CARNIVAL SEASON
JANUARY has passed, and February is ushered in with the Feast of the
Candles, or Candlemas Day, which takes place upon the second day of the
month. This is one of the most devout religious celebrations in the
land, for the peasants believe, were they to forget this ceremony even
once, that their villages would be devastated by the wolves which prowl
about over the plains in search of food when the ground is covered thick
with snow, and it is difficult for them to find sustenance. Long years
before, the villages were not as frequent, nor as well protected as they
now are; therefore, it did happen that the wild beasts would descend in
droves upon the homes of these poor people, who were powerless to drive
them away. Sometimes, these voracious animals would even carry off the
peasants' children before their very eyes. Consequently, as the peasants
were unable to cope with the enemy, they must seek assistance somewhere,
and where more naturally than of their patron saint? This chanced to be
the good St. Michael; but even he was at times without sufficient power
to repel the advances of these beasts. Therefore, with one accord, the
villagers banded together and made a vow to offer up their prayers to
the Virgin Mother. They pleaded with her, on bended knees, in the
village church, to ward off this dread enemy and to send them
protection. Whether the prayer was effective or not is a question. But
the story goes that the Holy Mother seized a lighted candle in her hand,
and holding it in such a manner as to send the bright flame in the faces
of the animals that preyed at the very borders of the village, so
frightened them that they turned tail and fled, leaving the peasants
in peace and security, for wild beasts do not take kindly to fire. It
was because they were so miraculously saved from this dreadful menace
that the people thenceforth celebrated the day each year, which is known
as the Gromnice. And to-day, when they hear the familiar voices of their
tormentor in the far distance of the woods, they mutter in their
half-waking sleep, "In Thy care, O Mary," and they leave the rest of the
responsibility to their intercessor.
[Illustration: "THE PROCESSION FORMED, THE MARCH BEGINS TO THE CHURCH"]
Early in the morning of the second of February, the peasants begin to
congregate in the village square, which is the usual meeting place on
all occasions of public demonstration. Each one, whether he be an old,
bowed man or a tiny tot just able to stand, holds in his hand a candle,
whose light falls upon his face all lit up with religious fervor. The
procession formed, the march begins to the church, the oldest leading.
It is not the custom of European churches to provide pews for the
worshippers; consequently, unless one is able to afford the luxury of a
low-seated chair upon which to kneel, for the chairs are never used to
sit upon, he must content himself with kneeling upon the hard, cold
stone floor. It is truly an imposing sight to see the tall aisle of the
church lighted by the flicker of hundreds of candles, the peasants, in
their vari-colored garments, kneeling devoutly upon the floor, heads
bowed. It is very real to them, this service for their deliverance from
the fangs of the wolf; and so strong is their faith that they even place
the blessed candles, after the ceremony is finished, safely away in some
treasured chest or upon their own private altar, that they may serve
them in time of sickness, trouble or any calamity.
But woe betide the one whose candle blows out! Evil is certain to follow
in his footsteps; from that moment, he believes himself a doomed man.
Should it prove to be the candle of a young girl, perhaps one upon the
verge of her wedding day, it would instantly throw her into hysterics,
for she would know to a certainty that she will never get a husband. And
what a disgrace she would be in the eyes of the whole village! A girl
without a husband, an "old maid," as commonly known in our parlance,
would be an unpardonable offence to the relatives, who would look
askance at her, so strongly is the idea of marriage imparted to them. It
is quite as much of a disgrace for a woman to remain unmarried, among
the Polish peasantry, as it is for a man to have no home of his own.
When a Polish peasant dies, he usually leaves behind him a small bit of
ground, upon which stands his cottage with its tiny garden-space. This
is partitioned equally among the man's children, be they many or few.
But all men are not fortunate. It sometimes happens that illness will
rob a man of his little he has saved during his years of toil, or
careless habits, perhaps, will dwindle his patrimony to almost nothing,
so that when at last he leaves this world, he has nothing which may be
divided among his children. But the peasants do not take these matters
into consideration at all. They have one code and they can see no other
way of looking at things. If a child has been willed no patrimony, then
he must get one of his own, for he is looked down upon as thoroughly
worthless who is compelled to find lodgings in the home of a stranger.
These men are known as kormorniki, from the word komora, meaning room.
In Poland a kormorniki has about the same reputation among his
companions as a tramp has among respectable people in America.
After Candlemas Day comes the Carnival week, which is the week, as you
all know, preceding Lent. As a final respite before the forty days of
fasting and prayer which will follow so soon, the people allow
themselves all sorts of liberties and gayeties. Balls are given, "hunts"
are on, and joy reigns supreme, not only in the city, but in the remote
country places.
Again the manor-house is alive with brilliant lights and many faces. The
owners of adjoining estates, with their wives and grown-up sons and
daughters, friends of the family, from quite remote parts even, are
gathered together for one week of holidays. It is a pleasure to see such
wit and beauty gathered together under one roof; for Polish women are
almost all handsome, with their soft eyes, their beautiful complexions
and their glossy, dark hair. Their manners are a marvel, and their
bearing graceful and easy. They are capital company and well informed on
all the topics of the day, so that conversation never lags, nor are they
obliged to fall back upon the inevitable "cards" for amusement. With
them the art of conversation has not died out, nor the art of
entertaining.
The snow lay thick upon the ground; the branches of the tall fir trees
were clothed in a heavy coating of whiteness. The sky overhead was a
dull, leaden color; but the guests at the manor-house were pleased with
the wintry conditions, for it but aided them in the "hunt" that was "on"
that morning.
Breakfast finished, a hearty affair of meat, cheese and beverages of
various sorts, the sleighs drew up to the portico with boisterous
jangling of sleigh-bells and champing of horses' bits; the thoroughbred
animals pawing in impatience to be off in the crisp, frosty air. Gay
with red tassels, which swept the front dash of the heavy sleighs, and
joyful with the chime of the tiny bells, the party drove off to the
neighboring woods, where lay, in unconscious innocence of their fate,
the fleet deer. The chill of the winter's morning did not affect the
spirits of the party in any degree, for they were all snugly wrapped in
thick fur robes, and large fur caps completely swathed their heads, so
that nothing visible remained of them but their vivacious eyes and their
ruddy noses.
Along the broad road the sleighs sped, in single file, past the peasant
village around the bend of the hill, and off toward the forest
stretching miles ahead of them, the tall tops of the trees nodding a
"good morning" to them as they approached. Among the firs and oaks the
sleighs were soon lost to sight, winding in and out among the dark trees
until the wagon-road came abruptly to an end and only a path stretched
in front. It was but the work of a few moments to clear a considerable
circle, and light the huge bonfire around which every one gathered,
stretching out their half-benumbed hands. Such a chattering and rumpus!
Instead of grown-ups, you might have imagined them to be a bunch of
school-children just out for recess. But Polish aristocracy understand
how to enjoy themselves under all conditions.
Not long did they tarry about the camp-fire. It was not for this they
had taken the long, chilly drive. Gathering together their equipment,
and shouldering their guns, off they tramped through the heavy
underbrush; only a few of the more delicate ladies remained by the
warmth of the cheery flame.
Slowly, slowly they made their way cautiously, until they came within
sight of the tiny tracks, for the freshly fallen snow was a sorry
telltale for the "game."
Shivering, but happy under their load of game, the party returned a
couple of hours later, to find everything prepared for the ensuing meal.
The great iron pot hung steaming over the glowing coals, the aroma of
something therein greeting their nostrils with delight. For all were
famished and in good mood to enjoy a camp dinner. It seemed but a matter
of a few minutes before the cook and his assistants had the game ready
for the steaming sauce which awaited it in the iron pot; and while the
company regaled themselves with jokes and talk of the day's sport, the
sauce bubbled and boiled, but tantalizing the group about the fire.
However, all things come to those who wait, and it really was not such a
great wait before they were all "falling-to" with keen appetites. The
cuisine was excellent, and the gamey meat had a relish all its own.
But now the party must hasten home. Too long have they lingered among
the pine trees, and much longer yet could they tarry, were there not
other arrangements for the evening. But dinner was awaiting them at the
dwór; and at nine o'clock, as the dining-hall filled with the gay
company, in evening dress, you scarce would have recognized them as the
same persons who had gathered about the camp-fire among the pine trees
but a few hours previously.
There is always time for everything in Poland, for the rich. The dinner
lengthened itself out until well toward eleven o'clock. Then came the
"grand ball," for this is Ash Wednesday, the last day of gayety before
the Lenten season begins.
What a delight it is to watch the Polish men and women dance! It comes
naturally to them, and I really believe they would much prefer dancing
to any other occupation. While the manor-folks confine themselves to the
more conventional forms of the dance, down in the village the peasants
dance to the wild mazurkas and sing weird folk-songs. But in hut or
mansion, there is gayety abroad this last night of freedom; a short
hour, and then, Lent, fasting, prayer for forty days, observed in most
rigorous manner.
Forty days, nearly six weeks, pass after all, and before the Lenten days
are two-thirds over, preparations are already begun for the Easter day.
Those indeed are busy times in the culinary quarters at the dwór. Such
heaps and heaps of food as are prepared in the great kitchens! Such
stacks and stacks of bread as are baked in the huge ovens, so different
from our own cook-stoves. Gas stoves are unknown in Poland; all the
ovens are brick affairs, such as are used by bakers, in to which great
logs of heavy wood are placed. And, when the bricks have been heated to
the degree necessary for the food which is to be cooked, the fire is
withdrawn by long rakes of iron and this heat is retained for a long
enough time to bake.
The Saturday before Easter the table is set in the long dining-room.
This table presents quite a different appearance from that of the
Christmas table. Now there is every sort of decoration one could wish
for. Hot-house flowers everywhere; colored Easter eggs, just as we
have, fruit, and sugar lambs. We American folks can scarce conceive of
such lavishness in articles of food. Not only is there a young pig
served whole upon a gayly decorated platter, but there are, at intervals
the length of the great table, immense roasts of all kinds; hams with
accompanying sauces, beef, mutton, and not even the "sweets" are
forgotten.
All being in readiness, the village priest enters and places his
blessing upon the food which graces the groaning board. This is really
quite a serious custom, this blessing of the food, the houses and
everything that pertains to existence. The peasants are most
superstitious in this, and would no more dare to enter a new home or
even a theatre which had not received this blessing at the hands of the
priest or bishop, than they would purposely run into danger.
Easter day itself is quiet. There is the heavy dinner in the early part
of the day, when Easter wishes are bestowed upon one and all, even the
giving of Easter eggs, as we do, not being omitted.
And now dawns Easter Monday. The religious ceremonies are finished; the
Sabbath has passed, and on Monday may begin the merry-making once more.
The Polacks are very fond of life and merriment. They take advantage of
every occasion upon which to indulge in relaxation from work, and
always, in a quiet way, they get the most out of living that is
possible. Just as we celebrate Hallowe'en with pranks and games, so the
Polacks celebrate the Smigus on Easter Monday. Among the peasantry, the
jokes are a trifle rougher than in upper circles, but they are always
good-natured, and never do they allow themselves to overstep, even in
the slightest degree. The Smigus is, indeed, a merry romp.
Watch this jaunty little chap as he whistles gayly on his way to the
home of his adored one. Much courage does it take to venture forth such
a night as this. But when one goes to visit _her_, he cares not; he is
only too proud to display his courage, for will not _she_ love him the
better for it? Swish! The whistling is stopped. A series of muffled
sounds, and the young man regains his equilibrium once again. He
journeys on, but not quite so merrily. His teeth chatter just a little
in his head, and he walks a trifle quicker. For the water was cold, and
it is not very comfortable to be drenched unawares. Nevertheless, he
feels himself more or less of a martyr for _her_ sake, and he carries
his head high with self-satisfied pride.
And hark! There is tittering somewhere. Now we can trace it to the
village well. Let us go and enjoy the sport. My, but what a screaming!
It fairly makes one's ears tingle. We hasten our steps, for we know
there are girls mixed up in _this_ affair; their shrill, nervous voices
proclaim it upon the still, clear air of the night. As Helena and her
two young friends from across the road were making their way to the
public well, they, too, were drenched in exactly the same manner as the
young man had been but a moment before. But, then, Helena and her
friends should have known better than to venture out upon Easter Monday
evening. Who can say but that they rather enjoyed the experience?
However, they had their reward, for the young gallants, good-hearted men
if somewhat rough, filled the pitchers for the maidens and carried them
to the doors of their homes upon their own stout shoulders. And they all
laughed heartily at the joke. Perhaps, who knows, but that they might
meet their future husbands here?
While the peasants amuse themselves in these harmless, jolly pranks, the
occupants of the dwór enjoy similar ones, but somewhat differently.
There, the young men are more courtly. Catching their prey unawares,
they shower her with delicate cologne-water, or twine gayly colored
ribbons about her neck, making her their captive. And thus, in hut and
manor-house, passes Easter Monday.
But you must not believe that the sports are all confined to the
country-side. Indeed not. The city folks have their own form of
entertainment, and in the City of Cracow there is observed a most
peculiar custom known as Renkawka or the Sleeve.
In very olden times, I believe about the year 560 A. D., there lived in
the south, among the Carpathian Mountains, a very unimportant chief
named Krakus. He was a good man, a most unusual thing in that age;
therefore everybody loved him, and that was a great honor, because the
times were warlike and people cared more for a chief who showed himself
brave but fierce than they did about one who was gentle and kind. It so
happened that Krakus made a journey to the north. He came to a fine
hill, about whose foot ran a broad, clear river called the Vistula. As
he was looking for a site upon which to build himself a fortress, he
decided this was just the very place for his. But he found it one thing
to wish and quite another thing to obtain. The hill was guarded by a
fierce dragon who kept watch, day and night, that no one might take it
away. However, Krakus was a brave man, and he longed so intensely for
the hill, especially now that he knew he ought not to have it, that he
decided to fight the dreadful dragon. Therefore, he took his trusty
sword and shield, mounted the hill, fought the monster and conquered it.
Had he not done so, there would have been no story. He then set to work
to build his castle upon the very top of that impregnable hill, with the
beautiful river running around its base. He called the fortress-castle
the Wawel, because that was the name of the hill upon which it stood.
This castle of Krakus still is standing, but it is in a sad state of
ruin. However, the Russian government, to whom it now belongs, is
putting it in repair, so that it may present the same appearance of
grandeur and splendor that it did in the days of good King Krakus.
You all know what a castle is; but perhaps there are few of you who
understand what it means when applied to an ancient stronghold. The
Wawel castle really included quite a small village inside its massive
walls, for here the chief or king, with his retainers and his army, were
wont to lock themselves safely in at close of day, that the enemy, who
was always lurking in wait in those times, could do them no harm. It is
here, to this Wawel, that Mrs. Ostrowska had promised to take the
children in the June time, upon St. John's Eve, to witness the ceremony
of the Wianki.
Now, when King Krakus died, his people mourned him exceedingly. They
erected a huge mound outside the city on the further side of the river
in his honor. The peasants wore a sort of tunic, at that time, with very
wide sleeves, much like the sleeves worn by Japanese women. It was in
these convenient sleeves they carried the earth with which to erect the
mound, hence the ceremony takes its name Renkawka or Sleeve.
It is a peculiarity of the Polish peasant that, once a custom is
established, it is never abandoned, even though the necessity has long
since passed away. I doubt very much if any of those who participate in
the Renkawka could tell you why the custom is observed; nevertheless
each Easter Monday they gather about the mound, dressed in these
old-fashioned garments with wide sleeves. They no longer carry earth
with them, as in the old days, however; they bring nothing, but they
return with full sleeves, for it has developed into a custom for the
rich to send the food which has been left from the Easter feast, that it
might be distributed among the needy.