THE ARRIVAL AT THE DWÓR
IT was snowing fast. The flakes fell in great, thick showers about the
occupants of the heavy sleigh, who were fairly covered in a blanket of
white, crisp snow. The driver lashed his sturdy, thoroughbred beasts
with his long-handled whip, for they were in danger of becoming
hopelessly sunk in the heavy drifts which filled the road, and there
were yet some miles to go. The sleigh-bells jingled merrily,
nevertheless. What cared they whether they were snow-bound or not, so
long as they could make their music ring out over the clear, frosty air?
It was their purpose in life to chime, and they were doing their best.
The harder the horses tugged and the more they floundered about in the
great drifts, the more merrily the bells rang out. Some one must keep
good-natured, and so they took that task upon themselves. Happy bells!
The horses panted and halted a moment for the much-needed rest. The
driver slapped his great arms across his chest to keep the circulation
moving; but the occupants in the rear of the sleigh made no motion
whatever. For all one could see of them, the sleigh might have been
empty except as to fur robes, for not even the tip of a nose was
visible. As the driver called out to his team, "Gee up," one corner of
the fur robe in the rear seat moved, and a little voice piped up:
"Mother, are we almost there?"
"Just a little while yet, my dear," the mother replied, as she raised
her head from the protecting warmth of the robe and looked about her. "I
can see the tall trees of the drive now, just ahead of us. Peep your
head out, Jan, and see if you can catch sight of grandfather's dwór,"
said Mrs. Teczynska, as she rearranged the robes so that Jan could sit
upright.
Before them, some mile away, lay an immense park enclosed within a high
stone fence. The sleigh made headway easier now, for the road about the
entrance to the dwór was in better condition than the ordinary public
road. Soon they passed the stone brama or gateway, sped down the
splendid broad driveway lined on both sides with overhanging trees,
mounted the rise at the top, and with a whoop and a hurrah, the driver
pulled rein at the porch of the dwór or country-home of Mr. Ostrowski,
the father of Mrs. Teczynska.
The tinkle of the sleigh bells had announced the arrival of the guests
long before they had reached the porch; and the entire family, big and
little, with innumerable servants, were awaiting within the
reception-hall to greet the newcomers.
The villa was just the hospitable-looking home in which to meet at the
Christmas season. One knew, from its very appearance, that it sheltered
a warm welcome. It was built of stone, was two stories high and had a
red-tiled roof; red chimneys dotted it all over; you never did see so
many chimneys all on one house before. There was an immense veranda
running along the entire front of the house, supported by heavy columns,
giving it a most substantial air, the air of a home and not merely an
expensive residence.
Mr. Ostrowski assisted his daughter and the little grandson Jan to
disentangle themselves from the heavy fur robes, and they were hurried
into the warm reception-room, where a bright fire was burning on an open
hearth. As Mrs. Teczynska passed through the massive front door, which
was opened for her by an elderly, not to say old, man-servant, she
greeted him kindly.
"And how does Henryk find himself?"
[Illustration: "HENRYK LEANED DOWN AND KISSED THE HAND OF THE LITTLE
FELLOW"]
The old man, toothless and very infirm, bowed respectfully.
"Thank you, Mlle. Martha, I keep very well; but it does my old eyes good
to see you once more. How you have grown!"
"This is the little Jan, Henryk," Mrs. Teczynska said, as she drew her
little son toward the old man. Henryk leaned down and kissed the hand of
the little fellow, and tears dimmed his eyes. He had been an old and
trusted servant of the family for many, many years, long before Mrs.
Teczynska had been born, and was now relegated to the position of
doorkeeper, being much too infirm for other duties. Although it is not
necessary to have a man sitting in attendance at the front door, yet it
is the Polish custom in the upper circles, so as to give employment to
as many peasants as possible, and for this service, they receive but a
pittance, yet it suffices. It makes the aged feel independent, and
that they are not a burden in the already overburdened family.
What a happy reunion! Such hugging and bustle! All the children of the
Ostrowski family were once more gathered together under the home-roof
for the Christmas season, which was now at the beginning.
Mr. Ostrowski, the father, was a tall man of spare build; he had the
kind, blue eye of the Slav and his heavy head of brown hair was tinged
slightly with white. He wore a long coat, quite resembling a
dressing-gown, edged with fur about the bottom and along the front, and
tied about his waist with a long sash of crimson silk. This was the
house costume of Mr. Ostrowski, who leaned toward the former luxurious
style of dress in Poland.
His wife was a handsome woman, even in her elderly years; her complexion
was as fresh and rosy as a young matron's, and her eye as soft a blue as
in her younger days. The Polish women of culture do not age; they live
a life of luxury and ease, and Time is gentle with them. But for all
their seeming idleness they devote many hours of each day among their
poor, and Mrs. Ostrowska was no exception to this rule.
Besides the father and mother, there was the younger brother, Peter, a
tall, manly-looking fellow of about sixteen years, and Marya, the young
sister, who had just passed her fourteenth birthday. Then there was the
married sister, Mrs. Lechowicz, her husband and two sons, Francis and
Frederic, and the oldest brother, Jan Ostrowski, with his wife and two
children, Ignace and Marcella. You may well believe there was much to
tell each other, and a great deal of commotion, for the married children
lived in dwórs of their own or in the city, and were separated, not only
by distance, but by family cares and business interests, so that it was
not more often than at the Christmas season they were able to meet.
Jan Teczynski was overwhelmed with so many cousins and aunts and uncles;
he was but five years old, and had not made their acquaintance before.
He gazed about him in wonderment at all he saw; he could not withdraw
his big, blue eyes from the immense boar's head which decorated the
chimney-piece, and he asked all sorts of questions concerning it. It
amused the older children immensely to hear him ask who had killed it.
When told his grandfather had done so, he was very proud to think that
_his_ grandfather had been so brave; then he wanted to know if the boar
had hurt grandfather with his sharp, curved tusks; but Mr. Ostrowski
laughingly told him he had not been harmed, whereupon Jan seemed much
relieved. But when he inquired if grandfather was sure the boar had been
quite dead before he had cut off its head, the other children burst
into roars of merriment. Jan didn't think it a matter to laugh over at
all, but from that day he regarded his grandfather as one of the bravest
men in the whole world.
The young folks now made off for sports of their own, while Mrs.
Teczynska, much fatigued after her long and tiresome journey, went at
once to her room to rest before luncheon should be served.
The maid-servant carried up the valises and bags of Mrs. Teczynska and
set them down in the room that she had occupied from childhood. Fresh,
hot water being brought by yet another maid, and cool drinking water
placed upon the night-stand by the side of the great bed, the servants
retired and left Mrs. Teczynska alone in her old, familiar room.
It was a very large room, as are all the rooms in Polish homes. The
floor was beautifully inlaid in a fancy design with hardwoods of two
colors, and polished so highly one had to walk carefully so as not to
fall. Against one wall stood a magnificent stove of white glazed tile,
with a door of shining brass, most exquisitely designed, and which could
be closed so tightly that not one bit of dust or ash could penetrate
through into the room. The peculiarity of this stove was, that only half
of it was in the room; the other half extended into the adjoining room,
so that, in this manner, one stove did duty for two rooms, thus saving
expense, space and chimneys. It reached, too, quite to the ceiling; but,
as the ceiling was low, it was not as tall as many other European
stoves.
And the bed! It looked quite like any other wooden bed, but what a
covering! There were no sheets or blankets such as we have. Instead,
there was a blue silk comforter of down, so light you would have thought
there was nothing in it, daintily tied here and there with little
strands of silk. This silk comforter was put over a white linen sheet,
much larger every way than the comforter; the edges were then folded
over the silk and buttoned to it, the button-holes being worked in the
border of the sheet and the buttons placed upon the comforter. At the
top, which we usually turn over the blanket, the sheet was shaped like a
triangle. In the middle of the point was worked the monogram of the
hostess, while the remainder of the space was filled with the most
elaborate and exquisite embroidery imaginable, done by the young peasant
girls upon the estate. This was not a "company" sheet; no, indeed, not
at all; the same kind was used every day in the week and in the year.
The pillows, too, were covered with blue silk, and over this was
buttoned, just to fit, a handsome pillow-case all inset with lace
insertion so that the color of the silk beneath might show through. What
a luxurious bed in which to sleep! It certainly was inviting.
In one corner of the room stood a small altar to the Holy Virgin, upon
which stood freshly gathered flowers from the greenhouses of the estate,
and wax candles were burning. As the majority of the Polacks are Roman
Catholics, these altars are found in almost every home, each bedroom
having its own altar for its occupant's special devotion.
Four large windows, opening inwards like double doors, looked over the
covered veranda without, toward the fields stretching as far as the eye
could see, covered now with their blanket of snow, while further yet lay
great forests, the tops of whose trees were barely discernible in the
dim distance.
Just below the windows lay a most magnificent garden, with fountains and
bordered walks; but they, too, like everything else, lay under their
blanket of winter's white. The ponds beyond, which supplied the estate
with fresh fish, were frozen solid, and here the children had gone for
an hour's skating in the crisp air, while their childish voices carried
up to where Mrs. Teczynska lay resting upon her couch.