twelve, all dressed in white, and the eldest of us was not more
than eighteen. The bridegroom with twelve groomsmen met us at
the door of the parlor, and there we found all the guests
assembled. An enormous tray was carried behind us, heaped with
bouquets of rosemary and orange sprays, each tied with a white
ribbon, which were destined for the young ladies and bachelors
present at the wedding. To fasten on these bouquets, each
bridesmaid had a certain number of gold and silver pins, and
great care was to be used in distributing the different values
according to the rank of each person. The elderly ladies have
been teaching us for a long time about the method we should
follow in order not to cause offence by giving the priority to
persons of lesser rank, and we were sure we understood the
lesson perfectly; but as soon as we were in the hall, everything
was forgotten. At first, we began our task very gravely, then we
went on with a smile, and finally we broke into laughter; many
and many mistakes were committed, but all were pardoned, and
our gaiety was so contagious that soon the married people and
even the elderly ladies and venerable gentleman,--none of whom
have any right to wear flowers on a wedding day,--all wanted a
bouquet. The first heap disappeared; they brought a second tray
full, and a third one; we had no more gold or silver pins, and
had to use the ordinary ones, but they were received just as
well. At the end everybody looked happy; all had their bouquets,
and the room was like a garden.
But no, I am mistaken, not everybody was happy,--Matenko stood
sad in a corner; although a bachelor he had received no flowers,
and he looked as if he did not belong to the wedding party. I
stepped up to him, and he said in a low, grieved voice: "I do
not wonder that the other young ladies have not thought of
me,--but Miss Frances, whom I have known as a baby, whom, for so
many years, I have played with and amused, that she should
forget me! Well, I will not come to her wedding, even if she
marries a king's son!" I knew that I blushed half pleased, but
was still more vexed at my forgetfulness.
I ran to the dressing-room, but there was not one bouquet left,
for my honored Mother, hearing how the flowers were being
appropriated in the hall, took the remaining ones for the ladies
who were dressing the bride and for herself. The greenhouses
were too far off to send there, and I wanted, at any price, a
bouquet for poor Matenko. Suddenly a happy thought came to my
mind: I caught a piece of white ribbon and returning hastily to
the parlor, took off my bouquet and gave half of it, with the
golden pin, to Matenko. He was so pleased! "Franulka," he
exclaimed, "you are as kind as you are handsome! I am sometimes
a prophet; remember, young lady, what I have said to you.... I
shall keep these flowers till your wedding day, and who knows
with what title I shall address you when giving them back?" How
strange! Notwithstanding all the distractions of the day, his
words are still ringing in my ears; and here I am writing about
myself, when I ought to think only about Basia.
To return to the wedding: the folding doors were thrown open and
Basia entered timidly, surrounded by the elderly ladies. The
bridegroom approached and took her by the hand, and the two
knelt down before my honored Parents, asking them for their
blessing; then they went with the same request to us, to all the
relatives, guests, and the whole household present, and there
was not one person who did not bless them with his whole heart
and with tears in his eyes.
The chapel door opened. Father Albert put on a lace surplice, and
standing before the altar, called upon us to draw near. The
Secretary Borch as the king's representative, and the Castellanic
Kochanowski, led the bride; Mademoiselle Malachowska and I, as
first bridesmaids, were directed to lead the bridegroom. All the
other people went behind us, two by two, in such deep silence that
one could hear the rustle of the silk dresses, even the tinkling of
the diamond aigrettes in the ladies' coiffures.
The altar was glittering with lights; a carpet woven with golden
threads covered the steps, and on the highest were two red
velvet cushions with the coats of arms of the two families,
embroidered in gold.
The young pair knelt down; the bridesmaids were placed on the
right side of the altar; the groomsmen on the left; I held a
small gold tray with the wedding rings on it, my honored Parents
stood behind Basia, the Woivode behind the Staroste. The castle
band in the choir played "Veni Creator," after which Father
Albert recited an allocution, almost the whole in Latin, and
then he began to read the words of the marriage vow. Basia,
although in tears, repeated distinctly enough: "I, Barbara, take
you, Michael, for my wedded husband," etc., but the Staroste
pronounced the words much louder. After the rings were exchanged
the married pair fell down at the feet of my honored Parents
and the Woivode's, and were blessed again.
Then the marshal gave a sign; the band in the choir and the
Italian singers fetched from Warsaw began a triumphal march,
accompanied by the discharge of cannons outside, and when this
was all over, and silence re-established, the Count pronounced a
fine and very moving exhortation, at the end of which Basia fell
again at his feet, sobbing; she tried to speak, but not a word
could she utter.
After mutual embracings, salutations, and congratulations,
Father Albert sprinkled us with holy water, and presented a
cross with relics to be kissed. But he made a mistake, giving it
first to Madame the Castellan Jordan before Madame Kochanowska,
mother of the duke's envoy. Fortunately, my honored Mother
noticed the error, and begged the latter lady to lead the
bridegroom from the altar, and thus happily all unpleasantness
was avoided. The bride was attended by the king's envoy, and
again, two by two, we returned from the chapel. Soon afterwards
the dinner was announced. The tables in the banquet-hall were
arranged so as to form the letter B; in the centre stood the
result of the fortnight's invention and labor of our French
confectioner,--an ell[10]-high pyramid representing the temple of
Hymen, where, amidst all kind of ornaments, allegorical figures,
and inscriptions, were the coats of arms of the two families.
There were also many other devices on the table, in silver
baskets, vases, epergnes, porcelain figures, etc.; it was so
crowded that our little dwarf could not have easily walked on
the table this time. It would not be possible to enumerate all
the courses of the dinner, and as for the wine which was drunk,
I wonder if the butler himself could give an account. Besides
other wines, they drank at that dinner a barrel of wine which
was called "Miss Barbara's wine," which the Count, according to
the Polish custom, brought from Hungary in the year of Basia's
birth, and which had been kept for her wedding day. Each of us
has such a barrel. Then they began the toasts: first for Poland,
then for the young pair, then for the king, the Duke of
Courland, the royal princes, the primate, the master of the
house, the ladies, etc., each accompanied with loud shoutings,
hurrahs, breaking of the glasses, with the music of the band and
the firing of cannons; altogether there was such a tumult that I
think there will not be a greater one on doomsday.
[10] Two feet.
After dessert was served, and we thought it was time to leave the
table, the Count gave a sign to the marshal, who brought in a black
leather box with brass ornaments, which I had never seen before. My
honored Father opened it and took out a golden cup embossed with
precious stones and shaped like a raven; then rising, he announced
with great solemnity that this cup was a souvenir from the time of
the Corvins of Rome, and it had not been taken from its box since
the day of his own wedding. The butler placed before him a bottle
covered with mould, containing, as they said, wine a hundred years
old. The Count poured out the whole into the cup, and lifting it
cried: "Good luck to the young pair!" The hurrahs began anew, the
music was louder than ever, the cannons fired, every man drank that
toast in one draught, and after that we rose from the table.
The daylight was gone already. The lady-guests went to change
their dresses, but the bride and the bridesmaids remained in the
same toilets. About eight o'clock the dances began. The bride
opened the ball with the king's envoy, and during the whole
evening danced in the first set. At first there were grave
polonaises, minuets, and contra-dances, but by and by, the
gaiety increasing, we had the mazourkas and the cracoviaks. The
Castellanic Kochanowski dances the cracoviak like an angel; and
according to the custom, when he was in the first set he sang
impromptu verses, very witty and apropos.
At midnight the music stopped and the "Cap" ceremony began. A
stool was placed in the middle of the room, the bride sat down,
and the bridesmaids began to undo her hair, singing in plaintive
voices the old song: "Ah! we are losing you, Basia." Then my
honored Mother removed the rosemary wreath and the Woivodine
Malachowska put in its place a big lace cap. It seemed Basia was
costumed for fun, and I should have laughed had not her eyes
been overflowed with tears. The cap is very becoming to her,
which they say is a sign that her husband will love her very
much. I am sure he will; he could not help it, she is so good.
When this ceremony was over the bride was ordered to dance the
"drabant" with the king's envoy, in honor of the reigning
family, who introduced that dance in our country; after that,
the music played again a very solemn polonaise, and the bride
danced it with all the gentlemen present, one after another,
beginning with the Woivode Swidinski, and ending with my
honored Father, who, having once paced the ballroom with her,
led her to the Staroste and gave her to him, not only for that
dance, but for her whole lifetime.
This was the end of that night's entertainment for us girls; my
honored Mother ordered us to go to bed, and the elder ladies
took the bride to the apartment reserved for the young couple.
Other married and elderly people followed them, and I was told
there were still more speeches in giving away the bride,
returning of thanks from the bridegroom, new toasts, and all,
that lasted very late into the night.
I slept wonderfully after all the excitement, and my feet are so
rested that I am quite ready for to-night's ball. I danced
mostly with the duke's envoy, the Castellanic Kochanowski, who
returned from Luneville one year ago, and since then has been
with the duke. He speaks very highly of his master; judging from
the confidant, the other must be really a wonder.
I have not seen Basia yet, or rather Madame Starostine, as my honored
Parents order us to call her. It seems so strange not to have her in
our room. I have inherited her bed, her work-table, and all the rights
of the eldest daughter. They will call me now "Mademoiselle Staroste,"
not simply "Mademoiselle Francoise," or "Franulka," as they did until
now. It is a very little compensation, but still....
We shall begin the dances very early to-night, as it is the last
Tuesday before Lent, so we have to stop at midnight.
_Ash Wednesday_, February 27.
Ash Wednesday, what a pity! no more dancing till next Carnival.
Our guests begin to depart: the king's envoy is gone, the young
married couple are going the day after to-morrow, and we shall
accompany them as far as their home, for the house-warming. The
Staroste invited no guests but his relations, as big parties are
not proper in Lent. I am very anxious to see the new home of my
dearest sister; I cannot get accustomed to call her "Madame
Starostine," but it would not be proper to speak to her
otherwise, as even my honored Parents always call her so. She
grew very grave from her wedding day; the cap she is wearing and
the robes with long trains make her look several years older;
she is sad and speaks very little; I am sure she grieves to
leave her home, and to go away with a man whom she knows so
little. It must be awful!
_Saturday_, March 9.
Last night we returned from Sulgostow. I had a lovely time, but
it is a pity not to have Madame Starostine back with us. Last
Friday, before we started, she went very early to our parish
church in Lisow, where she hung the half of a golden heart as a
token that the half of her own heart will remain here. When she
came back home she went around the whole castle, as if wishing
to say good-bye to each corner, then she took her farewell of
all the people in the household, and had a kind word for
everybody.
When we were finishing a hasty breakfast, we heard loud
crackings of the whip, and a chamberlain entered announcing that
everything was ready for the journey. The Staroste looked at his
wife, and whispered that it was time to set out. She fell then,
sobbing, at the feet of my honored Parents, thanking them for
all their favors that she had received during the eighteen years
of her life, asking their pardon for all the offences she might
have committed, and telling them that she wished nothing more
than to be henceforth as happy as she had been. For the first
time in my life I saw the Count crying; oh! how they blessed
her! it did one's heart good to hear it, and there was not a
person in the room whose eyes were dry.
We went to the bridge, but the captain ordered it to be lifted, and
refused to let the bride go away until the Staroste gave him a ring
as a token that he would bring her back again. The carriages of the
Staroste were splendid,--a closed carriage painted yellow, lined with
red damask, with seats for two persons, a landau with four seats, a
coach, and several curricles. The horses were beautiful, especially
six white ones drawing the yellow carriage in which the young couple
were seated by themselves; behind them came the carriages with the
women, and we came last. Madame Staroste sobbed so loud that we
could hear her. Many courtiers and peasants followed the carriage,
crying and blessing her. She gave them all the money she had with
her, and the Staroste threw silver pieces bountifully.
At each halting-place where we stopped everything was prepared
for our arrival: the floors were covered with rugs, the tables
laid, and the waiters dressed in livery. On the following
evening we reached Sulgostow. The Woivode and Father Albert
started on ahead of us, in order to receive the bride in her new
home. At the frontier of the property the peasants stopped the
carriage of the young pair and offered bread and salt; one of
the oldest men made a speech, followed by loud shouts of "Long
live!" and when we entered the gate a company of hussars, whom
the Staroste keeps in his court, fired salutes. Before the
entrance door, the Woivode stood, with the whole court, and all
of them gave the heartiest welcome to their new mistress. When
we entered, the Staroste brought his wife a big bundle of keys,
placing thus the whole house under her direction. From the
following morning Madame Starostine took the management, and it
was really wonderful how everything seemed easy to her and went
smoothly; but, as the eldest of us, she was accustomed for many
years to assist my honored Mother in her household duties.
Sulgostow looks quite different from Maleszow. It is a palace,
not a castle, but still it is very grand and gay; the retinue is
numerous, the house well provided, and, what is best, all the
people seem so very happy to have my sister there.
For the first time in my life I tasted coffee in Sulgostow. My
honored Parents do not like this fashionable beverage, which
was introduced recently to Poland; they say that it spoils the
complexion, so it is never served in our house. But the people
in Sulgostow like it exceedingly, and the Staroste begged
permission for me to drink a small cup of it.
It was rather melancholy to come back, although the Castellanic
Kochanowski, who accompanied us on horseback, tried his best to
entertain me. The young man has been invited to Sulgostow, as a former
comrade of the young Swidinski at Luneville, but he is much younger
than they are. In society they call him a "charmer," and really he
deserves the title; what then must be the duke, his master!
I have had no time yet to look about me in Maleszow, as we
arrived late in the evening, and the first thing I did to-day
was to begin to write, but I am sure it will seem very sad here
for a time.
March 12.
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.
[11]It was a generally observed custom to serve a goose
with dark gravy as a polite but positive answer that
the proposal of marriage was not accepted. A pumpkin
put in the carriage of the young man when he was
leaving had the same meaning. Until now the saying
"He received a pumpkin," or "He was treated to a
goose fricassee," is often used.
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 Scudery; 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.
_Sunday_, March 17.
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.