THE ORPHANAGE IN THE WOODS
AS the spring season advanced, the two children at the dwór grew more
and more excited. They were awaiting, with great impatience, the arrival
of St. John's Eve, the 24th of June.
Marya was seated upon the stiff-looking sofa in the reception salon,
while her brother Peter was looking through a book of photographs,
depicting the celebration of the Wianki.
"Do you suppose mother will allow us to cast a wreath into the Vistula?"
asked Peter, without looking up from his book, so intensely wrapped up
was he in the illustrations.
"Certainly," Marya replied. "If we go to the celebration at all, we will
be allowed to do as the others do. I shall ask her," Marya continued,
"for it wouldn't be a bit of fun to go all the way to Cracow just to
watch the others; I want some of the fun for myself."
"You don't imagine you will be allowed to go in search of the wonderful
fern, do you, Marya?" the boy questioned.
"Why not? Of course I know I may not go alone, but I shall have
Mademoiselle with me. It would be quite proper then, and Mademoiselle
would enjoy it herself, I am sure. She has never seen the celebration,
Peter, and she's just as crazy over it as we are. If sister Martha comes
we will be allowed to go," the girl continued, "for she knows what it is
to be shut off from every pleasure that even the commonest people have."
"Marya," warned Peter, in a low tone.
At the warning, the girl looked up. She saw her mother upon the
threshold. She arose instantly from her seat upon the sofa and advanced
toward her mother, saluting her with a kiss upon the cheek. Her brother
did likewise, and together they gently led her toward the sofa and
seated her, drawing up two chairs for themselves, so as to face her. But
Marya did not seat herself by the side of her mother. It is a curious
custom throughout Europe that the sofa is the seat of honor, to be
occupied by the person highest in rank, and, while one may occupy a sofa
when alone in the room, it is considered the height of impoliteness to
seat one's self upon that sacred article of furniture when one of
superior rank, or an elder, is in the room; therefore it was for this
reason that the children placed their mother upon the sofa while they
occupied chairs by her side.
"Now, children, listen," Mrs. Ostrowska said, as she gathered her two
children to her. "You need not be a bit afraid that you will not enjoy
yourselves in Cracow. I have promised to take you to the celebration of
the Wianki, and you have looked forward to it for a long time with
great expectation. You shall not be disappointed. We will forget
everything for that night, and you may enter into all the sports of the
people, if you choose. Even Marya, dear, if she wishes, may penetrate
into the depths of the forest and search for the sacred fern which may
blossom for her alone this year. Perhaps you may be the fortunate one to
find it, Marya. What do you think?"
"I hope I shall," the girl replied. "But suppose Mademoiselle should
become frightened and want to return?"
"In that event," the mother said, smiling, "so long as you have the
courage, you may continue alone," for she felt quite safe in granting
this privilege, as she did not truly believe her little daughter would
be brave enough to continue alone.
"When shall we start?" Marya asked, in great excitement.
"It is now the twentieth of June," Mrs. Ostrowska replied. "Your father
has some business to attend to in Cracow, so we shall leave here on the
twenty-second, which will give us ample time to look about the city and
have a good visit with your sister Martha, for you know she promised to
meet us there."
"So did sister Gabriele," added Peter.
"Yes," the mother replied, "we shall all be together, I hope."
"And may I go now and tell Mademoiselle?" Marya inquired, eagerly, as
she rose.
"Run along," the mother answered. "And what was my boy reading as I came
in?" she continued, turning to her son, who had not had a chance to say
much while the irrepressible sister was in the room.
"Oh, I was looking at some old books I found in the library, about the
celebration of the Wianki. I wanted to know all about it; there are
some wonderful pictures of it too."
"It is a curious custom, no doubt," the mother replied, as she walked to
the table, where the book still remained open. And, for some time, the
two looked over the great volume of illustrations, remarking every
little while about this one or that.
"You remember the story of the Princess Wanda, and how she threw herself
into the Vistula in order to save her country from wars?" the mother
asked.
"Very well, indeed," the boy replied. "She was a brave princess. But is
it really true, mother?" the boy inquired.
"There _was_ a Princess Wanda at one time, but as to the rest of the
story, that is what people say about her."
At this moment Marya re-entered the room, leading her governess by the
hand.
"Mother," the child said, as she advanced toward the table where the
mother and son were engrossed in their book, "Mademoiselle is as
delighted as I am, with the prospect of seeing the celebration, aren't
you, Mademoiselle?"
"Indeed I am," the young lady replied. "I have read much about it, in
France, but have never witnessed one of the festivals; besides, it
happens to be my birthday, so it will be an added pleasure."
"I have arranged for the children of the Orphanage to come out to us
just after our return," Mrs. Ostrowska said, addressing the tall,
bright-eyed young lady who served in capacity of governess to her
daughter; "I wish you would take Marya down to the Bosquet and help
prepare the cottage for their reception. The maids are there now, airing
the place out, and I will drive over later in the afternoon, when I
shall have everything together that I want sent down."
"Very well, Madame," Mademoiselle replied. "Marya and I will attend to
it as soon as luncheon is finished. Shall we take the pony cart?"
"Yes, you might," Mrs. Ostrowska said, "and, when you arrive there, see
that the beds are well aired, for the maids are apt to be a little
careless, and we can't afford to have any of the children take cold."
"There's luncheon now," Marya called out, impulsively.
"Run along then, children," the mistress said, "and remember, day after
to-morrow we are off for Cracow."
With hurried steps the two children left the room, followed by
Mademoiselle, while Mrs. Ostrowska busied herself about her domestic
arrangements, for she never entrusted these duties to any one.
After luncheon Marya and Mademoiselle drove off in the pony cart,
through the beautiful gardens, which were blossoming with all sorts of
magnificent flowers, past the great fish-ponds at the rear, and on
through the thick woods. Finally they pulled rein at a most picturesque
maisonette, or cottage, situated in the very heart of the forest. It was
built of logs; a wide veranda ran across the entire front. The house was
large enough to accommodate one hundred girls with their chaperones.
Inside everything was as comfortable as could be. There was a general
sitting-room where the orphaned girls could gather in the evening and
listen to the folk-tales their hostess or her substitutes would tell.
There were great dormitories, with twenty or thirty snowy, white beds
arranged in rows against the walls, with large airy windows between.
There was the dining-room, with its long table spread with good,
substantial food; and how the walls did ring with the laughter and
joyousness of these little orphaned children from the city, who were
invited each year to spend two weeks or more as the guests of the
benevolent proprietor's wife, Mrs. Ostrowska. And all over the country
of Poland this is the custom for the wives of the landed proprietors to
do. They give of their wealth for the betterment of the poor and to ease
their burden a little.
Each morning a group of girls, selected by the mistress in charge, tramp
off through the woods, baskets on arms, to receive from the kitchen of
the dwór the supplies for the following day; and you may be sure this is
no small matter, to fill fifty or one hundred hungry mouths. In the
afternoons, after the day's work is finished, for these girls do all
their own housekeeping in the maisonette, they gather berries or
wood-flowers, which they present to their kind hostess, a delicate
thoughtfulness which she fully appreciates, for these poor little
orphaned ones have no other way in which to express their gratitude for
the pleasures they accept.
Everything being in readiness, Marya and her governess returned home
through the woods, driving leisurely so as to enjoy the fresh odor of
the firs. It was quite late when they reached the dwór; tea was being
served on the veranda. Here they sought out Mrs. Ostrowska and reported
their progress. Then Marya was whisked off by Mademoiselle to attend to
her practising.
The morning of the twenty-second dawned bright and warm. Immediately
after breakfast, the great carriage pulled up at the porch, and all were
soon installed within. The whips were cracked, and away the horses sped
down the wide avenue of linden trees, through the great stone brama and
out into the country road. They had not gone very far when the animals
were reined in most emphatically, for the highway had become a horrible
mass of mud and ruts. The public roads of Poland are proverbial for
their wretchedness. The carriage swayed from side to side as it lurched
from one deep rut into another; and had it not been for the splendid
springs of the carriage, it would have been much more comfortable to
have walked. You may imagine what it would mean to jolt over these same
roads in a britschka, or public cart, which is so widely in use in
Poland. It is a sort of open carriage, without springs of any kind, with
a hood which can either be raised or lowered, at the will of the
occupant. I fear a ride in such a contrivance would not be very
enjoyable. However, in spite of the ill condition of the road, Cracow
was reached safely late in the afternoon. Upon reaching the hotel where
accommodations had been reserved, they found the two sisters awaiting
them.
Mrs. Ostrowska had found the journey very fatiguing, consequently she
did not care to dress and descend for dinner; dinner, therefore, was
served upstairs in her private sitting-room, and the family spent the
remainder of the evening in discussing their plans for the morrow, and
in visiting.