I have neglected my journal during the past week; we have been so busy
with the preparations for the marriage; there are such crowds of people
at the castle; every one is occupied doing the honors; both mornings and
afternoons are passed in company. Our studies are laid aside--the
chronology, the French grammar, and even Madame de Beaumont lie quiet
and undisturbed in their places. We are busily engaged with our needles,
because each one of us desires to make a present to Barbara. I am
embroidering a morning dress, which will be charming; I even steal some
hours from my sleep that I may the sooner finish it. Mary is
embroidering a straw-colored muslin, with shaded silks mingled with gold
thread, and Sophia is making a lovely toilet cover.
My mother is entirely occupied with the trousseau; she opens her
wardrobes and chests, bringing out linen, cloth, furs, curtains, and
tapestry. I help her as well as I can; she is sometimes good enough to
ask my opinion; she is so scrupulous, so much afraid of not dividing our
shares equally. She is so particular, that she even sends for the
chaplain to judge of the exactness of the division. The tailors and
lace-makers who have come from Warsaw to make up the trousseau will
hardly be able to finish their work during the next month. The linen is
all ready. The young ladies belonging to our suite have aided
materially. They have been sewing at linen during the past two years,
and now they are marking it with blue cotton. These poor girls will soon
be very expert in making the letters B and K. The trousseau will be
magnificent.
Barbara cannot conceive what she will ever be able to do with so many
dresses! Until now none of us have ever had more than four at a time:
two brown woollen ones, with black aprons, for every-day wear, a white
one for Sundays, and a more elegant one for grand occasions,
ceremonials, etc. We always found them quite enough, but my mother says
that her ladyship the starostine will need an entirely different
toilette from that required by Miss Barbara; that what was proper for a
young girl will not be sufficient for a married woman.
I spoke of a ball of silk given to Barbara by my mother on the day of
the betrothal; well, that was to make a purse for the starost. Barbara
works at her purse from morning till night: the tangled silk was given
her as a trial of her care and patience; for she must first wind the
skeins without breaking them or dimming their lustre. She has succeeded
admirably. Barbara may marry without doubt or fear; our little Matthias
answers for her vocation.
The chamberlains and the equerry have departed with their letters of
announcement. Barbara is terrified at the thought that the princes and
lords of the court may perhaps come from Warsaw. What a child she is! As
for me, I should be delighted! But I just remember--the investiture of
the prince royal took place on the eighth of this month. The evening
before the ceremony, our cousin, Prince Lubomirska, Palatine of Lublin
and the prince royal's marshal, gave a magnificent ball. The dinners,
balls, and concerts are said to have lasted more than a week. The new
Duke of Courland made a speech in Polish, which produced an excellent
effect. He is now regarded as an independent prince, and has shown both
dignity and greatness of mind throughout this whole affair.
The _Polish Courier_ gave all the details of the ceremony. If I had had
time I should have copied them, they interested me so deeply! But all
these details are nothing to what I should have seen with my own eyes
had I been there. What is description compared with one's own
observation? I am really very glad of the final investiture of the
prince; it is the only public matter which pleases and consoles me; all
else seems to be in a most lamentable condition. While I am so
diligently working at Barbara's morning dress I am forced to hear things
which sadden me deeply. The chaplain reads the papers aloud to us, and I
see that the republic loses daily in power and dignity; the neighboring
powers invade it under divers pretexts; their troops pillage and
devastate the country, while the Government refuses to interfere.... I
dare not think of the future, but my father says we must enjoy the
present. All speak in subdued tones of the woes which threaten Poland,
and then dance and drink; the joyous festivals and banquets would
deceive one into thinking the times must be prosperous. The Poles,
perhaps, act like our little Matthias; when he is vexed he never lets
the glass leave his hands, repeating always: He who pines, needs good
wines (dobry trunek na frasunek); the sadder he is, the more he drinks.