I guessed right, it is desolate without my dearest sister; the castle seems void as if she had taken away all the life with her. My honored Parents also miss her very much, for she, as the eldest daughter, was more with them, and she was so clever! I try my best to take her place, but I know neither how to fill the Count's pipe as well as she did, nor to assort the colors for my honored Mother's embroidery. And then she was so thoughtful, never forgetting anything,—just the reverse of me. We talk of her constantly. To-day a chamberlain will be sent to Sulgostow with compliments and inquiries about my dear sister's health, and there was almost a fight among the young men, all of them wanted so much to go.
The Castellanic has departed, and for the last three days we have had no visitors but two begging friars from a neighboring convent.
I have laughed but once. My honored Mother had distributed all of Basia's dresses among our waiting-ladies and maids, and last Sunday, as by a tacit understanding, each of them appeared wearing a part of Basia's former attire: one had a skirt, another a cape or a waist, etc. Matenko looked around and sighed heavily. "What is the matter?" we asked. "I am grieved," he answered, "to see the property of the late Miss Barbara so scattered." We began to laugh, but were reproved by the Count, who quoted the old proverb: "Quiet at table as in church."
Something quite new and unexpected happened to me yesterday. When we came down at noon, I saw the Castellanic Kochanowski, who was standing with the Count in a window's embrasure, talking so eagerly that he did not see us entering. I could not hear their conversation, but my ear caught the last words, spoken with some emphasis by my honored Parent: "Yes, sir, you will soon hear about the final resolution." Having said this he whispered a word to my honored Mother, who made a sign to the marshal and gave him a secret order. The dinner was served, the Castellanic sat opposite to me, and then I observed how elegantly he was dressed,—a velvet coat all embroidered, a white satin waistcoat, lace frills at his shirt, lace ruffles, and a coiffure as fresh as from a bandbox. He never was so lively and brilliant, and he mixed such beautiful French with his Polish, and looked really charming. The dinner was longer than usual; we waited a while for the roast, and when they brought it in, I saw my Castellanic changing his color and growing pale. I looked at the dishes; I saw a goose with black gravy, [11] and then I guessed all.
I did not dare to lift my eyes; queer thoughts were whirling in my head. I remembered the lively cracoviaks and graceful minuets, the elegant seat on horseback, the fine French conversation, the beautiful compliments, and I felt a pang in my heart. I had not the courage to touch the dish; my honored Parents refused it also, and but for the end of the table the dishes would have been untouched. Matenko was the first to help himself, and looking at his plate said aloud: "Well, it is rather a hard morsel, but still, it will be digested." I thought that was disagreeable of him.
It seemed to me that we stayed ages at table. Finally the Count gave the sign to rise, and as we were saying our "benedicite" I saw the Castellanic stealing away, and he did not appear again.
When the courtiers had withdrawn, my honored Parents called me from my work, and the Count spoke thus: "Mademoiselle, to-day the Castellanic Kochanowski asked for your hand. Although his lineage is noble and ancient, and his fortune considerable, nevertheless we did not think it was a suitable match. First, the Castellanic is very young; he has no position of his own, and is called only by the title of his deceased father; secondly, he did not set about the matter in the proper way. He asked no notable person to speak for him,—he came by himself, made his declaration at once, and wanted an immediate reply, which he received unreservedly. We do not doubt, Frances, that you are of the same opinion." Having said this, without waiting for my answer, he bade me return to my work.
Well, thinking it over, certainly I am of the same opinion as my honored Parents, as well by duty as by my own conviction; but to be quite sincere, I do not find fault with the Castellanic because he is young and spoke for himself, but because he is nothing by himself. A "castellanic"? that is not enough for me, and I do not think a castellan would be too much. In any case, I have not the slightest desire to be married yet, I am happy as I am; for several days after our return from Sulgostow I felt rather sad, but now I feel merry again and life is before me. Marriage puts an end to all expectations; a married woman knows who she is and who she shall be until her death, and I like so much to dream! When I sit at my embroidery frame, or at my netting, my thoughts are always travelling far and fast; all the things I have ever read come back to my mind; I share the fate of all the heroines of Madame de Beaumont, Madame de La Fayette, and Mademoiselle de Scudéry; and it seems to me that I am destined to adventures similar to theirs. Basia often scolded me for these fancies, but her habits of thought were quite different from mine. She often told me that she never brooded over her future, and never thought of the husband to come, except at her prayers,—for it must be said that with the beginning of the sixteenth year, by the direction of our honored Mother, we have to add to our every-day prayer the request for a "good husband." Basia thought it was a very right thing to ask God that the one who is to take the place of our Father and Mother, and with whom we have to live till our death, should be good, but it never occurred to her to wonder what he would be, and where and when she should meet him. She always said: "There will be time enough to think of him when he comes." And she was right; she got such a good and sensible man. She wrote to my honored Parents that, but for being homesick for Maleszow, she would be the happiest woman in this world. One can see that she loves the Staroste more and more, and that she is quite satisfied with her lot. Who knows? perhaps I should also be happy in such a position. In any case, my honored Parents were right in refusing the Castellanic; I am very sorry that the poor fellow has been disappointed, but I hope that, as Matenko says, he will digest the hard morsel.
Yesterday, when we were just going to supper, there arrived quite unexpected but very agreeable guests: my aunt the Princess Woivodine of Lublin and her husband. They could not come to the wedding, for the Woivode, being the Duke of Courland's marshal, was obliged to remain in Warsaw; but as the duke is now away, they came here to offer their congratulations. The arrival of such eminent guests gave new life to our castle. The Count is overjoyed; he loves and worships his sister. They have not been here for five years; in the mean time I have grown from a child to a young lady, and they were very much astonished at the change. Really, they spoke so much about my comeliness that I felt quite shy and uncomfortable. The Prince Woivode said quite seriously that, if I appeared in Warsaw, I should eclipse Mademoiselle Wessel, Madame Potocka, and the Princess Sapieha,—the three belles of Warsaw. The princess said that I need only hold myself more erect, to be more dignified, and to have more worldly polish, and then I should be perfect. Never in my life have I heard such compliments, and I was never aware that I was so handsome. I observed how my honored Father's countenance brightened at hearing these praises, but as for my gracious Mother, she called me this morning to her room and admonished me severely not to give credit to all these fine words, which she said were only court civility.
I am sure they are making plans for me. I should like so much to know about it. I was so excited that I could not sleep well last night, dreaming most extraordinary things. It is true that I heard many curious and amusing things which the prince and his wife related. My honored Parents wanted me to leave the room with my sisters as usual at nine, but the Prince Woivode pleaded for me to stay till the end of the evening; thus I heard all about Warsaw, the court, the balls, and the festivals attending the investiture of the duke, and many praises of this prince, who I hope will one day be the King of Poland. I felt happy; he is my hero, and I am sure he will be a great man. Shall I ever meet him?
The Prince Woivode and his wife departed half an hour ago. They wanted to set out yesterday, but the Count ordered the wheels to be taken from their carriages, and persuaded them that it was not safe to begin a journey on Monday, which is known as an unlucky day. During the whole time they were very gracious to me, and advised my honored Parents to send me to a boarding-school in Warsaw, in order to finish my education. For some time a French lady, Madame Strumle, has conducted a school for young ladies in Warsaw; before this they were educated in convents only. This school has a great reputation. The daughters of the first families are sent there to study and to be taught good manners, and the Prince Woivode thinks I should there acquire all the accomplishments which I lack. But my honored Parents prefer the Ladies of the Visitation, and certainly a convent is the most proper place. Well, I do not know how all this will end, but I feel uneasy and absent-minded; I do not understand what I am reading; my work is not so well done as before; I feel as if something extraordinary were going to happen.
We are going to Warsaw! We are going the day after to-morrow. I do not know yet where I shall be placed, but in any case I shall not come back soon, as my gracious Mother ordered all my clothes to be packed, and two of her dresses were made over for me. My honored Parents were unexpectedly called to Warsaw on business about an inheritance from our cousin Vincent Krasinski, who died childless and left a great fortune. They take me with them and I feel so very happy! As we have to stop at Sulgostow, I shall see my dearest sister. She has just returned from a very agreeable trip, having visited with the Staroste all his relations, friends, and neighbors; she was welcomed and admired everywhere. Now she will stay at home, and is very much pleased with that prospect. She is going to be a perfect house-keeper; the old Woivode Swidinski wrote about her with such enthusiasm and gratitude that both my honored Parents cried with pleasure over the letter. Such tears are a blessing!
I can hardly believe that I am in that celebrated school of Madame Strumle; I entered it yesterday. It was not very hard work to persuade my honored Father to abandon the prospect of a convent for me, as he relies much on the Princess Woivodine's judgment, and I must say I am glad of it, as, in the secret of my heart, I did not care much for the convent.
On our way to Warsaw we stopped at Sulgostow. Madame Starostine looks gay and happy, and how she welcomed us! She remembered everything my honored Parents liked; all their favorite dishes and delicacies were prepared; everything appeared to be there for their own pleasure; and she seemed so happy to serve them in her own house! I heard my honored Mother saying to the Staroste that the marriage made Basia better than ever. "No," he answered, "such she was from the beginning when I received her from your hands. God bless her!" One can see how dearly he loves her; and she respects him and obeys him as if he were her Father. She manages her house perfectly, and knows how to receive guests, and what to say to everybody; she is quite an accomplished woman. My honored Parents were not very willing to go away from Sulgostow, but I must confess I was very anxious to get to Warsaw, and I welcomed the letters which made us proceed on our journey. I was right to be anxious about my coming here, for here I shall become an accomplished woman. I want to be distinguished. Therefore I will not lose one moment, and henceforth I will not think of the future or dream of it, but will study hard and learn all that I can.
Yesterday my honored Mother took me to the Cathedral, where I went to confession and communion, and prayed that the knowledge that I shall get here may do me good and honor.
When I feel a little more at home here I will write about everything. Now I am bewildered. I was accustomed to see around me well-known faces and rooms, but here I know nobody; everything seems strange.
I am getting acquainted with my new home. I like Madame Strumle very much. She is a very dignified lady, and very gracious to me. Certainly it is not as grand and lively here as in Maleszow, but still it is comfortable and even gay. Some things seem to me strange, but amusing and quite new. For instance, there are no valets, not one man-servant in the house; dinner is brought and served by women! We are about twenty young girls, all from the best families and all very young. My honored Parents, after having visited the school, were well satisfied that young girls could not be better cared for and instructed in a convent. Madame carries the key of the entrance door in her own pocket; nobody can come in or go out without her knowledge, and but for the few old teachers, one could forget how the face of a man looks. No male cousins, not even brothers, are allowed to pay their visits. Once the dancing teacher asked leave for the young Potockis, who are at the Jesuit college, to come here and practise the contra-dances with their sisters, but Madame Strumle would not hear of it. "Those gentlemen," she said, "are the brothers of two of my pupils, but not of the others, so I cannot allow them to come."
I have a teacher for the French language, another for German, others for dancing, drawing, artistic embroidery, and music. There is a beautiful harpsichord; not a spinet as in Maleszow,—it has five and a half octaves. Some of the young ladies can play polonaises, not only by ear but from a music-book. The teacher assures me that in less than six months I shall be able to do as well,—it is true that I had a little instruction in Maleszow. I am now only drawing some small patterns for embroideries, but before the end of my education, I must learn enough to be able to paint with colors a dead tree, on one branch of which is a wreath of flowers with the initials of my honored Parents, to whom I shall offer my work as a token of gratitude for the education I have received. The young Princess Sapieha, who has been here for one year, is just painting such a tree, and I feel quite jealous of her skill whenever I look at her work. What a fine effect mine will have when hung in our parlor hall!
The dancing-master, besides the minuets and contra-dances, is showing us how to walk and to courtesy; until now I knew only one way of courtesying, but I hear there are several varieties,—one before the king; another before the royal princes, still another for other dignitaries or their wives.
I asked to be taught first the courtesy for the duke: some day, perhaps, I shall salute my hero.
My gracious Mother came once to see me. They are having much trouble with the affairs of the inheritance.
The lessons and studies take all my time from morning till night, but I do not complain, for I want to learn much. I must say that on the first days I felt a little bewildered; the incessant scoldings and admonitions, the iron cross which was put on my back to hold me erect, the machine in which we have to stand for an hour, in order to make our feet straight,—all this was not quite to my taste.
After Basia's departure, I grew to be quite a young lady; the proposal of the Castellanic, the compliments and the whisperings of the Prince Woivode made my thoughts travel far away,—I began to think I was quite a personage; but here I am again treated like a child. Madame Strumle even ordered me to stop the prayer for obtaining a good husband, and to ask for good knowledge instead. Really, one cannot think of anything else here.
I have not opened my journal for two weeks, but the days are going on each so like the others that I have nothing to relate, and I am thinking now what I shall write down to-day. My honored Parents will leave soon. The Princess Woivodine deigned to pay me a visit, and found that I stood straighter; Madame is very kind, my comrades very agreeable; that is all I know. Really, I hardly believe I am in Warsaw, for I know much less about public affairs than I knew in Maleszow, and I see none of the grand persons whom I sometimes met there. My eyes have not once beheld the king. The duke is away, and they do not expect him back soon.
If I were to pass my whole life in school, my journal would soon be ended. There is nothing to write about; and it is a pity, for I may forget the Polish language. I never use it but when writing my diary or letters to my honored Parents or talking to my little maid; on all other occasions I use French.
They say that I have made great progress in my studies, and the Princess Woivodine, who has not seen me for one month, finds that I have grown much and that I have now a very good carriage. Really, I am the tallest of all the girls in the school, and my waistband does not measure quite an ell.
Now when the weather is so beautiful, the sky so blue and the trees green, I feel often a kind of sadness coming over me. I wish I were a bird! I would then spread my wings and fly away, far away from the cage. But there is no help for it; I must stay here on Bednarska Street, the ugliest in all Warsaw, they say. But next year, if God grants me life, things will be different.
I see that when one is busy the days pass quickly, even in school. I could not believe my eyes when looking now in the calendar, in order to put the date in my journal, I found out that for seven weeks I had not opened my book. But this day will be forever memorable to me: I received this morning, for the first time in my life, a letter addressed directly to me. The dearest and kindest Madame Starostine gave me that surprise, and wrote my full name on the envelope. So now they know at the Post-office that there is a "Mlle. la Comtesse Françoise Krasinska" in Warsaw. I felt like dancing for joy when I received that letter, and I will keep it with its envelope as an eternal souvenir.
Madame Starostine is in good health, very happy, and so gracious as to send me out of the income from the garden, which the Staroste leaves to her own disposal, four golden ducats with which I may do just as I please. It is the first money I have ever owned, and it seems to me that I could buy all Warsaw with it. I have been planning ever so many ways to spend it: first, I wished to give a golden ring as a keepsake to each of the young ladies, my school-mates, but Madame told me that I had just money enough to buy four rings and no more. Then I wanted to get for Madame a mantle in blond lace, and again I was told that it would cost fifty ducats at least. Finally I decided thus: I shall send one ducat to the Cathedral, in order to have a Mass said before the miraculous image of Christ, with the desire that the affairs of my honored Parents turn out according to their wishes, and also that Madame Starostine be always as happy as she is now. The second ducat I shall change into small coin and distribute among the house servants; and with the other two ducats I shall give a little banquet next Sunday. There will be ices, cake, also coffee which we never taste here. Madame has already given me permission to use my money in that way, but the young ladies know nothing about the surprise. May the Lord grant his best benediction on Madame Starostine for the great pleasure she has given me.
My education is progressing rapidly. I am playing several quadrilles and minuets from a book. In a few weeks I shall begin to paint the dead tree with the garland, and I am also embroidering, in cross-stitch, a hunter with his gun and a dog. I read much, and write from dictation, or copy whole pages from French books, and I begin to talk in French more easily than in Polish. As for dancing, the teacher says that there is not in Warsaw a better dancer than I; but perhaps he flatters me.
Sometimes I go to see the Prince Woivode and the princess, but only in the morning when they are alone. I always hear very agreeable things about myself, especially from the Prince Woivode, who wishes me out of school; but the princess and also my honored Parents say that I must wait until winter. Alas! it is only July. Will that winter ever come?
Winter has come and the moment for leaving school is near. What a different kind of life I shall soon begin! Only God knows when I shall return to Maleszow, for the Prince Woivode and the princess graciously urged my honored Parents to let them keep me for the winter and bring me out in society. The permission was granted and so I shall stay in Warsaw. I am rather sorry to leave Madame Strumle and the young ladies, but the joy of becoming acquainted with that world of which I have so often heard and dreamt, is still stronger than my regrets. I shall soon see the king and the royal princes, as I shall be presented at court; the Duke of Courland is expected soon.
This day begins a new life for me. In the morning the Princess Woivodine came to take me away, and in her presence I said good-bye to Madame Strumle and my school-mates. I could not help crying, although I have been wishing so long for that moment. On our way we stopped at church, but I could not pray; my thoughts were too wandering.
I am settled now. My relations live on the street called the "Faubourg de Cracovie." Their palace is not very large, but extremely handsome and elegant; from the rear the view extends over a large garden to the river Vistula. I am occupying a pretty room which must be especially agreeable in summer, because there is a balcony leading into a little garden; on one side are the apartments of the princess, on the other is my maid's room.
A tailor has already been to take my measure and he seemed surprised at the smallness of my waist. He will make several dresses for me, but I do not know what they will be; the princess ordered them herself, and she inspires me with such awe, not to say fear, that I do not dare to ask her about anything. The Prince Woivode intimidates me less, although he is a man; he has gentle manners and seems to like me. I regret that he is not here at present; he went to meet the Duke of Courland at the frontier.
To-morrow we are going to pay visits. The princess will introduce me to all the first families here. I feel a little afraid and nervous.
I have three good things to write to-day. The Duke of Courland arrived yesterday; the Prince Woivode returned with him and greeted me as if I were his own daughter, and the visits are over. In some houses such as the primate's, the French and Spanish envoys', and some others, the princess only left small cards with her name and title on them.
Among the visits I remember best was the one to the Princess Lubomirska, née Princess Czartoryska, the sister-in-law of the Woivode. She is the leading woman among the young set, and affects everything French. I observe that here the more fashionable the house, and the younger the hostess, the more one hears French; as the old men sprinkle their conversation with Latin, so the young do with French. But in the salon of Madame Woivodine of Russ, the conversation was only in Polish. She is an elderly and very stately lady, and she pleased me immensely. I met there her only son, a fine cavalier, who paid me many agreeable compliments, and I think I enjoyed that visit most.
I enjoyed also the visit at Madame Poniatowska's, the widow of the Castellan of Cracow. She is a very remarkable woman and talks with great eloquence. She was giving a reception on that day, in honor of her son Stanislaus who had returned from St. Petersburg, and of whom it is said secretly that he may become King of Poland. I watched him intently, but I cannot say that he pleased me, although I acknowledge that he is handsome, and has grand manners, I should say royal.
Another good visit was at Madame Rzevuska's, where we found her husband, the Woivode of Podolie. I was very glad to see him, as I had often heard from my honored Father about his adventures when a child; how he was brought up among peasant boys and tramped barefoot as they do, and thus grew tough and fearless. He is over fifty now, but looks young and vigorous. He is said to be also extremely learned. The Prince Woivode told me that he writes beautiful tragedies.
We went also to Madame Bruhl's, the wife of the minister and special favorite of the king; although he is neither liked nor respected by anybody, she is received everywhere, and called upon, as she is a very refined lady. Our next call was upon Madame Soltyk, the widow of the Castellan of Sandomir. She introduced us to her son Stanislaus, a boy of nine years, but gallant as a young cavalier; the elderly ladies were not yet seated, when he brought a chair for me, paying me a compliment, and Madame Castellan said that he was always enraptured with pretty faces and black eyes. She also was very enthusiastic about my looks, and to tell the truth, everywhere they spoke about my beauty,—sometimes in a whisper, but I heard it as well. But then I never have been dressed so beautifully, even at Basia's wedding. I had a dress of white brocade with wide flounces of gauze, a court train of turquoise blue, and pearls in my hair.
I should have been quite satisfied with those visits, if I had met the Duke of Courland anywhere. I started from home with that hope, but I was disappointed. After his long absence he spends his days now with his father, and has not yet been seen out of the royal castle. It is quite natural; I myself have been so often homesick for my honored Parents, especially when in school. But soon the carnival will begin; there will be balls and assemblies without end. The duke goes everywhere, and he likes dancing very much, the Woivode says, so I am sure to meet him.
My wishes have been fulfilled, how much fulfilled! Not only have I seen the duke, but I talked with him; I not only talked with him but ... but will it not be too bold to write down that which I would not dare to whisper to anybody, what I do not dare to believe myself, what perhaps I only dreamed of? Well! no, I did not dream, I am sure of that; I always know very well when I please any one. And then is there anything extraordinary, since God has made me handsome, and everybody acknowledges it, that the duke looked at me with the same eyes as other people? The same eyes?—was there not in his eyes something more than in others?...
But everything ought to be set down in order. Yesterday morning the Princess Woivodine had me called to her and spoke thus: "To-night, as on the last night in the year, there is generally a ridotto, which means a masked ball. All the best people, even the king and the royal princes go to it; and you, mademoiselle, will come with us, dressed as the 'Goddess of the Sun.'" I was delighted and I kissed the princess' hand. Soon after dinner they began to dress me in a costume quite different from the usual, being without powder or hoops. The princess told me very earnestly that although such a dress was not decent at all, and that a woman would ruin her reputation if she wore it on any other occasion, still she hoped that by the expression of my face, and my demeanor, I would make up for the deficiency of my costume. Obeying her instructions I tried to look very dignified, and I think I succeeded, for I heard people at the ball asking, "Who is that queen in disguise?" Now, when I think of it I feel uneasy; perhaps in that costume I was prettier than on other days.... In any case I certainly looked quite different. My hair, thoroughly cleansed from powder, fell in loose curls over my neck and shoulders; my dress of white gauze was clasped with a golden band at the waist; on my breast I wore a golden sun, and over my head a long, flowing veil, which enveloped me like a cloud. I did not recognize myself when after dressing I was allowed to look in a mirror. Perhaps others would not recognize me as I am now....
The ballroom was almost full when we entered. I felt dizzy, seeing such a crowd of people, so diversely and handsomely dressed, with and without masks, in ordinary and extraordinary costumes. I did not know which way to turn my eyes, and what to look at first.
Suddenly a murmur arose in the crowd. Some voices said, "The Duke of Courland," and surrounded by a group of handsome and richly dressed young men, there he was. I knew him at once, although his costume did not differ much from those of the others; but his stature, his large blue eyes, extremely soft, and his charming smile made him different from every body else. I gazed at him as long as he did not see me, but when our eyes once met I could not look at him any more, for I always met his glance. I saw him inquiring about me,—and of whom? Of the Prince Woivode! I noticed the pleasant smile when he learned who I was, and he at once approached the princess, greeting her in a most charming voice. After the first compliments were over, the princess took my hand, and introduced me as her niece.
I do not know at all how I bowed, but I fear it was not that special courtesy which the dancing-master taught me. Neither do I know what the duke said to me; I only remember that he opened the ball with the princess, and danced the second polonaise with me. Then when he talked, to my great surprise, I answered without any embarrassment. He inquired about my honored Parents, about Madame Starostine, and her wedding. I wondered how he knew so well about everything, when I recollected that the Castellanic Kochanowski was his favorite. The good boy has not only "digested the goose with the black gravy," but he gave the duke the best report of us all. "He praised you much, but not half enough," said the duke. I heard many other nice things during that dance and the following ones, for the duke invited me for almost all the minuets and quadrilles, and talked to me all the time.
When at midnight they fired the cannon as a sign of the beginning of the new year, he said to me, "I shall forever remember this night; it is not only a new year, it is the beginning of a new life for me." And how many clever comparisons about my costume! (Only, it does not sound as well in any other language as in French.) "It was not the gold on my breast which was the sun, but rather my eyes; their glance lighted an eternal fire in the heart, etc., etc." Finer compliments could not be found in the novels of Mademoiselle de Scudéry or Madame Lafayette.
Can all that be only sham, courtly civility? It is a pity I cannot ask anybody about it, but I am afraid of the princess, and I cannot ask the Prince Woivode; it would not be proper to talk about those things to a man. I feel too much left to myself; one week ago I was a school-girl among books and teachers, and to-day I am playing a part in the world of which I know nothing. But in about ten days Basia is coming here; she is so wise she will enlighten me. I am so very happy thinking that she will come. I have not seen that dearest sister of mine for three quarters of the year, but I know that she is more and more happy, more and more beloved by her husband.
When shall I see the duke again? Will he recognize me in my every-day dress?
I have seen the duke, I have seen him twice, and I am laughing now at that childish anxiety I had, wondering if he would recognize me. Why, I should always know him, no matter how well disguised he might be.
I just finished writing my journal on New Year's day, when the Prince Woivode came to my room. "Françoise," he said, "you surpassed all our expectations; your demeanor at the ball yesterday was perfect, and it pleased generally, even the most notable persons. I have just returned from the Castle, where we went with the senators and ministers to pay our New Year's compliments to his Majesty. His Royal Highness the Duke of Courland approached me, and declared that he had never seen anybody like you, and that if it were not for the etiquette of the court, which requires him to spend the New Year's day with the king, he would come to pay you his respects in person." I felt my cheeks growing red when I heard these flattering words, but the prince seemed not to notice it, and went away leaving me with my thoughts.
And so I shall meet the duke, not only at the balls, but in this very house! "He has never seen anybody like you." These words are still sounding in my ears, as if somebody were repeating them constantly.
I was so gay at dinner that the princess had to reproach me several times. After dinner we went again to pay some visits, but we left the carriage only twice, as all the people were out for the same purpose. We met in the streets, the carriages stopped, sometimes several of them at one time, and cards were exchanged amid much laughing, noise, and confusion. In the evening it was still gayer when the pages and the torch-bearers were moving about with their lights and brilliant uniforms. There were even several accidents, but we fortunately arrived safe. We returned home quite late. I went to sleep at once, being very tired, but queer dreams flitted through my head.
The following day at noon, when I sat with the princess in the drawing-room, beginning a new piece of work on the frame, the chamberlain announced: "His Royal Highness the Duke of Courland." The princess rose quickly, and hastened to meet him at the entrance. I, in the first moment wanted to run away, but my wish to see him was still stronger than my timidity, and I stayed. As soon as he entered he approached me and inquired about my health. I answered distinctly, although I felt very much embarrassed, and when he sat near my working-frame, I had sufficient command of myself to thread at once some very fine needles with rather coarse silk, in spite of my trembling hands.
He praised my skill; stayed about half an hour, and although he talked most with the princess, still he found an opportunity to say many amiable things to me. I could thus ascertain that my different dress did not change me in his eyes. He departed saying that he hoped to see us the same evening at the ball. I heard then that the Marquis d'Argenson, the French ambassador, was giving a ball to which I was to go.
What a reception it was! Why, Basia's wedding was nothing in comparison. And how highly educated are all these people in Warsaw! Whenever they open their mouths it is to compliment, but the duke's compliments surpass them all. He could not talk with me as much as at the bal-masqué, neither did I answer as boldly. But then I was no longer the Goddess of the Sun, and besides, it always happened that somebody was standing near us as if to listen to what we were saying. I do not like it; it is not nice, especially in well-bred people, to be inquisitive.
The princess is in high spirits; she was the only elderly lady with whom the duke danced last night. The Prince Woivode is more gracious to me than ever, but he seems to avoid any questions from me or counselling me in any way. I look forward with growing impatience to my dear sister's coming.
During the whole of yesterday, the duke, the balls, all my dreams, everything went from my mind; all my thoughts were with my sister, although I have not seen her yet. She arrived yesterday morning and was taken suddenly ill. The princess hastened at once to her house, but I was not allowed to go. I spent the whole day in the most dreadful anxiety, and sent to three churches to have masses said. At last, after midnight the princess returned with the news that Basia was as well as could be expected, and that she had a little daughter. This morning I begged on my knees to be allowed to go there, but they said it would not be proper, and that I should have to wait several weeks. The Staroste came here for one moment, very happy to be a father. The little girl is, they say, beautiful. If they would only let me see her! She will be named Angela in honor of my gracious Mother.
This morning the duke sent his congratulations and best wishes for the little grand-niece. Oh! I am longing to see my sister.
Basia is still in bed, but the news from her and her little daughter is the best.
I have seen the duke once only; he was away hunting with the king, but yesterday he appeared unexpectedly and stayed over an hour. How good he must be, and how he loves his father! He spoke about the late queen, his mother, with tears in his eyes. One can see also that he loves Poland, and that he has a most noble and valiant heart. Everything I ever heard of him is true; he is not praised even enough; one cannot well describe the charm of his voice, his sweet smile, and the look of his blue eyes, so deep and so soft! I do not wonder that the Russian empress was charmed with him,—that he carried away the hearts of the Courland people; and I shall not be surprised if after his father's death, Poland calls him to the throne. And he likes me!... Sometimes I think that it cannot be. Still, yesterday his eyes told me that so plainly; and not only his eyes, but some of his words too, and the Prince Woivode also seems to think so.
The princess made me feel a little sad when, at table, she said, with some meaning, it appeared to me, that "many women have already pleased the duke" and that the last one he sees always seems to him the most beautiful. But how childish I am! how should that trouble me?
Am I the only pretty woman in this world? In my eyes the three Warsaw belles, Mademoiselle Wessel, the Countess Potocka, and the Princess Sapieha are without any comparison more handsome than I. And what is more, they know how to enhance their beauty, which is an art quite unknown to me. The duke says that that is my great charm, but it seems to me that my complexion is quite eclipsed by theirs. Especially at the ball in the French embassy Madame Potocka was ravishing, and the duke danced with her twice. Well, what right have I to be displeased with that?
I ought to be quite pleased now! At the ball of the Woivode of Russ, last Thursday, the duke danced only with me. On Friday he called here again. Yesterday he sent us by his aide-de-camp an invitation for a new Italian opera, "Semiramide," given in the court theatre, and there he devoted himself exclusively to me. There I was also presented to the king, who was very gracious and inquired about both my honored Parents. Still more, the Staroste came here an hour ago announcing that the duke wished to stand godfather to the little Angela, and desires me to be the godmother,—me, nobody else; he insisted upon that.
The christening will be magnificent, in the royal Collegiate Church. There were to be more couples invited to assist, but out of respect to the duke the honor will be left solely to him; the others will only be witnesses of the ceremony. Many of the most distinguished persons will be invited. The whole of Warsaw will talk about the affair, and certainly the "Courier" will describe it, and our two names will stand there together.
What will Madame Strumle and the young ladies in the school say to that, and my honored Parents, and all the people in Maleszow, and the good Matenko? I am sure he will say that it is because of his predictions.
Oh, that Matenko! how often his words come to my mind. He is responsible for all my troubles; but for his hints no foolish notions would have entered my head. As it is, I do not feel two days alike: sometimes the happy thoughts crowd around me, life seems full of hope, and I hardly know that there is an earth under my feet; then suddenly everything seems to fade, and my heart feels heavy and so sad!
For instance, to-day when I was so enraptured at the news of the christening, the princess mentioned,—I do not know why,—that the law of the Church forbids the godparents to marry each other, and I shuddered.
But what makes me feel really happy is that at last I shall see my dearest sister. After the christening we go to her house.
The ceremony took place yesterday and I have seen Basia, who looks beautiful, although she has grown a little thin and pale. She is always as good as an angel, and as happy as a queen.
The duke begged that the little girl be named after me, but Basia was firm in her first purpose; and she was right, for this honor was due to our gracious Mother. Thus the little girl was christened "Angela;" she is a dear little thing, and she cried during the whole ceremony, which is a good sign that she will live to be aged. It was the first time in my life that I stood as godmother; I did not know how to hold the baby, so the duke had to help me. It seemed so queer to stand with him before the altar surrounded by so many people, and to write down my name next to his in the large book. Perhaps it was to this event that Matenko's predictions referred.
Everybody is congratulating me on the great honor which befell me. The duke is still more attentive than before, and a little more familiar; he calls me "my beautiful partner," and the little girl is always "our little Angela." He presented handsome gifts to Madame Starostine and to me, and threw handfuls of gold among the attendants and the poor in the church.
I for my part could not do so much, but the little embroidered christening robe, my gift to Angela, has cost me more than a few hours' work.
But I forget to speak about an important affair. The topic of conversation in Warsaw has for some time been a hunting party which the Prince Jerome Radzivill, the Hetman of the Lithuania army, is preparing for the pleasure of the king and the duke. He is spending thousands in order to make a grand display, and has had the game brought from the forests of Lithuania, over 500 miles away. The fête will be to-morrow; the weather is fine and the sleighing excellent. The duke wished to drive his "partner," and it shall be so. The four Warsaw belles—for I am counted now as the fourth—will go in one sleigh, and the duke will be our driver. All four will have costumes alike, but of different colors,—long velvet coats, tight at the waist, trimmed with sable, and small caps with fur to match. The Countess Potocka has selected blue, the Princess Sapieha dark green, Mademoiselle Wessel marroon, and I shall wear dark crimson.
It is a pity Basia will not see all this, but she is so happy with her little Angela that she does not care for anything else.
I have never in my life seen anything so magnificent as this hunting party. We started at nine o'clock in the morning. One could not possibly count all the horses and sleighs which were assembled before the king's castle, but ours was the handsomest of all, and we followed first after the king. The duke, in a hunting costume of green velvet, looked superb!
We had a long drive far beyond the Church of the Holy Cross, to Ujazdow. There, coming down the hill on which is built the city of Warsaw, is a large field usually planted with wheat. [12] This field was enclosed by a fence with a gate, ornamented with escutcheons, devices, and inscriptions. In the middle stood an iron kiosk into which the king and the duke entered. Near the kiosk was a space covered with bear-skins for the most notable men, and further on, an amphitheatre with an iron railing for the ladies. The whole place looked like a forest, for except a space left around the kiosk, the ground was covered with big pine-trees planted for the occasion. In the background, one saw the hills covered with a throng of spectators.
As soon as we arrived and took our seats the trumpets and the horns gave the signal, and the hunters of the Prince Radzivill let the wild beasts loose from the enclosure. There were bears, deer, wild boars and wolves; the trained dogs chased them toward the kiosk, and one cannot describe the howling and the roaring of the wild animals, the barking of the dogs, the shrieking of the ladies, and all the noise which ensued. The king himself shot three wild boars; the duke killed much game, and fought a bear with the spear, a proof of great strength and skill. The skin of that bear was presented to me for a rug.
The hunt lasted until four o'clock in the afternoon; we had a lunch served to us during that time. There were perhaps a hundred hunters and game-keepers of the Prince Radzivill, all dressed in red livery and armed with guns and pikes.
This entertainment was given in honor of the anniversary of the coronation of the king; for the same purpose there will be a ball to-night given by the Marshal of the Crown, Bielinski.
The ball was splendid. The duke was very gay and happy, as on that day he received a diamond-star order from the king. I danced a great deal and my feet are aching; but I am sorry that I spoke of it, for now I shall have to stay at home and rest for ten days. The princess fears that the incessant dancing and late hours will injure my health; really, my cheeks have become rather pale.
We received letters from Maleszow. My honored Mother deigned to write to me herself, recommending earnestly that I be prudent about my health and that I take the greatest care of my reputation, so as to give no cause for the slightest reproach for frivolity. She says that I ought not to believe all the compliments I may hear, that often a young girl is called a belle through some passing fancy, not because her beauty really deserves it; and that it sometimes spoils her whole life, for her head is turned, her expectations aim too high, and she may be forsaken and laughed at in the end. I am sure that will never be the case with me. My ambition may be ever so high, but nobody shall know about my disappointment if it comes. Still I could not help crying when I read that letter; I carry it with me and often read it over. Happy is the young girl who never leaves her parents' home! I often regret the old Maleszow Castle.
At last the ten days of my retirement are over. There were four balls during that time, and one of them a bal-masqué, where I was to appear in a Scotch quadrille with the three other belles. But no entreaties of the duke or others could make the princess relent; when she has said anything she never changes her decision.
I was sorry to miss the balls, but no one looking at me would have guessed it. It is true that the duke came here often, and praised my patience and courage so much that it was a great comfort. The hours spent in his company are delightful. He talks about Saint Petersburg, or Vienna, where he also spent some time; he describes the good people in Courland; and he always knows how to put in a word the meaning of which, I think, escapes all other ears but mine.
How well he knows the bad affairs of our country! It is only through respect to his father that he does not dare to speak about them openly. What a good king he would make! The princess says that his extreme amiability has a particular aim,—to gain partisans for the future,—and that if he were elected king, he would perhaps not even look at us. I do not believe it. I can see plainly that the princess is not in favor of him; she would like rather to see a Lubomirski on the throne.
To-night there will be an entertainment at the Ladies Canonesses'; a very agreeable house and much frequented. This order was founded by the Countess Zamoyska, in imitation of the Ladies' Chapter House of Remiremont in Lorraine. It is said that it originated from the pity the countess felt for a young girl of a noble family, who was to be married in spite of her dislike and even despair. She was an orphan and had no inclination for the convent life, but her high birth forbade her accepting a situation, so she was obliged to marry, merely for a home. In order to give a shelter to other homeless Polish girls, where they could lead a Christian life and be free to marry according to their liking, the countess bought Maryville, a large building once belonging to the Jesuits, and had it altered into small apartments, with a common dining-room and large reception-parlors; she endowed it and also completed an adjoining chapel, erected by the Queen Mary Kasimir, the wife of John Sobieski, in memory of his victory over the Turks near Vienna in 1685.
There are eleven canonesses and the abbess. In order to be elected, the young girls must be fifteen years old, and prove their nobility for six generations on both parents' sides. They are addressed with the title of "Madame."
Thank God, the carnival is over! I see that one can grow tired even with entertainments. There have been so many during the last weeks that I felt in a continual whirl. I could do nothing, nor think of anything else but dresses, visits, assemblies, and other festivities. At first such a life seems amusing, but by and by one feels disheartened, and in my life I have never known such tedious hours as those I passed in the last fortnight. And yet so many people think that I am so very happy, and they envy me.
How beautiful the Countess Potocka looked at the ball last night, dressed as a sultana! She was the queen of the ball, and danced the whole evening. I danced only the first polonaise; I hurt my foot and refused all the invitations. Toward the end the duke came to ask me for a dance, but I did not care to dance then. Thank God, the carnival is over!
A few words in haste: I am going unexpectedly to Sulgostow. There was nothing said about it yesterday when the Staroste and Basia came to take their leave, but this morning the Prince Woivode came to my room and said that my sister and her husband begged me to go with them; that I shall have a good rest there and probably see my honored Parents, so I ought to go. I believe that all the prince's advice tends to my good, so I did not hesitate, but I am sorry the duke does not know anything about it. Perhaps he will not mind it at all; perhaps he will not even notice it, as there are so many pretty women in Warsaw; and the Countess Potocka, she does not go away.
I returned two days ago. My diary was forgotten here in my desk, so I could not write in Sulgostow. I was away a fortnight, but it seemed much longer. My honored Parents are expected in Sulgostow in a few days, but the Prince Woivode, who came for me, did not want to wait even a few hours; we were almost flying on the road, with fresh horses waiting at each station, and we reached Warsaw in one day. The duke came the following morning; he looked pale, almost ill. He gave me to understand that it was my sudden departure, without saying good-bye, which made him feel so badly. He said almost bitterly that "a friend deserves better treatment." I am sorry now that I went away, and to be sincere, I was sorry for it more than once during that fortnight, but the Prince Woivode says that it was for the best. I must confess that often I do not understand him at all, but I obey him blindly, for I feel that he is interested in my future. The princess greeted me very graciously.
In Sulgostow I spent most of the time petting the little Angela, and embroidering a cushion for the Christ's chapel, in order to propitiate Heaven in a certain direction, which I do not dare to name here. I worked assiduously; it seemed to me that every stitch made the fulfilment of my wishes nearer, and now my work is finished.
They celebrated with great magnificence the anniversary of Basia's wedding in Sulgostow. How many changes in this one year!
Yesterday was one of the most pleasant days I can remember. The duke was as gay and charming as at the beginning of our acquaintance. He came here first in the morning, but only for a moment, as he was going to a hunt with the king; then in the evening, when we did not expect him at all, he ran in,—I think he walked, as no carriage was heard,—and he stayed a few hours. He is freer now to leave the castle, as his two brothers, Albert and Clement, are in Warsaw, and they keep the king company.
The Duke Clement is said to be very good and religious, and he is to enter the Church. It is quite right that the king, having several sons, wishes to give one of them to the service of God, but it is as well that it was not the lot of the Duke of Courland.
Although it is Lent, I have a delightful time; the duke runs in as often as he can leave the Castle. He says that he rests here from the etiquette of the court. But to-morrow will be the end of all the worldly pleasure. The princess has a few rooms kept for her in the Convent of the Holy Sacrament, and every year, before Easter, she secludes herself for eight days in order to be well prepared for confession. All the ladies do the same, and I naturally shall accompany the princess. During eight days we shall see only priests and nuns; we shall read only religious books, and work for the Church or the poor.
Our retirement is over, Easter confession is made, and I feel so free in my mind and so quiet in my heart! I had an excellent confessor, Father Bodue; he is all the fashion, as he is French, but even in spite of fashion I would always choose him for my director. He is a saint, and he is so wise! We had many and long conversations with him. He knew so well how to speak to my heart and make it humble and full of contrition, he was so convincing when speaking of the voidness of the things of the world and the dangers of it, that really there were moments when I wanted to leave everything and become a sister of charity in his hospital. I was just pacing my little cell thinking earnestly about it, when my maid entered and whispered that she saw one of the duke's hunters passing near the convent. My devout thoughts were thus scattered and I could not grasp them again.
Still, Father Bodue told me also that one can be saved as well in the world when living virtuously, and that such a life is still more meritorious, as it is more difficult. Why, then, should I shrink from it?
I really regret that this week is over, although we lived in perfect seclusion. To-day we shall see everybody, as we are going to the Castle for the ceremonies of Holy Thursday.
Easter is over. I cannot say that those days were unpleasant, but the quietude of thought and heart of one week ago, they are mine no more. Moreover, my conscience has more than one thing to reproach me for, so soon after my most earnest resolves!
For instance, that as early as Holy Thursday I was guilty of a dreadful piece of vanity! Was such a thing ever heard of?
It occurred thus: when I was to put on my mourning-dress, as is the custom in holy week, the princess entered my room followed by two maids carrying a magnificent gown of white satin with a long transparent veil, a wreath of white roses for my hair, and a bouquet for my corsage. I was amazed, but the princess explained that on Holy Thursday after Mass, said in the chapel of the Castle, the king and all the assemblage go to a large room where twelve poor men are sitting at table, and the king, in imitation of Christ's humility, washes their feet and serves them at dinner. During this ceremony, one of the society young ladies is to make a collection for the poor. The king himself appoints the young lady; this time he named me, and promised to give the collected money to Father Bodue for his hospital, which is being built. I felt overcome with joy hearing this, but it was not because of the poor or Father Bodue; it was simply vanity. I saw myself, not in a heavy black and unbecoming dress, but clad in white, I alone among all the other women,—and thus the handsomest of all! It was wicked, but my conscience feels better now for having confessed it here.
The collection was extremely successful; I had over five thousand ducats. The Prince Charles Radzivill alone, saying "My love! [13] one has to give something to such a fair lady," tossed down five hundred gold pieces, so that the tray bent.
At first I felt rather timid, my knees were shaking at each low courtesy which I had to make before every person, but by and by I grew bolder, and on that day the lessons of my dancing-master proved to be really useful. The marshal of the court accompanied me telling the names of the persons we were approaching, and when the tray grew too heavy he emptied it into a bag carried by the king's page.
My ears were filled with compliments. The duke told me that it was fortunate that I begged for money, not for hearts, as every man would have to give me his. "I would never ask for such a thing," I answered; "for who would value a heart begged for?" He seemed pleased with my answer,—I wonder how he could imagine that I should think otherwise. A woman to beg for a heart—even of the king himself,—why! it would be a shameful, base thing. To accept it, when it is offered to her, earnestly and honorably, that is another thing.
But again my thoughts are wandering. To return to my narrative; the ceremony of the washing of the feet was very touching. I have still before my eyes the king as he was bending over the feet of the poor old men, and as he stood behind their stools at dinner. Moreover, our Augustus III., although no longer young, is very handsome and stately, and everything he does is done in a proper manner. The Duke Charles is quite the likeness of his father.
On Good Friday, we went, dressed in deep mourning, to visit the Holy Sepulchre. We were in seven churches, saying in each of them five Paters and five Aves in honor of the five wounds of Christ; in the cathedral I knelt one hour before the holy Sacrament.
On Saturday evening there was a grand "Resurrection Service" in the cathedral; the music by the court orchestra was admirable.
The Easter table in our house was sumptuous, and until yesterday the tables remained covered with all kinds of meat and pastry. [14] Who would have thought one year ago, when, on the third day after my arrival at the boarding-school, I was sitting at the poor Easter table feeling very melancholy—who would have guessed then that one year later I would eat an Easter egg with the Duke of Courland?
He seemed to have grown thin; it is perhaps because of the long fast. We also have not had any meat for forty days, and neither butter nor milk during the holy week; everything was cooked with oil, and on Friday we fasted the whole day. I did not mind it at all, but for a man it must be different. Yesterday I was looking anxiously at him: I thought he would not notice it, as he was talking with the Prince Woivode, but he thanked me afterwards for my solicitude. I felt quite ashamed; how careful a young girl ought to be, not only of her words, but even of her eyes!
We leave Warsaw to-morrow. The Prince Woivode and his wife are going to their estate "Opole," and they take me with them. My honored Father wrote a letter to the princess saying that she may keep me as long as she is not tired of me. I hope that will never be; I endeavor to please her as well as I can, and I feel the greatest awe of her. If I ever live to be old I wish to have her dignity of demeanor; even the duke is afraid of her.
I am glad that I am not yet going to Maleszow. I have it in my head that I ought not to return there just as I was, and if I arrived now there would be no change. No change? Oh! yes, there is a great change, but not the one I mean. Yet, things cannot stay long as they are now, something must take place. Will it be yes, or no? I shall not be surprised if it is yes, and in the other case—well, I will not bend my head, even if my heart break. It sounds like riddles, but if when I think of him I am afraid that some one may guess my thoughts, how could I write more plainly? As it is I have already said too much; it is better to stop and put my book under lock and key.
We have been here for nearly a week; the place is pretty, but I do not feel very cheerful, and nothing seems to go right. The trees ought to become green, but they are as black as in mid-winter; it ought to grow warm, and it is still cold. I wanted to begin some embroidery, but I have not the necessary silks; I wished to play, but the harpsichord is most dreadfully out of tune, and they have to send to town for the organist. There is a large library, but the princess has the key of it, and I am afraid to ask her for it. The prince has bought some new French books, the works of Voltaire, the most celebrated author in France; he paid, before my eyes, six golden ducats for a few volumes, and not very large ones; but the princess does not allow me to read them. What is still worse, there arrived, just fresh from Paris, a novel which is all the rage, the "Nouvelle Héloïse," written by a certain M. Rousseau. I took the book eagerly in my hand, but the author says in the introduction, "No mother will allow her daughter to read this book," and the princess most sternly forbade it to me.
I had still another disappointment yesterday; the physicians in Warsaw ordered the princess to ride horseback for her health; she laughed at them, saying that she would never do it, but the Prince Woivode believed their advice good, and he bought a beautiful mare, quite gentle, which was brought here. The princess very reluctantly consented to ride a little in the garden, but I, who am not afraid of horses, was just dying to learn how to ride, and I said so yesterday. I got a terrible scolding; the princess said that such an exercise would be quite indecent for a young lady, and I had to give up all my plans,—such beautiful plans, of riding and hunting with—well, with some one.
There are many people coming here to pay their respects to the prince, who is the Woivode of this province, but they are not very interesting. The one person whom I like to see is the Prince Martin Lubomirski, the first cousin of the Woivode, but much younger, and whom I have already met in Warsaw. He owns the earldom of Janow, which is not far from here, and he has invited us very eagerly to pay him a visit; I hope we shall go. The princess always finds something to censure in him, but I like him very much; he talks most agreeably, and is a great friend of the Duke of Courland.