but whose voice, it seemed, was not up to much. It was Vlasta. . . She came on in a red costume, her hair was dyed yellow, she assumed a military bearing on the stage and sang a song, the chorus of which ran:—
And he's a hussar,
And he has a sharp sword;
Firmly he can sit
Upon his black horse.
He gives the horse its oats,
And hurries to meet me.
The black horse and myself
He loves equally. . .
This chorus was sung the second time by a considerable part of the audience and Vlasta, marching in step along the stage, saluted in military style. When she had finished singing, she took a plate and went round making a collection. When she reached me, she lowered her eyes,—nothing more.
Then she sat down at the performers' table with some scabby young man who at once put his arm round her waist.
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And a few years later, as a result of this incident, I wrote my book "Magdalena."
