
of...Bal...no...duke of...no...duke of Ac... it does not start with A...duke of...Ram. But with al this
mnemonic process, the name f the general remained in incomprehensible depths, which made
Caranfil shout:
I am a stupid and an idiot, what am I doing now? And to defiantly deny this derogatory
opinion of himself, he closed his eyes again ad turned his back on Napoleon, which clearly
showed he intended to cut short any intellectual conversation with Napoleon. But the next
moment, he rose halfway and fixed a point with an obvious strain...The British hero was still
anonymous!
Caranfil sinked into the bed, then he suddenly threw the quilt away from him, got up and
started walking the room from out to out.
,,Lets see he said aloudLets take it easyThis way!
Like at he started asking and answering questions himself:
,,- Where was it, Napoleon defeated? - At Waterloo. -Very well! - Who defeated him? -The
duke of
Caranfil stopped at the portret of Napoleon, at which he tenaciously stared, as if he he
wanted to read the name of the enemy in the features of the French hero. But the emperor stood
proud, he did not want to be lured by the professors work. That is why our friend started again
questions while walking through the room: Who defeated Napoleon? - Duke of?
The question was asked with all the vehemence of the circumstance, and the answer was
given as if the professofer wanted to surprise the enemy. Nevertheless he tried, this act was also
a failure!
One could see the duke was determined, by all the means, to remain all the night in the
mind of our friend
 Caranfil stopped in the middle of the room and said with the most convincing tone: I
shall be patientand wait till tomorrowThen will certainly find out! And the professor, to
conclude this judgement, again fixed a point in the space.
Then seriously..Why do I care who defeated him after all? Damn both!Come on,
Caranfilie..dont be crazyGo to sleep!
Indeed, after such a wise admonition, Caranfilie slept again, he closed his eyes, and put
a pillow over his head. But, after no longer than five minutes, he raised his head and said
slowly: ,,Kutusoft, Blucher, Schwarzenberg Not even in the companionship of his gunmen
the British general did not want to come out. This determined Caranfil to pud his face deep
into the pillow and to beat his feet desperately, damning Napoleon and his enemies up hill
and down pale.
 314

I was hurt by their indifference and I thought sadly how much I had to do to save that
man of this indifference, which belongs instinct.
Later, the mowers started to talk. It was a conversation that could not be not be
replicated, whose silence and strange breaks made it incomprehensible.
- How much to scythe? Asked from the beginning the youngest, not looking at the
others.
Afterwards I heard the swinging of the train and the voices of the noisy youngsters. The
train was filled a strong smell of French cognac. The priest from the other side had started
to blink more often, and his eyes got all watery. Someone opened a long bottle, and the the
shouts became sharper, almost shameless. Some aluminum coups were carried hand in
hand and one could hear the joyful gurgle of the drink falling down the metallic bottom.
- One hectare and a halfAnswered after a long time the man with the black hat,
without moving, making the sunburn skin of his neck too long and too thin narrow to vibrate
a little.
- Two hectare and a half at Malu cu Flori, the day after tomorrow.
It was a calculation of agriculture workers that I did not understand too well, an account
made with a soft voice, almost indifferent, dallied and resplendently.
Afterwards they asked where they would sleep, and one of them said there was a barn
nearby, owned by the landlord. After that, they remembered something frightful.
- The other day, said the one with black belt, just now lightening his cigarette, three
were struck by lightening, up there, under the woods...
- During that heavy rain? Asked the youngest, without curiosity, indifferent,, scratching
behind his ear and looking at his big black nails.
- Then...
There was silence, and I heard the axles swinging of the train and youngsters impassive
laughs. I looked at them unfeelingly, though somewhere inside their indifference became
painful. The one who seemed an artist livened, probably because he drank a drop of
cogniac. He had a fanatic look and he was staring at one of the girls,holding her hand with a
possessive firmness, with a wish of his sweaty fingers that could be easily noticed.
- The lightening hit the scythe, added the storyteller. They had run to hide in the Forest.
 310

For a while, because after a stop in any station, as shaky as the others, I saw through
the window a bunch of strangers mobbing on the stairs of the wagon I was in. There were
creaming young girls, those thrilling screams that make you prick up even when you are
very healthy. The wooden door hit the wall, and the quiet and almost empty wagon was
filled with more teenagers. There were four or five teenagers; come to think of it there were
five: two girls and three boys.
Altogether they were not one hundred years old. The boys were wore checked shirts and
talked loudly. One of them was smoked , chocking very much, much ironic to the girls, whom
were not less agitated throwing their backpack in the rigid wire net. I knew from the start
they would not like the compartment and I was not surprised when I heard one of the two
girls (graceful, with the moves of a young woman, conscious of her youth) say they should
have looked for another seat, because this spot smelled too much of a unswept train and
human sweat.
- Everywhere is the same, replied one of the strangers, putting lowering the window.
I saw the fear in the priests eyes and I cheered up a bit, I do not know why. The
newcomers talked loudly, they insulted each other while being exaggeratedly friendly. They
seemed like some young masters, If I recall well, one of them spoke French from now and
then to scare-off the ill-mannered from the train.
Joy has immediate status and is ephemeral. When it works, when it is superficial.
Suddenly I felt I could no longer stand the small room on the wheels and that I should move
to another seat. But I was intrigued by the greedy face of the youngest of them, a pale
teenager, more calm, serious,with big eyes, with a livid mouth of tuberculous , continuously
looking outside at the wet landscape, shinning in the July sunlight. Only an artist could have
such a haughty curiosity for nature, and I like to think of him as an artist, because he
created the false impression that he was not happy like the others
 312

At Furnicoi - I liked the name and I kept it in my mind - the door hit the wall again, and in
silence - suddenly got quiet, as sometimes happens to suddenly get quiet and you can hear the
soul of the objects - in silence, I say, three peasants entered our wagon, three thin, bony,
sunburned scythe men, with severe eyes. They had that exhaustive look of those who work hard
underground, or on the ground, who do not love their job, whatever, with the compulsion of
those poor from father to son, inheriting the curse of labor and the hatred of everything that
surrounds them, a hatred without rebellion, a hatred burning inside like a candle light, a
voiceless hatred without wrath, but with an anger which was gathered for a long time and which
nobody knows when it would burst out.
They had their scythes in their hands, tight hold, with their metallic tongues shinning in the
sun light coming through the window, and put them near themselves, with serious gestures as
one would do with a live being. They were barefoot, with big, black, knurled feet, wearing some
rags wet by sweat, which barely covered them and their their chest. They sat quietly on the hard
bench in front of me and for a quarter of hour said nothing. I looked at them by turn. One of
them was over thirty five years old and I supposed he had been the youngest. He used to
tighten his mouth so much, that silence gathered around it. I would be astonished to hear him
later ask something, with an off, dished voice, like it would belong to someone else. The second,
an old man, wore a black leather belt where he kept his tobacco and the flint, an old knife with
blunt edge and other small things men would need. His sly eyes, completely sad, tired as if they
saw nothing. He searched absently with his dry fingers in the mahogany bag, packing some
threads of tobacco inside a piece of paper, patiently torn by his skilled fingers. The third had put
his black hat on the neck and rested on the backrest board. He had an incredible long thin neck
and a beautiful small mouth, which was weird for an elderly man. He did not say anything either,
or rather he had not said anything for a long time. He was looking through the window and the
adornment of all the things the train was passing by flowed through his indifferent look, clearing
them as the mountain water does with the river stones.
 - Did they die? Dizzily asked the scythe man with long and thin neck.
- Not yet, they dug a hole and buried them halfway in the ground. They would stay there
and the people would bring them food and money.
There was silence and I saw the face of the woman seated in front of the priest, whom
looked at the five youngsters. Some thin papers rustled and soon the train was filled with the
famous smell of Prague ham. One of the girls cut some white, well baked bread and one of the
boys opened a can with a sharp knife. As it happens in such occasions, I got hungry. The priest
with unkempt beard was looking through the window, but I could feel the tearing of his mouth.
The train stopped in a station. The sunlight coming through the window lightened our faces.
It was noon. The journey had tired me and I felt I would fall asleep. Those noisy youngsters had
bored me and the peasants have not been talking for a while. Then, after a while, when I would
feel lonely and a bit sad, like one would feel when traveling without friends, happens something
I will be telling you.
We were close to Cmpu - Lung, maybe three or four stations away from this city. The train
was puffing through the wet trees shinning in the sunlight. We started to see the mountains. As
the train was crossing a bridge, I saw a foaming river and the riverbed stones echoing the water
falling. It was a day you would remember a lifetime, I day would like to forget when I feel like I
am going to die, because it had been too beautiful.
My peasants gathered closer, they moved the scythes as gently as you would move a being,
not some lifeless wooden pieces. The older looked in a gray linen bag and pulled out a piece of
cold polenta. It was a hard yellow piece, with holes like a comb, with crumbled crust, a piece of a
bigger polenta, from which they had eaten many times before. Before putting the polenta on the
hard wooden bench, he laid his handkerchief, of the same gray colour, a crumpled
rag,smoothing it carefully, whipping it with the edge of his palm.
The other two bent on their bare feet an quietly pulled out two pieces of polenta from their
bags, just as old, crumpled and yellow.
The train was still filled with the smell of Prague ham and French cognac. The young man
who seemed an artist was eating a nice blueish fish, and I noticed the shinning of meat, looking
like waves from the deep waters. The healthy teeth of the girls with bangs, who resembled
eachother so much, were crunching pieces of loaf, and the face of the woman near the priest
was so greedy that I shivered. The priest with unkempt beard closed his eyes and I was no
longer hungry.
The thin peasant finally pulled out of the bag a big round onion, a beautiful fruit, maybe as
beautiful a a night light, which he smashed with a simple press of his palm, and the smell the
Prague ham disappeared.
The scythe man with black leather belt looked in his waist band with old and well-worn studs
and pulled out a bundle, still blueish, still wet, of the same gray colour, and untied it patiently,
like a pack of pearls, careful not to lose something, a bundle with a bit of salt.
After that, the three peasants had their Sunday lunch, quietly, without looking at the wet
mountains shinning in the July sun, so joyful and generous, embellishing the surrounding.
 Cu bilet circular

My friend X had spent the month of August in Northern Italy, from where he was coming
with his soul full of sensations he had received, on the way, from the rich nature of Lake Como,
from the sober beauty of Venice, from the eternal beauty of Florence.
Seeing Rome for the first time, between 35 and 40 years old, nel mezzo de camin di nostra
vita, it is one of the greatest joys life could give us. From the heights of the first half of our life,
the eye, calmly embraces the view of the two ages, with a shade of regret for the past bustles of
youth which are bound to be lost, with a slight relentlessness for the sober moment of
maturity...and the other age...It is delightful to could, at that age, knock on the gate of the great
temple, healthy, with a joyfully organized mind.
Delighted as we were, the two Romanians, reunited for a moment in the land of the ancient
city, running from monuments to gardens, from fountains to temples, from ruins to museums
and being able to share our impression in our mother tongue, excited or playful, by an adjective,
by an exclamation, by a sign
In the evening we were parting ways for an hour, just to meet again at supper. During that
hour of loneliness, our nature was catching up and, calmer, with a breeze of melancholy or
playful shade, we would meet again.
One day I found my friend waiting for me with an almanah of Gotha in his hand. He
associated the image of Beatrice Cenci, Forfarina or any Venere from museums with any woman
he saw. He was holding the book staring bluntly.
- You see, indeed, this how it is.
- What it is?
- She was only 33 years old.
He kept on staring bluntly at the image.
- What is the matter my friend, are you ill?
He started laughing, shaking his head like he would say: You already know everything.. Then
he turned another page.
- Lets see Bavaria.
- You know why its famous.
He shook his head again, mercifully towards the Bavarian pills prose.
- And when you think she had a broken shoe! Who would ever think about this?
- Listen to me my friend, are you feverish?
- What fever? Its the way Im telling you.
- You said nothing till now
- Ask for a glass of vermouth.
Although we has to go to eat intermediately, I thought we only have one life to live here on
Earth and it would be a pity to live it in distress. I was about to fulfill my friends desire, when we
had been invited to the table.
- I owe you a glass of vermouth, he said.
- Set your mind at rest! I prepared for you a big glass of white wine to heal all the wounds
unsewed shoes caused.
Indeed, I settled my friend with some white Capri wine which smelled like violets.He tasted
it on empty stomach just to be sure, and I saw him looking up the sky again. Obviously,
something had been bothering him.
I left him eat at his own pace so that the melancholic memory that hunger was causing
would pass. I thought that I there is to be anything truly sad, I should begin with his soul, with
more reddish wines
- How wonderful are, he said, happy, the art, the youth and the health. I feel good, light,
capable of any great deed.
- Dont forget your words, I said pouring another glass. How great is the art..of drinking in
time.
My friend put his head on one of his shoulders and gave me a tender look. Then he started
to tell me about a theory about the alcohol in the human body, with molecular inter spaces,
chemical materials of the nervous system, neurokeratin, cerebrina, colestina
- Oh my God, dear!Forgive me, Im not doing this anymore
He laughed at my fright, took another sip of wine, and grabbed the Gotha almanac.
- Sometime I was coming from the banks of Rhine to Lake Constance, thinking about returning in
the country through Munich - Viena. I was all alone and I tremendously longed to full around. Just
like now, I was feeling light, cheerful; I though the world was purposely created for the sake of
happiness. In the train I looked at all these women, hoping to find a happy face. But the nature
settles bad omen over those places: wherever I was looking, I only saw crooked heads, English
teeth, glasses with laths, double chins. The men, also: some huge men without any shade of
aesthetics, created by God, since he separated land from water, with some thick legs like the
iron pylon of a bridge.
There was no hope.
We had reached Rorschach , where I intended to abandon the rail-way and take the boat to
Lindau. Lake Constance its wonderful. Its green, transparent waters spread towards to line of
horizon, from where one couldd barely see the towns on the coasts, on the Alps. You breath
health, you only see fragrant lines, you feel alive.
But lake Constance, beautiful as it is, has its sin: too many people own it. There are customs
at every step. But, patience!
So, at Rorschach I see boarding the same ship as us two ladies: a blonde lady, kind of plain;
another brunette, extremely beautiful. Certainly, hand at the mustache. Its strange how quickly
the man becomes conscious about his own image at the smallest dress spur. I left the lake at the
mercy of the German patrols and I caught the eye with the swarthy lady. I was a little hung ry. On
the boat the table was laid, served by waitresses, whose healthy would give one appetite. The
blonde lady took sat at the end of the table where was a free spot. The other took a sit next to
her; and I, right there near her. I must say the table cloth did not reach us. We were served on
mat, which made my situation less poetic. I tried to use four German words, randomly chosen
from my knowledge, to tell we would like t least a napkin. But she did not get it. Even worse, one
of the waitresses, rushing near us, left a big cup, saying: Ein Krug, apoi altul: Ein Krug, so I
was left between two pots of beer.
The lady next to me was smiling. Considering how fragile she was, she should have used a
ladder to drink from their Krug. I tried to make use of my German again: damn it, I told myself,
to drink this plain hop water! I did not succeed with the waitresses.
Finally, the time passed. We reached Lindau. Here was again that rummage through chests,
people fussing up and down, so I lost the sight of the two ladies.
- Listen, I said, I went from water to land. Wet your whistle.
My friend laughed happily, he filled the glass again and stared bluntly at the wine.
- How amber is! He said. Such a shame I need to add ice.
- You do not have to, it is iced enough.
He disagreed by making a sign of contempt with his hand and begun another theory of his about
wine at 7,8,9 degrees, which he finished in regret:
- Well, ice is made from water.
He took another nibble of food and shook his head again:
-I get in the train and I line up. Few people for Munich.
I was alone in the compartment. I was looking through the window at the crowd outside, without
any interest, - when, there they are, my doves....Im leaving behind so I dont scare them and
wait. I saw the blonde lady going first, looking for a seat in cabin class. The swarthy came
behind.
- How lucky I am, I told myself: the blonde must be the governess.
She went to her seat to cabin class . The swarthy must be the mistress. She will come to
first class and maybe the gods will lead her to me.
 The candle light

Spring had begun with a great drought. The orchards had turned red as if they were burned
by rime, and the hills were like naked land. The cattle screamed during the day in the field,
bellowed in the yards at night, and the people put their heads deep in the chest. The food price
increased so much that few people could afford, and here, in the muntain village, they were
even more expensive.
Between Easter and Pentecost there was only one rainfall with big heavy rare drops. But at
Pentecost, the sky was covered with heavy dark clouds and storms. The fire forest started to
rumble soundly as a heavy water fall. A lightening lit up high, from Plea to Mgura, throbbed in
its entire length and it got even darker. During that Pentecostal Thursday night, a lot of people
had been watching, counting the thunders around, with tumultuous blastings through the forests
and stones. Next morning the rain had not ceased, and the people were gathering two or three
under any covered gate and talked.
On the narrow way, full of rocks, which leads to the black fir-tree hill, there is a beam house,
so small that six people could fit it between their arms. The house is far away from the village,
uphill, where not even the priest carries his cross for baptizing. The singers had spread the
rumor that the woman living there locks the door and stays inside while the priest was in that
area. Who ever knows how it was, but now old Mia had been ill in bed for long like she was no
longer alive.
She was lucky to have her daughter, Savina. Savina was a spinster over 35 years old, who
happened not to marry.
The Pentecost rain also brought joy in their house. Frankly, they had no hay fields or corns t
wither, they had no cattle to starve. But Savina had two strong arms and now knew she will get
work from people. During the drought, old Mia s throat and chest dried up, and something deep
down her entrails made her dizzy. Savina had nowhere to work, nobody would ask, and there
was no possibility she would beg. But, if the lad would not be working, who would take care of
an old and sick lady?
When she was given some polenta, Mia would refuse by shaking her head three times a
day, and only the fourth time she would eat something. Her eyes with wrinkled blueish skin were
staring, sweetly, full of something white.
- Dear Lord, lass, I can barely swallow.
After the lass would not say a word, after a while she would stretch her bony venous neck
and would say another word:
- Has the sky turned cloudy outside?
Sometimes the lass had to watch the sky. Between Easter and Pentecost there had been no
candle lit in the two women s house. Three Sundays had Savina bought salt for four pennies,
once vinegar for five pennies, and that was all.
There was a candle light in the house, a wax candle, put around a smoked wooden cross, on
which which one could no longer recognize the saints. They kept it for when Mia will die, so that
she would have something to hold in her hands to light her way to heaven. They did not have
anything to light it up, and had no reason to do it. There was no space in the small house. The
two narrow benches were near the walls, a chest- in one of the corners, the bed - the old woman
was sitting on it, and they had no table. The tree pictures of the hopeless saints, which made
faces as the work of hell, were hanging on the wall and did not bother them.
Mia had not gotten up from the bed for about two years. Sometimes she would have deep
thugs, she would suffer and then calm down.
But in this time of drought, when she ate little, Mia got even weaker. She had pains more often,
and many times, during her agony, she would stretch her hand, goggling, to reach the candle.
The lass brought the priest to take care and to listen to her confession. But she only thought
she was going to die.
At Pentecost, when the sky got cloudy, she said:
- It is going to rain, lass.
- Yes it is! Said Savina
When the first drops hit the shingled roof , as a sweet thunder, as a holy song, the two
women were thrilled:
- It is raining, said Mia.
- It is! Said Savina.
And they opened the door so the house would get filled with the smell of rain.
 The old lady listened for a while. Then she measured large iregular cross. When the
thunders striked one after another, as a falling of abrupt stones, old Mia measured another
cross and said:
- Close the door, lass. It is going to rain heavy.
The lass closed the door and both slept in the lightning light.
It rained for four days. Sometimes there would be great winds from the hills, which brought
big clouds to Plea, as herds of monsters and angry black and blueish giants, clenched one onto
another. There was a blue rift between the clouds, up high in the sky, which was quickly covered
by clouds. When the wind abated ,the drizzle started to fall.
Mia and her daughter were waiting the sky to get clear. Their hominy was lessening, they
needed flour, and Savina noticed she also had to buy milk. Her mother was barely breathing and
it was to no end to give her a piece of dry food.
During the past two days, Mia s white eyes turned yellow. Small and round, they were
staring and were alike the eyes of an owl.
Savina would bring her milk, today, and tomorrow she might get some work. It was about
the time because she had been waiting for long. She talked angrily with Mia,but this was her
nature. She was short to tak, but she was still angry.