Title: The Journal of Countess Françoise Krasinska - Great Grandmother of Victor Emmanuel
Author: Kasimir Dziekonska (translator)
Language: English
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    THE JOURNAL OF COUNTESS
    FRANÇOISE KRASINSKA
    GREAT GRANDMOTHER OF VICTOR
    EMMANUEL

    TRANSLATED FROM THE POLISH
    BY
    KASIMIR DZIEKONSKA

    EIGHTH EDITION

    [Illustration]

    CHICAGO
    A. C. McCLURG & CO.
    1907


    COPYRIGHT,
    BY A. C. McCLURG & CO.
    A.D. 1895.



    THE JOURNAL
    OF
    COUNTESS FRANÇOISE KRASINSKA
    IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.



    IN THE CASTLE OF MALESZOW,
    _Monday, January 1, 1759_.

One week ago--it was Christmas day--my honored Father ordered to
be brought to him a huge book, in which for many years he has
written with his own hand all the important things which have
happened in our country; also copies of the notable pamphlets,
speeches, manifestoes, public and private letters, occasional
poems, etc., and having placed everything in the order of its
date, he showed us this precious collection and read to us some
extracts. I was much pleased with his idea of recording
interesting facts and circumstances; and as I know how to write
pretty well in Polish and in French, and have heard that in
France some women have written their memoirs, I thought, "Why
should not I try to do something of the kind?"

So I have made a big copy-book by fastening together many sheets
of paper, and I shall note down, as accurately as I am able,
everything which may happen to me and to my family, and I shall
also mention public affairs as they happen, as far as I may be
acquainted with them.

To-day is New Year's Day and Monday, a very proper season to
begin something new. I am at leisure; the morning Service is
finished, I am dressed and my hair is curled; ten is just
striking on the castle clock, so I have two hours till dinner
time. Well, I begin.

I was born in 1742, so I am just past my sixteenth birthday. I
received at the christening the name of Françoise. I have heard
more than once that I am pretty, and sometimes looking in the
mirror, I think so myself. "One has to thank God, and not to
boast," says my gracious Mother; "it is He that hath made us
and not we ourselves." I have black hair and eyes, a fair
complexion and rosy cheeks. I should like to be a little taller,
but they frighten me by saying I shall not grow any more. I am
descended from the not only noble, but very old and illustrious
family of Korwin Krasinski. God forbid I should ever tarnish the
glorious name I am fortunate enough to bear! on the contrary I
should like much to add to its fame, and I am often sorry I am
not a man, as I should then have more opportunities.

The Count, my honored Father, and the Countess, are so sensible
of the grandeur of the Korwin Krasinski family, and they so often
speak of it,--not only they, but our courtiers and our guests as
well,--and it is thought by all to be such a great reproach not to
know precisely about our ancestors, that we all have our heads
full of that kind of information. I can recite the genealogy of the
Krasinskis and the history of each of them as perfectly as my
morning prayer, and I think that I should have more difficulty
in telling the names of our Polish kings in chronological order
than in telling those of my ancestors. The pictures of the most
illustrious are in our hall,[1] but it would take too long to write
about each of them. The first of whom we know anything was
Warcislaus Korwin, from the old Roman family of Corvinus, who,
in the eleventh century, came from Hungary to Poland and was
appointed the Hetman (General-in-chief) of the army of King
Boleslaus II.

    [1] They are still in Count Adam Krasinski's palace
        in Warsaw.

Having espoused a noble lady of the name of Pobog, Korwin united
his crest--a raven holding a ring--to that of the Pobogs--a hand
grasping a sabre--and such is still our cognizance. His grandson
was the first to take the name Krasinski, that is, _of Krasin_,
from an estate bestowed upon him by the King as a reward for his
bravery; and from that time forward many hetmans, castellans,
woivodes,[2] bishops, etc., made the Krasinski name famous in
Polish history.

    [2] Governors of provinces.

One of them, Alexander, in this very same Maleszow Castle where
I am now quietly writing, resisted so bravely a great Tartar
army, in one of its plundering excursions from Asia, that the
chief was obliged to retreat; but before leaving, he sent to the
valorous castellan, as a token of his admiration, the most
precious thing he possessed,--namely, a clock, of very simple
construction, it is true, but a great wonder at that time. This
curious relic, this gift from an enemy,--and he a Tartar, more
accustomed to take than to give,--is still preserved with great
care in our family; I have seen it but twice in my life, my
honored Father keeping it so carefully, and I am sure he would
not exchange it for ten Paris clocks with all their chimes.

This valiant ancestor of mine was killed in a war with Russia,
and left no son. His nephew John built in Warsaw a magnificent
palace in the Italian style, which is said to be more beautiful
than the King's Castle; but I have not seen it, as I have never
been in our capital.

John's brother, Alexander, the castellan of Sandomir, was my own
grandfather. His son, Stanislaus, the Staroste[3] of Nova Wies
and Uscie, is my honored and beloved Father; he married Angela
Humiecka, the daughter of the famous Woivode of Podole, my
honored and beloved Mother. But, to my great sorrow, this line
of the Krasinski family will become extinct with the Count, my
Father, as he has four daughters, but no son: Basia (a pet name
for Barbara) is the eldest; I am the second; then comes Kasia
(Katherine); and Marynia (Mary) is the youngest.

    [3] Honorary judge.

The courtiers tell me often I am the handsomest, but I am sure I
do not see it; we all have the bearing becoming young ladies of
high station, daughters of a Staroste; we are straight as poplars,
with complexions white as snow and cheeks pink as roses; our
waists, especially when Madame ties us fast in our stays, can be,
as they say, "clasped with one hand." In the parlor before guests
we know how to make our courtesy, low or _dégagé_, according
to their importance; we have been taught to sit quiet on the very
edge of a stool, with our eyes cast down and our hands folded,
so that one might think we were not able to count three or were
too prim even to walk out of the room easily. But people would
think differently if they saw us on a summer morning, when we
are allowed to go to the woods in morning gowns and without
stays, puffs, coiffures, or high-heeled shoes: oh! how we climb
the steep hillsides, and run and shout and sing, till our poor
Madame is quite out of breath from running and calling after us.

As yet I and my two younger sisters have seldom left home:
Konskie, the home of our aunt, the Woivodine[4] Malachowska,
whom we visit twice a year; Piotrowice, where my honored Father,
after his return from Italy, built a beautiful chapel, like the
one in Loretto; Lisow, where stands our parish church,--these
bound all our experiences in travelling. But Basia, as the
eldest, has already seen a good part of this world: she has been
twice to Opole, visiting our aunt, the Princess Lubomirska,
Woivodine of Lublin, whom my Father loves and venerates as a
mother rather than as an elder sister. Basia has spent also one
year in the convent of the Ladies of the Visitation at Warsaw,
and so, of course, she knows more than any of us: her courtesies
are the lowest, and her manners the most stately.

    [4] Wife of a woivode.

My honored Parents are thinking now of sending me also somewhere
to finish my education; I am expecting every day to see the
carriage drive up to the door, and then my gracious Mother will
tell me to sit beside her, and she will take me either to Warsaw
or to Cracow. I am perfectly happy at home, but Basia liked the
convent very much, so I hope that I shall; and then I shall
improve in the French language, which is now indispensable for a
lady; also in music and in dancing, and besides that I shall
see a great town, our capital.

As I have not seen many castles besides Maleszow, I cannot
judge whether it is pretty or not. I only know that I like it very
much. Some people think that our castle, with its four stories
and its four bastions, surrounded with a moat full of water
crossed by a drawbridge, and situated amidst forests in a rocky
country, looks rather gloomy, but I do not think so at all. I am
so happy here that I should like to sing and dance all day long.
I hear my honored Parents complaining sometimes that they are
not quite comfortable here. It is true that, although on each floor
there are besides the parlor, six large rooms and four smaller
ones in the bastions, we cannot all be accommodated on the same
floor, as we are a very numerous family. The dining-rooms are on
the first, the dancing hall on the second, and we girls have to
occupy the third floor. My honored Parents are no longer young,
and it fatigues them to go up and down every day, but for me
these stairs are just my delight! Often, when I have not yet all
my puffs on, I grasp the stair-rail and I am down in one second
without my foot once touching the steps. Oh! it is such fun!

It is true our many guests may sometimes be crowded a little in
their sleeping rooms, but nevertheless, they visit us often, and
I do not know that we could amuse ourselves better in a more
spacious palace. I think the Maleszow Castle, if three times as
large, could not be more magnificent; it is so gay and lively
that the neighbors often call it little Paris. We are especially
gay when winter comes; then the captain of our dragoons does
not lift up the drawbridge until night, so many people are
continually driving in and out, and our court-band has enough
to do playing every day for us to dance.

But I ought not to forget to speak about the retinue of our
Castle, which, in accordance with the rank of my honored
Parents, is very numerous and stately.

There are two classes of courtiers,--the honorary and the
salaried ones, all alike nobles, with the sword at their side.
The first are about twenty in number; their duties are to wait
in the morning for the Count's entrance, to be ready for any
service he may require, to accompany him when visiting or
riding, to defend him in case of need, to give him their voice
at the Diet, and to play cards and amuse him and his guests.
This last duty is best performed by our Matenko (Mathias), the
fool or court jester, as the other courtiers call him; but he
does not at all deserve that sobriquet, as his judgment is very
correct and his repartees are very witty. Of all the courtiers
he is the most privileged, being allowed to speak whenever he
chooses and to tell the truth frankly.

To the honorary members of our court belong also six girls of
good family, who live on the same floor with us under the
superintendence of our Madame, and also two dwarfs. One of the
latter is about forty, but of the size of a four-year-old child;
he is dressed as a Turk. The other, still smaller and very
graceful and pretty, is eighteen years old, and they dress him
as a Cossack. Sometimes, for sport, my honored Mother orders him
to be put on the dinner table, and he walks about among the
bottles and the plates as easily as if he were in a garden.

The honorary courtiers receive no pay, almost all of them being
the sons and daughters of rather wealthy parents, who send them
to our castle for training in courtly etiquette. The men
receive, nevertheless, provision for two horses, and two
florins[5] weekly for their valets. These servants are dressed,
some as Cossacks, some as Hungarians, and stand behind their
masters' chairs at meals. There is no special dinner table for
them, but they must be satisfied with what their masters leave
on their plates, and you should see how they follow with a
covetous eye each morsel on its way from the plate to the
master's mouth! I do not dare to look at them, partly from fear
of laughing, and partly out of pity.

    [5] The Polish florin is worth twenty cents.

The salaried courtiers are much more numerous. They do not
come to our table, except the chaplain, the physician and the
secretary. The marshal and the butler walk around the table
watching if anything is wanted; they pour the wine into the
glasses, often replenishing for the guests, but only on feast
days keeping the glass full for the courtiers. The commissary,
the treasurer, the equerry, the gentleman usher, the masters of
the wardrobe, all dine at the marshal's table. To tell the truth,
those who sit at our table have more honor than profit, for they
do not always have the same kind of food that we have, although
it comes from the same dish. For instance, when the meats are
brought in, there will be on the dish game or domestic fowl on the
top, and plain roast beef, or roast pork, underneath. Each course
is brought on two enormous dishes, and it seems almost impossible
such heaps could disappear; yet the last man served gets often
but scanty bits of food, and whether there are four courses, as
on week days, or seven, as on Sundays, or twelve, as on festivals,
I do not remember having seen anything left on our table.

The salaried courtiers receive quite high pay, from three
hundred to a thousand florins annually, also provender for two
horses each, and the livery for their valets; but then the Count
expects them all to present themselves well dressed. When he is
especially pleased with one of them he rewards him generously,
and every year on the Count's birthday, rich presents in dresses
and money are distributed.

But this is not our whole retinue; there are also the
chamberlains,--young boys from fifteen to twenty years of age,
of noble families, who perform a kind of novitiate in our
service. Their duties are to be always in attendance, to
accompany our carriage on horseback, and to be ready for all
kinds of errands; thus if my honored Parents have letters to be
carried in haste, or presents or invitations to be sent, they
always send the chamberlains. One of them, Michael Chronowski,
will finish his novitiate on Epiphany, and then will come the
ceremony of liberation, which I shall describe in its place.

As for other people belonging to our retinue, it would be
difficult to enumerate them; I am sure I do not know how many
there are of musicians, cooks, linkboys, cossacks, hostlers,
valets, chamberlains, and boy and girl servants. I know only
there are five different dinner tables, and two stewards are
busy from morning till night, giving out the provisions for the
meals. Very often, especially when fresh supplies are brought
in, my honored Mother is herself present in the storeroom; she
also keeps the keys of the medicine closet, where spices,
dainties, and sweet liquors are kept. Every morning the marshal
brings to her the dinner and supper menu, which she, with the
advice of my honored Father, either changes or approves.

The arrangement of our day's occupation is as follows: we rise at
six o'clock in summer, at seven in winter. All four of us sleep in
the same room with Madame, and each has an iron bedstead with
curtains around it. Basia, as the eldest, has two pillows and a silk
coverlet; we, the younger, have but one pillow and a woollen blanket.
Having said a French prayer with Madame, we begin our lessons at
once. At first the chaplain taught us the catechism, and with our
tutor we learned how to read and write in Polish; but now he teaches
only my two younger sisters, for Basia and I study with Madame only.
We learn vocabularies, dialogues, and anecdotes by heart from a
text-book. At eight we go downstairs to wish our honored Parents
good-morning and to have breakfast. Then we go to the chapel, where,
after the mass, the chaplain reads Latin prayers, which we all
repeat after him aloud. Returning to our room, we learn German
vocabularies, we write letters and exercises, and Madame dictates
to us the verses of a French poet, Malesherbes. We have a spinet and
are taught to play upon it by a German teacher, who directs our
orchestra; for this service he receives three hundred florins
annually. We all study music and Basia plays not badly at all.

When our lessons are over we put on wrappers and the coiffeur
comes to dress our hair, beginning with the eldest. This is a
long and often painful operation, especially when he is
inventing some new coiffure. As my hair is the thickest and the
longest (it drags on the floor when I am sitting before the
dressing-table), it is on my head that he generally makes his
experiments. It is true that he does make very beautiful and
wonderful coiffures; for instance, the one I have to-day, is so
pretty, having a _laisser aller_ effect: all my hair is lifted
up very high; half of it is arranged in puffs on the top of the
head, and the other half falls in loose curls on the neck and
the shoulders; there must have been at least a half-pound of
powder used in it. Our dressing takes two or three hours, during
which Madame reads to us a new French book, the "Magasin des
Enfants" by Madame Beaumont.

At noon, at the Angelus bell, we go down to dinner, and then, our
honored Parents allow us to remain with them for the rest of the
day. We sit generally two hours at table; after that if the
weather is favorable we take a walk; if not, we always have some
needle-work on hand for our church in Piotrowice. We sit at our
embroidery frames as long as we can see, and when the lights are
brought in, we make netting or do some such light work. There are
always many wax tapers burning in silver candelabra, and although
they are rather yellow, being home-made from our own wax, they
give a very bright light.

Supper is at seven, and afterwards the evening is given to
amusement. Sometimes we play cards, "Marriage" or "Drujbart,"
and it is such fun to see the faces Matenko makes, according as
he gets a seven or a trump!

Once a week a chamberlain goes to Warsaw to bring the newspapers
and letters, and then the chaplain reads aloud the "Gazette" and
the "Courier." At times my honored Father reads the old
chronicles to us; sometimes they are very dull, and sometimes
very interesting. During the Carnival, there is seldom any
reading, but there are games, music, and dances. I cannot
imagine how they can amuse themselves better at the court in
Warsaw; how can it be anywhere gayer than in our Maleszow?
Still, I should like so much, if only out of curiosity, to have
just a taste of that court life. But what do I hear? There is
the noon bell! I must say the Angelus in haste, see if my
coiffure is in order, and run downstairs, leaving for to-morrow
all that I intended to write to-day.


     _Tuesday_, January 2.

Yesterday, I wrote about myself and my home; to-day I want to
write about my country. I should not be a worthy Pole if I were
not interested in what happens in my own land. People in our
house talk much about Poland, and I have always listened
attentively, but much more so since I resolved to write this
journal.

Our present king is Augustus III., Elector of Saxony, son and
successor of Augustus II. On the seventeenth of this month, it
will be twenty-five years since the Bishop of Cracow crowned him
King of Poland and Lithuania.[6] It is said that he was rather
indifferent to the Polish crown, when by his father's death the
chance was opened to him; but he was persuaded to become a
candidate by his wife, Marie Josephine, daughter of the German
Emperor Maximilian. This royal lady was very much beloved by the
Poles: she had a very good influence over the king, her husband,
and never meddled with any court intrigues; she was charitable,
beneficent, pious, a good wife and a good mother, and fully
deserved to be called a model of feminine virtues. She died in
Dresden two years ago, and I remember well the great sorrow
caused by the news of her death. In all the churches there were
grand funeral services, also in our Piotrowice, and all the poor
people cried and lamented, having lost in her a real mother. She
had fourteen children, of whom eleven are living: four sons and
seven daughters.

    [6] At the end of the fourteenth century these two
        countries were united by the marriage of Hedvig,
        queen of Poland, with the prince of Lithuania Jagellon.

The king is said to be of a kindly but rather weak character,
and he has the greatest confidence in his minister Brühl, who in
reality is the ruler both of Poland and Saxony. It is said
affairs are going all wrong in Saxony, and not much better in
our country. I have often heard people say: "We need a Frederic
the Great, with a strong head and an iron will;" and as our king
is old, they are all looking forward and planning already for
his successor. There are two prominent candidates for the
throne: one is Stanislaus Poniatowski, who was educated in
France, spent four years in Russia as the envoy of Poland, and
there became the favorite of the Empress Catherine II. The other
candidate is Duke Charles, twenty-six years old, the most
beloved of the sons of our present king. People say he has a
real gift for attracting all hearts to him; he is very handsome,
very stately in figure, and very courteous in manner; and having
spent almost his whole life in Poland, he knows our language
perfectly. I have heard so much of his good qualities that my
best wishes are for him, although Poniatowski is my countryman.

This day will be a memorable one for Duke Charles. A few weeks
ago he was elected Duke of Courland, which is a tributary of
Poland, and to-day occurs the "investiture," that is, the giving
possession. The king is so happy about the good fortune of his
beloved son, that he is said to look ten years younger. What
festivals there will be in Warsaw! How I should like to be there
now, and to see the grand doings, but especially to see the
royal prince. We shall, at least, drink his health here and cry,
"Long life to Duke Charles!"


     January 3.

Yesterday, just when we were drinking to the health of the Duke
of Courland, and our band was doing its best, and our company of
dragoons were firing salutes,--at that very moment the chamberlain,
who had been sent to Warsaw, returned with the news that on account
of the indisposition of the duke, the ceremonies of the investiture
had to be postponed. "Bad omen," said Matenko; "as the mitre slips,
so the crown will slip." I felt like crying, but there was no time
for that, as many guests were present; among others, the Woivode of
Craclaw, Swidinski, with his nephew Father Albert, a Jesuit, whom
my honored Parents like and respect greatly. Basia is his special
favorite; he brought her a rosary and a prayer book,--"La Journée
du Chrétien,"--and he spoke several times to her at supper. But then,
Basia is the eldest; no wonder everybody pays most attention to her.


     _Friday_, January 5.

The Woivode and Father Albert are still here, and to-day the two
sons of the former are expected. I am very anxious to know them,
as they have both been educated in France, at Luneville, at the
court of Stanislaus Leszczynski.[7] This nobleman, although his
country has proved faithless to him, tries to be useful to it,
and he has always some young Poles at his court, where they
receive the best education. The sons of our first families court
this great honor, and there is not a better recommendation for a
young man than to say of him: "He has been brought up in the
court of Luneville." He is sure then to be refined, to speak
French well, and to dance the minuet gracefully; therefore all
gentlemen brought up at that court are great favorites of the
ladies. Oh! how curious I am to see these two!

    [7] Stanislaus Leszczynski, surnamed the "most virtuous
        of men," king of Poland before Augustus II., was
        dethroned by the Saxon party. He had Lorraine
        allotted to him, and is still remembered there as
        the "good King Stanislaus." His daughter Maria was
        married to Louis XV. of France.


     _Saturday_, January 6.

They arrived yesterday, but I cannot say they are quite as I
expected, especially the elder, the Staroste of Radom. I thought I
should see a fine young cavalier, like the Prince Cheri, so
beautifully depicted by Madame de Beaumont, but the Staroste is not
at all like him; first, he is not very young,--he is about thirty;
then he is rather stout, and therefore, perhaps, he is not fond of
dancing. As to his Parisian accent, I cannot judge about that, as
he did not say one French word, but mixes his Polish and Latin
quite as the old gentlemen do. His brother, who is a colonel in the
king's army, pleased me a little more; he has, at least, a fine
uniform. To-day, the ceremony of liberation of the Chamberlain
Chronowski will take place. Besides that, as it is customary on
Epiphany, they are baking an enormous cake with an almond in it,
and whoever gets the almond will be the Twelfth Night king or
queen. Oh! if it only came to me! A crown would be put on my head
and I should have all the ordering of the dances; then what dancing
there would be! Still, I think, there will be enough in any case,
for many guests are expected. Our old butler, Peter, was muttering
to himself this morning that around the church in Piotrowice there
are said to be ever so many coaches and curricles. Poor man! he is
expecting more work, so he grumbles; but I feel my heart jumping,
and my feet are dancing already. How often in this world the same
thing brings trouble to one and joy to another!


     _Sunday_, January 7.

Well, yes, they did come, and many of them are still here. Old
Peter has two wrinkles more on his forehead, but we amused
ourselves royally. Basia, not I, was the queen, but it was just
as well. When at the end of the dinner the cake was cut, Basia
glancing at her piece became red as a pink, and Madame, sitting
next to her, announced: "Mademoiselle Basia has the almond!"
Then all the people cried, "Long live the queen!" and Matenko
added, smiling: "The almond is here, the husband is near." Would
it not be nice to have a wedding in our house!

Decidedly I do not like the Staroste; he is so grave! Yesterday
he danced the Polonaise only. He never looks at us girls, nor
speaks a word to one of us; he converses with my honored Parents
only, or plays cards, or reads the "Gazette;" so, really, I
cannot find him very entertaining.

But I am forgetting to speak about Michael Chronowski's
liberation. Soon after dinner we went to the banquet hall with
our guests, and all sat around in a large circle, my honored
Father in the middle, on a higher chair. The folding doors were
thrown open, and the marshal with other courtiers led in the
young man, dressed no more in livery, but in a rich Polish
costume. He knelt down before the Count, who gave him a light
blow on the cheek in token that he has been novitiate boy here,
then a sword was fastened to his side and his health was drunk
in a cup of wine. The Count made him a present of a purse filled
with gold, and of two horses which were already waiting in the
courtyard for their new master. Invited to remain here as a
guest till the end of the carnival, Chronowski accepted the
invitation with gratitude, and having saluted my honored Parents
and kissed the hands of all the ladies, was admitted to our
society and danced with us the whole evening.


     January 8.

The prophecy of Matenko proved true, for Basia will be married
before the carnival is over. Last night the Staroste Swidinski
asked my honored Parents for her hand; they sent for her this
morning, told her about it, and the betrothal will take place
to-morrow. Basia came back in tears to our room, telling us that
she dreaded the marriage, and would always regret her old home,
but that it was not possible to refuse such a match, as both
our honored Parents wished it, and told her she would be very
happy. The Staroste is, they say, a most honorable man,
religious, and of a kind disposition; his family is also old and
very wealthy. His father has allotted him a large estate,
"Sulgostow," with a beautiful palace, and the king has given him
the appointment of staroste with the expectation of being soon
named castellan. For a long time the Woivode and Father Albert
had been planning this marriage, and they came here for the
purpose of effecting it.

And so we shall have a wedding here, in Maleszow Castle, on the
25th of February, at the very end of the carnival. Will there
not be dancing! Basia will become Madame Starostine; only, it is
a pity we shall not be allowed to call her "Basia" any more. I
am very sorry to have written about the Staroste as I did, but
then it is not I that is to marry him, and if he pleases Basia,
that is enough. She says she has always been afraid of young
men, she likes serious ones better; and our honored Mother
tells her that those make the best husbands. Perhaps so, but as
for me ... well, it is of no use to think about it at present.

Oh! but I must not forget: the investiture of Duke Charles will
certainly take place in Warsaw to-day. Colonel Swidinski, who
knows him personally, has not words enough to tell how charming
he is. I wonder if I shall ever see him.


     January 10.

The betrothal took place yesterday. In the morning, when we came
down, my honored Mother gave Basia a skein of tangled silk to
wind.[8] The poor girl, with flushing cheeks, began the task,
not daring to look up from her work, for she knew that all eyes,
especially those of the Staroste, were fixed upon her; and
besides, that mischievous Matenko was teasing her without end,
making all the people laugh.

    [8] An old Polish custom, by which a young girl was to
        prove whether she was patient enough to meet the
        trials of married life.

After dinner, when she sat again before her winding-frame, the
Staroste came near and asked in a voice loud enough for all to
hear: "May I believe that your ladyship's will is favorable to
my desires?" "The will of my honored Parents," answered Basia,
with a trembling voice, "has ever been a sacred law to me." And
that was the whole of the conversation between the betrothed.

When the courtiers had left the room and we were alone with our
guests, the Woivode and Father Albert arose, the former taking
by the hand the Staroste, and standing before my honored Parents
he thus addressed them: "For a long time my heart has been
filled with the most sincere affection and profound veneration
for the illustrious family of Korwin Krasinski; for a long time
I have desired fervently that my modest name be united with your
glorious one, and I cannot express the great satisfaction which
I feel in knowing that your Grace is willing to grant me this
favor. You have a most honorable daughter, Barbara; I have this
son, Michael, who is my comfort and my pride; are you willing to
renew to-day your promise to join this young pair for their
lifetime? Here is the ring which I received on a like occasion
from my honored Parents, in order to give it to my wife, who is,
alas! no more in this world, but who still lives in my heart.
Will you allow my son to offer it now to your daughter as a
pledge of a closer tie?" Saying this he laid a costly diamond
ring on a little silver tray which Father Albert was holding.
The latter also made a speech, but he used so many Latin words
that I could not make anything of it.

My honored Father rose and answered: "I repeat now what I told
you yesterday, that I consent to the marriage of my daughter
with the most honorable Staroste; I give her to him with my
sincere blessing, and I transfer to him all my rights as a
Father." "I do the same, and with my whole heart," added my
honored Mother. "Here is a ring, the most precious jewel in my
house; my Father, the Woivode of Podole, received it after his
victory over the Turks, from the hands of our late king,
Augustus II. This was my betrothal ring, and I give it now to my
eldest daughter, with a Mother's blessing, and with a prayer to
the Almighty that she may be as happy as I have been." She then
placed on the tray a ring with a very large diamond, which,
being raised, disclosed the miniature of the late king.

"Basia! come here, my girl," said my honored Father. She rose
and advanced, but was so confused and trembling that I wonder
how she ever reached the spot. Father Albert blessed the rings,
and gave the first one to the Staroste, who, having kissed my
sister's hand, placed the ring on her fourth finger; Basia, in
her turn, gave him the ring with the portrait, and had her hand
kissed once more. Then the Staroste fell at the feet of my
honored Parents, thanking them, and calling God to witness that
he would do all in his power to make their daughter happy; in
the mean time the Woivode kissed the trembling Basia on the
brow, while Father Albert and the colonel paid her many fine
compliments.

At the end my honored Father took a large cup, filled it with
old Hungarian wine, and drank the young couple's health; and all
the gentlemen did the same.

The whole ceremony was so solemn and so touching that I could
not keep back my tears. "Do not weep, Frances," said Matenko,
who still remained in the room and for once was serious, "do not
weep; in less than one year it will be your ladyship's turn." In
one year? ... no, that would be too soon, but in a few years,
perhaps....

Everybody in the house is now paying so much attention to Basia!
My honored Parents kissed her on the cheek when she wished them
good-night, and all the people are congratulating her and
recommending themselves to her, as many wish that she would take
them to her new court.

My honored Father brought out a bag containing a thousand
ducats, which he gave my honored Mother for the trousseau, and
during several hours they discussed together its details.
To-morrow Mlle. Zawistoska, a very respectable woman, who has
been brought up in our castle and will be Basia's lady's maid,
is going with the commissary to Warsaw to make the necessary
purchases.

In our store-house there are four big trunks with silver plate,
one for each of us. The Count ordered the one which is designed
for Basia to be opened; examined each piece himself, and those
which need repairs or alteration are to be sent to Warsaw.

The letters to announce the approaching marriage are already
being written, and the chamberlains will take them to all parts
of Poland, to all relatives and friends, inviting them to the
wedding. But the most stately of our courtiers, the equerry,
will go to Warsaw with letters to the king, the royal princes,
the primate, and the chief senators. In these missives the Count
gives notice of his daughter's intended marriage, but sends no
invitations, as the presence of those persons will depend upon
their own pleasure. Oh! if one of them, for instance the Duke of
Courland, should come here, what grandeur would be added to the
wedding; but more probably they will send their envoys only,
who, in that case, receive all the honors due to those they
represent.

The Staroste gave handsome tokens of remembrance to each of us
sisters. I received a costly brooch with turquoises; Mary, a ruby
cross; Kasia, a Venetian chain. Also he offered presents to my
honored Parents, which they deigned to accept,--the Count, a golden
cup; the Countess, a work-box, in which all the implements are of
mother-of-pearl and gold. He did not forget even our Madame, who
found this morning a lace shawl on her bed; so she also highly
praises our Polish generosity.

Last night we had a grand supper. The music was beautiful, the
dragoons fired salutes, and the captain gave to the guard for a
watchword the names Michael and Barbara.

This morning there was given a great hunting-party, for Basia's
good luck, and it was unusually successful; they brought home one
boar, two deer, four hinds, and many hares. The boar was killed by
the Staroste himself, who laid his trophy at Basia's feet. I have
learned to-day what a brave man the Staroste is. My honored Father
ordered for the hunters all the horses from the stables, and among
others there was one, a great beauty, but very wild; even the
equerry does not dare to ride him. The Staroste said, however, that
he would try him, and notwithstanding all the remonstrances, he sat
upon him with ease and held him with such a clever and strong hand
that, in spite of all the animal's prancing and jumping, he rode
three times around the castle. It was beautiful to see. Basia
turned pale at first, but when she saw how he was able to manage
the horse, and when loud bravos began to resound, then deep blushes
covered her cheeks, especially when all eyes turned towards her.
By this act the Staroste quite gained my favor; one who is so brave
and so strong, can be pardoned even if he does not like to dance
the minuet. The Count presented the horse to his future son-in-law,
adding a rich equipment and a groom; he deserved it.

To-morrow the Woivode and the Staroste are going away, in order
to prepare the Sulgostow house for its new mistress.


     _Sunday_, January 20.

During more than a week I have not opened my diary, for we are
very busy. The afternoons and evenings are spent with our
guests, and the mornings are given to work, as each sister
wishes to make something with her own hands for Basia's
trousseau. I am embroidering a dishabille with flowers in
lace-stitch, and I have to get up very early in the morning and
work even by candle-light in order to be ready in season. Mary
is making a very pretty scarf; it will have an arabesque
embroidered on fine muslin in dark silks and gold; Kasia is
knitting a cover for the dressing table; so all the lessons are
put aside, and even Madame de Beaumont is forgotten.

From the early morning, my honored Mother is busy, unlocking the
trunks, the drawers, and the cupboards,--taking out linen,
silks, furs, carpets, rugs, curtains, etc. She has many things
still remaining from her own trousseau, and many others bought
later, as during all these years she has been gathering all
kinds of beautiful things for our marriage outfits; really they
are well worth seeing. Sometimes she deigns to call me to assist
her, and it is quite touching to see her anxiety to do right by
each of us; she divides all these treasures in four portions,
and sometimes she even asks my honored Father and the chaplain
to give their opinion whether the shares are quite of equal
value.

A tailor and a furrier have come from Warsaw, and there is so
much to be done that they will not have finished for a month.
Fortunately, almost all the linen is ready, our sewing-girls
having worked upon it for these last two years, and now they
are marking it with blue cotton.

Basia wonders what she will do with all the new dresses they are
making for her; until now we had never more than four at the
same time, two dark woollen ones for every day, and two white
ones, one in cotton for Sundays, another in batiste for great
occasions. But my honored Mother says that what is good enough
for a young girl would not be proper for a married lady.

Basia has wound the tangled silk with such patience that,
although green, it has not in the least changed its color; even
Matenko acknowledges that she is fit to be married. She is now
knitting from that silk a purse for the Staroste by my honored
Mother's direction.

The equerry and the chamberlain are gone with the invitations.
On the 8th of January the investiture of the royal prince took
place at last. The night before, my uncle the Prince Lubomirski,
Woivode of Lublin, who is also the marshal to the royal prince,
gave a great ball; other festivals, dinners, and balls followed
for more than a week. The new duke made a speech in the Polish
language, which pleased immensely; he is now treated quite as a
crowned prince. In the "Courier" there is a full account of the
ceremonies. It is very interesting; I should like to copy it
here, but I have not the time.


     January 25.

The Staroste arrived last night, and this morning Basia found on
her work-table two large silver baskets with oranges and
bonbons, which she distributed among us and our court ladies.
Our work is progressing rapidly and my _négligé_ is half done.

Basia will be provided with feather-beds from her own household,
for to each of us daughters has been allotted for many years a
certain number of geese and swans. There is among the servants a
poor, stupid girl who is not able to do anything but pluck the
feathers, and each of us has a separate barrel for feathers and a
bag for down. Basia, out of her share, will have two feather-beds,
eight big pillows filled with goose-down, and four small ones of
swan's-down. The pillows will be made of red silk, and the cases of
Holland linen lawn embroidered.


     February 2.

The Staroste stayed nearly a week and departed yesterday; the
next time he will not go away alone, but Basia will go with him.
It seems to me quite impossible that she will leave us and go
alone with a man! Basia's friendship and esteem for the Staroste
grows every day, although he never speaks with her; all his
conversation is with my honored Parents, and all his attentions
are paid to them. They say it ought to be so in an honorable
courtship, for is there a better way of gaining the heart of the
daughter than by pleasing the Parents?

The wedding will be in three weeks; we shall have new dresses as
well as the court ladies; all these will be Basia's gift.

Many of the invited guests have already replied that they are
coming, but the king and the royal princes will send only their
envoys. It is doubtful, also, if my aunt, the Princess Woivodine
of Lublin will be able to come, but she is much pleased with
Basia's choice, and she wrote a beautiful letter with her
blessing,--which made my honored Father very happy.

I am hurrying with my embroidery, but I must rise early and work
by candle-light, for my honored Mother is so gracious toward me
that she often wants my help and service. Before this, only
Basia, as the eldest, was so fortunate, but now, my honored
Parents want me to have some practice in order to take her place
when the Staroste takes her away. Twice already I have had the
key of the medicine closet intrusted to me, and I really think
since then I have grown more serious.


     February 12.

The preparations for the wedding are going on, and our visitors
begin to arrive. Almost all the guest-rooms are already
occupied, and the farm-house, the parsonage, even the better
peasant-cottages will be wanted for the later comers. The cooks
and the confectioners are already preparing all kinds of
delicacies and sweetmeats for the coming event.

To-day the beds have been sent to Sulgostow and two enormous
chests with mattresses, pillows, carpets, curtains, etc. The
bedsteads are of carved oak with blue covers, curtains, and
canopies; on the four corners there will be bunches of blue and
white ostrich-feathers. Almost every moment Basia has good
reason for embracing the hands and the feet of our honored
Parents, they are so generous toward her. The Count is writing
with his own hand, in a large book, the contents of the
trousseau, beginning with these words:--

"Inventory of the wedding outfit which I, Stanislaus Korwin
Krasinski, Staroste of Nova Wies, etc., etc., and Angela, born
Humiecka, my honored wife, are giving to our eldest and beloved
daughter Barbara, promised in marriage to the honorable Michael
Swidinski, Staroste of Radom; and imploring for this daughter of
ours the favor of Heaven, we bestow upon her our parental
blessing, _in nomine Patri et Filii et Spiritu Sancto_. Amen." I
should like to copy here the whole inventory, but first, I have
no time, and secondly, I expect to receive a trousseau like this
sometime myself, and what is still better, such a blessing of my
own.


     February 20.

Three days more and then the wedding. The Staroste arrived
yesterday; Basia shook like a leaf when the chamberlain brought him
into the parlor. To-day we are expecting the Woivode, Father
Albert, the colonel and the Woivodine Granowska, sister of the
Staroste, with her husband. Basia is entering into a fine
family,--all religious and worthy people. The trousseau is quite
finished, and what has not already been sent to Sulgostow is packed
in trunks, of which Mademoiselle Zavistoska has the keys. Besides
this mademoiselle, Basia will take with her two young girls, her
goddaughters, well trained in all kinds of needle-work, and as
companion, one of the six damsels who have been brought up with us.
When I am married I shall take still more; I have already solemnly
promised three girls that they shall go with me; one of them is the
daughter of our Peter. In his grateful joy, the old man bowed to my
feet, and for the first time his forehead was free from wrinkles.


     _Sunday_, February 22.

The wedding will be to-morrow. Our guests are numberless, and all
the envoys are here. The king's envoy is the Secretary Borch; that
of the Duke of Courland, his confidant the Castellanic[9]
Kochanowski, a very handsome and polite cavalier; the proverb is
right: "As the master, so the valet." I cannot possibly describe
all the others; they arrived, as if by appointment, at the same
hour yesterday, and their entrance was quite imposing. Before every
one of them our dragoons presented arms, while the cannons were
firing and the music playing. The greatest honors were shown to the
king's envoy; the Count, having been informed of the hour of his
arrival, was waiting with head uncovered on the drawbridge, and all
our guests, courtiers, and servants stood in a double row up to the
entrance door. As soon as the secretary stepped on the bridge they
all shouted "Vivat!" and bowed low in salutation.

    [9] Son of a castellan.

To-day, in the presence of the whole company, and before
appointed witnesses, the marriage contract was written, but I do
not know what it contains, as I have not understood a single
word of it. I know only that the bride received many beautiful
presents: from the Staroste three strings of oriental pearls;
from the Woivode a rich diamond cross and an aigrette with
diamond pendants; from the colonel an enamelled watch and chain;
from Father Albert many relics; and from each relative a
souvenir. Basia can hardly believe that all these riches belong
to her; until now, her only jewel, besides her betrothal ring,
was a small ring with the picture of the Holy Virgin on it, and
I am sure Basia will not discard her old friend for all the
costly jewels which she now receives.

The maid has just brought my _négligé_, washed and pressed; it
looks very nice. There are twenty-five different kinds of
lace-stitch in it; I am sure it will be becoming to Basia.


     _Shrove Tuesday_, February 26.

All is over, and as Matenko says, "with a hundred horses one
could not catch Mademoiselle Barbara any more;" she is Madame
Starostine. I have much to tell.

Yesterday, very early in the morning, we rode to our parish
church in Lisow, where the bride and the bridegroom went to
confession and to communion. As it was cold the bride wore a
white cloak of brocade silk, lined with white fox fur, and on
her head a long lace veil.

When we returned breakfast was served, and soon afterwards the
dressing of the bride commenced; twelve noble ladies headed by
my honored Mother undertook that important task. The dress was
of white satin, with watered silk stripes, a frill of Brabant
lace with silver ornaments at the bottom, and a long train; a
rosemary bouquet fastened the front of the corsage. On her head
the bride wore a rosemary wreath held in place by a gold circlet
on which was engraved the date of the wedding and good wishes in
rhyme. According to the old Polish custom, my honored Mother
fastened in the wreath a ducat with the date of Basia's
birth-year, and a bit of bread for good luck; she also added to
the above a lump of sugar in order to sweeten the married life,
which they say has many difficulties. No jewels were allowed,
for it is said that for each precious stone worn on the wedding
day, one has to pay afterwards with a vial of tears. As it is,
Basia has wept enough, so that her eyes are red and swollen.

A little in advance, the bridesmaids went downstairs; we were
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 Françoise," 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 Scudéry; 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.

I am sure they are making plans for me. I should like so much to
know about it. I was so excited that I could not sleep well last
night, dreaming most extraordinary things. It is true that I
heard many curious and amusing things which the prince and his
wife related. My honored Parents wanted me to leave the room
with my sisters as usual at nine, but the Prince Woivode pleaded
for me to stay till the end of the evening; thus I heard all
about Warsaw, the court, the balls, and the festivals attending
the investiture of the duke, and many praises of this prince,
who I hope will one day be the King of Poland. I felt happy; he
is my hero, and I am sure he will be a great man. Shall I ever
meet him?


     _Tuesday_, March 19.

The Prince Woivode and his wife departed half an hour ago. They
wanted to set out yesterday, but the Count ordered the wheels to be
taken from their carriages, and persuaded them that it was not safe
to begin a journey on Monday, which is known as an unlucky day.
During the whole time they were very gracious to me, and advised my
honored Parents to send me to a boarding-school in Warsaw, in order
to finish my education. For some time a French lady, Madame
Strumle, has conducted a school for young ladies in Warsaw; before
this they were educated in convents only. This school has a great
reputation. The daughters of the first families are sent there to
study and to be taught good manners, and the Prince Woivode thinks
I should there acquire all the accomplishments which I lack. But my
honored Parents prefer the Ladies of the Visitation, and certainly
a convent is the most proper place. Well, I do not know how all
this will end, but I feel uneasy and absent-minded; I do not
understand what I am reading; my work is not so well done as
before; I feel as if something extraordinary were going to happen.


     _Sunday_, March 24.

We are going to Warsaw! We are going the day after to-morrow. I
do not know yet where I shall be placed, but in any case I shall
not come back soon, as my gracious Mother ordered all my clothes
to be packed, and two of her dresses were made over for me. My
honored Parents were unexpectedly called to Warsaw on business
about an inheritance from our cousin Vincent Krasinski, who died
childless and left a great fortune. They take me with them and I
feel so very happy! As we have to stop at Sulgostow, I shall see
my dearest sister. She has just returned from a very agreeable
trip, having visited with the Staroste all his relations,
friends, and neighbors; she was welcomed and admired everywhere.
Now she will stay at home, and is very much pleased with that
prospect. She is going to be a perfect house-keeper; the old
Woivode Swidinski wrote about her with such enthusiasm and
gratitude that both my honored Parents cried with pleasure over
the letter. Such tears are a blessing!


     WARSAW, _Sunday_, April 7.

I can hardly believe that I am in that celebrated school of
Madame Strumle; I entered it yesterday. It was not very hard
work to persuade my honored Father to abandon the prospect of a
convent for me, as he relies much on the Princess Woivodine's
judgment, and I must say I am glad of it, as, in the secret of
my heart, I did not care much for the convent.

On our way to Warsaw we stopped at Sulgostow. Madame Starostine
looks gay and happy, and how she welcomed us! She remembered
everything my honored Parents liked; all their favorite dishes
and delicacies were prepared; everything appeared to be there
for their own pleasure; and she seemed so happy to serve them in
her own house! I heard my honored Mother saying to the Staroste
that the marriage made Basia better than ever. "No," he
answered, "such she was from the beginning when I received her
from your hands. God bless her!" One can see how dearly he loves
her; and she respects him and obeys him as if he were her
Father. She manages her house perfectly, and knows how to
receive guests, and what to say to everybody; she is quite an
accomplished woman. My honored Parents were not very willing to
go away from Sulgostow, but I must confess I was very anxious to
get to Warsaw, and I welcomed the letters which made us proceed
on our journey. I was right to be anxious about my coming here,
for here I shall become an accomplished woman. I want to be
distinguished. Therefore I will not lose one moment, and
henceforth I will not think of the future or dream of it, but
will study hard and learn all that I can.

Yesterday my honored Mother took me to the Cathedral, where I
went to confession and communion, and prayed that the knowledge
that I shall get here may do me good and honor.

When I feel a little more at home here I will write about everything.
Now I am bewildered. I was accustomed to see around me well-known
faces and rooms, but here I know nobody; everything seems strange.


     _Friday_, April 12.

I am getting acquainted with my new home. I like Madame Strumle
very much. She is a very dignified lady, and very gracious to
me. Certainly it is not as grand and lively here as in Maleszow,
but still it is comfortable and even gay. Some things seem to me
strange, but amusing and quite new. For instance, there are no
valets, not one man-servant in the house; dinner is brought and
served by women! We are about twenty young girls, all from the
best families and all very young. My honored Parents, after
having visited the school, were well satisfied that young girls
could not be better cared for and instructed in a convent.
Madame carries the key of the entrance door in her own pocket;
nobody can come in or go out without her knowledge, and but for
the few old teachers, one could forget how the face of a man
looks. No male cousins, not even brothers, are allowed to pay
their visits. Once the dancing teacher asked leave for the young
Potockis, who are at the Jesuit college, to come here and
practise the contra-dances with their sisters, but Madame
Strumle would not hear of it. "Those gentlemen," she said, "are
the brothers of two of my pupils, but not of the others, so I
cannot allow them to come."

I have a teacher for the French language, another for German,
others for dancing, drawing, artistic embroidery, and music. There
is a beautiful harpsichord; not a spinet as in Maleszow,--it has
five and a half octaves. Some of the young ladies can play
polonaises, not only by ear but from a music-book. The teacher
assures me that in less than six months I shall be able to do as
well,--it is true that I had a little instruction in Maleszow. I
am now only drawing some small patterns for embroideries, but
before the end of my education, I must learn enough to be able to
paint with colors a dead tree, on one branch of which is a wreath
of flowers with the initials of my honored Parents, to whom I shall
offer my work as a token of gratitude for the education I have
received. The young Princess Sapieha, who has been here for one
year, is just painting such a tree, and I feel quite jealous of her
skill whenever I look at her work. What a fine effect mine will
have when hung in our parlor hall!

The dancing-master, besides the minuets and contra-dances, is
showing us how to walk and to courtesy; until now I knew only one
way of courtesying, but I hear there are several varieties,--one
before the king; another before the royal princes, still another
for other dignitaries or their wives.

I asked to be taught first the courtesy for the duke: some day,
perhaps, I shall salute my hero.

My gracious Mother came once to see me. They are having much
trouble with the affairs of the inheritance.

The lessons and studies take all my time from morning till
night, but I do not complain, for I want to learn much. I must
say that on the first days I felt a little bewildered; the
incessant scoldings and admonitions, the iron cross which was
put on my back to hold me erect, the machine in which we have to
stand for an hour, in order to make our feet straight,--all this
was not quite to my taste.

After Basia's departure, I grew to be quite a young lady; the
proposal of the Castellanic, the compliments and the whisperings
of the Prince Woivode made my thoughts travel far away,--I began
to think I was quite a personage; but here I am again treated
like a child. Madame Strumle even ordered me to stop the prayer
for obtaining a good husband, and to ask for good knowledge
instead. Really, one cannot think of anything else here.


     _Sunday_, April 28.

I have not opened my journal for two weeks, but the days are
going on each so like the others that I have nothing to relate,
and I am thinking now what I shall write down to-day. My honored
Parents will leave soon. The Princess Woivodine deigned to pay
me a visit, and found that I stood straighter; Madame is very
kind, my comrades very agreeable; that is all I know. Really, I
hardly believe I am in Warsaw, for I know much less about public
affairs than I knew in Maleszow, and I see none of the grand
persons whom I sometimes met there. My eyes have not once beheld
the king. The duke is away, and they do not expect him back
soon.


     _Sunday_, June 9.

If I were to pass my whole life in school, my journal would soon
be ended. There is nothing to write about; and it is a pity, for
I may forget the Polish language. I never use it but when
writing my diary or letters to my honored Parents or talking to
my little maid; on all other occasions I use French.

They say that I have made great progress in my studies, and the
Princess Woivodine, who has not seen me for one month, finds
that I have grown much and that I have now a very good carriage.
Really, I am the tallest of all the girls in the school, and my
waistband does not measure quite an ell.

Now when the weather is so beautiful, the sky so blue and the
trees green, I feel often a kind of sadness coming over me. I
wish I were a bird! I would then spread my wings and fly away,
far away from the cage. But there is no help for it; I must stay
here on Bednarska Street, the ugliest in all Warsaw, they say.
But next year, if God grants me life, things will be different.


     _Friday_, July 26.

I see that when one is busy the days pass quickly, even in
school. I could not believe my eyes when looking now in the
calendar, in order to put the date in my journal, I found out
that for seven weeks I had not opened my book. But this day
will be forever memorable to me: I received this morning, for
the first time in my life, a letter addressed directly to me.
The dearest and kindest Madame Starostine gave me that surprise,
and wrote my full name on the envelope. So now they know at the
Post-office that there is a "Mlle. la Comtesse Françoise
Krasinska" in Warsaw. I felt like dancing for joy when I
received that letter, and I will keep it with its envelope as an
eternal souvenir.

Madame Starostine is in good health, very happy, and so gracious
as to send me out of the income from the garden, which the
Staroste leaves to her own disposal, four golden ducats with
which I may do just as I please. It is the first money I have
ever owned, and it seems to me that I could buy all Warsaw with
it. I have been planning ever so many ways to spend it: first, I
wished to give a golden ring as a keepsake to each of the young
ladies, my school-mates, but Madame told me that I had just
money enough to buy four rings and no more. Then I wanted to
get for Madame a mantle in blond lace, and again I was told
that it would cost fifty ducats at least. Finally I decided
thus: I shall send one ducat to the Cathedral, in order to have
a Mass said before the miraculous image of Christ, with the
desire that the affairs of my honored Parents turn out according
to their wishes, and also that Madame Starostine be always as
happy as she is now. The second ducat I shall change into small
coin and distribute among the house servants; and with the other
two ducats I shall give a little banquet next Sunday. There will
be ices, cake, also coffee which we never taste here. Madame has
already given me permission to use my money in that way, but the
young ladies know nothing about the surprise. May the Lord grant
his best benediction on Madame Starostine for the great pleasure
she has given me.

My education is progressing rapidly. I am playing several
quadrilles and minuets from a book. In a few weeks I shall begin to
paint the dead tree with the garland, and I am also embroidering,
in cross-stitch, a hunter with his gun and a dog. I read much, and
write from dictation, or copy whole pages from French books, and I
begin to talk in French more easily than in Polish. As for dancing,
the teacher says that there is not in Warsaw a better dancer than
I; but perhaps he flatters me.

Sometimes I go to see the Prince Woivode and the princess, but
only in the morning when they are alone. I always hear very
agreeable things about myself, especially from the Prince
Woivode, who wishes me out of school; but the princess and also
my honored Parents say that I must wait until winter. Alas! it
is only July. Will that winter ever come?


     _Tuesday_, December 24.

Winter has come and the moment for leaving school is near. What
a different kind of life I shall soon begin! Only God knows when
I shall return to Maleszow, for the Prince Woivode and the
princess graciously urged my honored Parents to let them keep
me for the winter and bring me out in society. The permission
was granted and so I shall stay in Warsaw. I am rather sorry to
leave Madame Strumle and the young ladies, but the joy of
becoming acquainted with that world of which I have so often
heard and dreamt, is still stronger than my regrets. I shall
soon see the king and the royal princes, as I shall be presented
at court; the Duke of Courland is expected soon.


     _Saturday_, December 28.

This day begins a new life for me. In the morning the Princess
Woivodine came to take me away, and in her presence I said
good-bye to Madame Strumle and my school-mates. I could not help
crying, although I have been wishing so long for that moment. On
our way we stopped at church, but I could not pray; my thoughts
were too wandering.

I am settled now. My relations live on the street called the
"Faubourg de Cracovie." Their palace is not very large, but
extremely handsome and elegant; from the rear the view extends
over a large garden to the river Vistula. I am occupying a
pretty room which must be especially agreeable in summer,
because there is a balcony leading into a little garden; on one
side are the apartments of the princess, on the other is my
maid's room.

A tailor has already been to take my measure and he seemed
surprised at the smallness of my waist. He will make several
dresses for me, but I do not know what they will be; the
princess ordered them herself, and she inspires me with such
awe, not to say fear, that I do not dare to ask her about
anything. The Prince Woivode intimidates me less, although he is
a man; he has gentle manners and seems to like me. I regret that
he is not here at present; he went to meet the Duke of Courland
at the frontier.

To-morrow we are going to pay visits. The princess will
introduce me to all the first families here. I feel a little
afraid and nervous.


     _Sunday_, December 29.

I have three good things to write to-day. The Duke of Courland
arrived yesterday; the Prince Woivode returned with him and
greeted me as if I were his own daughter, and the visits are
over. In some houses such as the primate's, the French and
Spanish envoys', and some others, the princess only left small
cards with her name and title on them.

Among the visits I remember best was the one to the Princess
Lubomirska, _née_ Princess Czartoryska, the sister-in-law of the
Woivode. She is the leading woman among the young set, and
affects everything French. I observe that here the more
fashionable the house, and the younger the hostess, the more one
hears French; as the old men sprinkle their conversation with
Latin, so the young do with French. But in the salon of Madame
Woivodine of Russ, the conversation was only in Polish. She is
an elderly and very stately lady, and she pleased me immensely.
I met there her only son, a fine cavalier, who paid me many
agreeable compliments, and I think I enjoyed that visit most.

I enjoyed also the visit at Madame Poniatowska's, the widow of
the Castellan of Cracow. She is a very remarkable woman and
talks with great eloquence. She was giving a reception on that
day, in honor of her son Stanislaus who had returned from St.
Petersburg, and of whom it is said secretly that he may become
King of Poland. I watched him intently, but I cannot say that he
pleased me, although I acknowledge that he is handsome, and has
grand manners, I should say royal.

Another good visit was at Madame Rzevuska's, where we found her
husband, the Woivode of Podolie. I was very glad to see him, as
I had often heard from my honored Father about his adventures
when a child; how he was brought up among peasant boys and
tramped barefoot as they do, and thus grew tough and fearless.
He is over fifty now, but looks young and vigorous. He is said
to be also extremely learned. The Prince Woivode told me that
he writes beautiful tragedies.

We went also to Madame Bruhl's, the wife of the minister and
special favorite of the king; although he is neither liked nor
respected by anybody, she is received everywhere, and called
upon, as she is a very refined lady. Our next call was upon
Madame Soltyk, the widow of the Castellan of Sandomir. She
introduced us to her son Stanislaus, a boy of nine years, but
gallant as a young cavalier; the elderly ladies were not yet
seated, when he brought a chair for me, paying me a compliment,
and Madame Castellan said that he was always enraptured with
pretty faces and black eyes. She also was very enthusiastic
about my looks, and to tell the truth, everywhere they spoke
about my beauty,--sometimes in a whisper, but I heard it as
well. But then I never have been dressed so beautifully, even at
Basia's wedding. I had a dress of white brocade with wide
flounces of gauze, a court train of turquoise blue, and pearls
in my hair.

I should have been quite satisfied with those visits, if I had
met the Duke of Courland anywhere. I started from home with that
hope, but I was disappointed. After his long absence he spends
his days now with his father, and has not yet been seen out of
the royal castle. It is quite natural; I myself have been so
often homesick for my honored Parents, especially when in
school. But soon the carnival will begin; there will be balls
and assemblies without end. The duke goes everywhere, and he
likes dancing very much, the Woivode says, so I am sure to meet
him.


     _Wednesday_, January 1, 1760.

My wishes have been fulfilled, how much fulfilled! Not only have
I seen the duke, but I talked with him; I not only talked with
him but ... but will it not be too bold to write down that which
I would not dare to whisper to anybody, what I do not dare to
believe myself, what perhaps I only dreamed of? Well! no, I did
not dream, I am sure of that; I always know very well when I
please any one. And then is there anything extraordinary, since
God has made me handsome, and everybody acknowledges it, that
the duke looked at me with the same eyes as other people? The
same eyes?--was there not in his eyes something more than in
others?...

But everything ought to be set down in order. Yesterday morning the
Princess Woivodine had me called to her and spoke thus: "To-night,
as on the last night in the year, there is generally a ridotto,
which means a masked ball. All the best people, even the king and
the royal princes go to it; and you, mademoiselle, will come with
us, dressed as the 'Goddess of the Sun.'" I was delighted and I
kissed the princess' hand. Soon after dinner they began to dress me
in a costume quite different from the usual, being without powder
or hoops. The princess told me very earnestly that although such a
dress was not decent at all, and that a woman would ruin her
reputation if she wore it on any other occasion, still she hoped
that by the expression of my face, and my demeanor, I would make
up for the deficiency of my costume. Obeying her instructions I
tried to look very dignified, and I think I succeeded, for I heard
people at the ball asking, "Who is that queen in disguise?" Now,
when I think of it I feel uneasy; perhaps in that costume I was
prettier than on other days.... In any case I certainly looked
quite different. My hair, thoroughly cleansed from powder, fell in
loose curls over my neck and shoulders; my dress of white gauze was
clasped with a golden band at the waist; on my breast I wore a
golden sun, and over my head a long, flowing veil, which enveloped
me like a cloud. I did not recognize myself when after dressing I
was allowed to look in a mirror. Perhaps others would not recognize
me as I am now....

The ballroom was almost full when we entered. I felt dizzy,
seeing such a crowd of people, so diversely and handsomely
dressed, with and without masks, in ordinary and extraordinary
costumes. I did not know which way to turn my eyes, and what to
look at first.

Suddenly a murmur arose in the crowd. Some voices said, "The
Duke of Courland," and surrounded by a group of handsome and
richly dressed young men, there he was. I knew him at once,
although his costume did not differ much from those of the
others; but his stature, his large blue eyes, extremely soft,
and his charming smile made him different from every body else.
I gazed at him as long as he did not see me, but when our eyes
once met I could not look at him any more, for I always met his
glance. I saw him inquiring about me,--and of whom? Of the
Prince Woivode! I noticed the pleasant smile when he learned who
I was, and he at once approached the princess, greeting her in a
most charming voice. After the first compliments were over, the
princess took my hand, and introduced me as her niece.

I do not know at all how I bowed, but I fear it was not that
special courtesy which the dancing-master taught me. Neither do I
know what the duke said to me; I only remember that he opened the
ball with the princess, and danced the second polonaise with me.
Then when he talked, to my great surprise, I answered without any
embarrassment. He inquired about my honored Parents, about Madame
Starostine, and her wedding. I wondered how he knew so well about
everything, when I recollected that the Castellanic Kochanowski was
his favorite. The good boy has not only "digested the goose with
the black gravy," but he gave the duke the best report of us all.
"He praised you much, but not half enough," said the duke. I heard
many other nice things during that dance and the following ones,
for the duke invited me for almost all the minuets and quadrilles,
and talked to me all the time.

When at midnight they fired the cannon as a sign of the
beginning of the new year, he said to me, "I shall forever
remember this night; it is not only a new year, it is the
beginning of a new life for me." And how many clever comparisons
about my costume! (Only, it does not sound as well in any other
language as in French.) "It was not the gold on my breast which
was the sun, but rather my eyes; their glance lighted an eternal
fire in the heart, etc., etc." Finer compliments could not be
found in the novels of Mademoiselle de Scudéry or Madame
Lafayette.

Can all that be only sham, courtly civility? It is a pity I
cannot ask anybody about it, but I am afraid of the princess,
and I cannot ask the Prince Woivode; it would not be proper to
talk about those things to a man. I feel too much left to
myself; one week ago I was a school-girl among books and
teachers, and to-day I am playing a part in the world of which I
know nothing. But in about ten days Basia is coming here; she is
so wise she will enlighten me. I am so very happy thinking that
she will come. I have not seen that dearest sister of mine for
three quarters of the year, but I know that she is more and
more happy, more and more beloved by her husband.

When shall I see the duke again? Will he recognize me in my
every-day dress?


     _Friday_, January 3.

I have seen the duke, I have seen him twice, and I am laughing
now at that childish anxiety I had, wondering if he would
recognize me. Why, I should always know him, no matter how well
disguised he might be.

I just finished writing my journal on New Year's day, when the
Prince Woivode came to my room. "Françoise," he said, "you
surpassed all our expectations; your demeanor at the ball
yesterday was perfect, and it pleased generally, even the most
notable persons. I have just returned from the Castle, where we
went with the senators and ministers to pay our New Year's
compliments to his Majesty. His Royal Highness the Duke of
Courland approached me, and declared that he had never seen
anybody like you, and that if it were not for the etiquette of
the court, which requires him to spend the New Year's day with
the king, he would come to pay you his respects in person." I
felt my cheeks growing red when I heard these flattering words,
but the prince seemed not to notice it, and went away leaving me
with my thoughts.

And so I shall meet the duke, not only at the balls, but in this
very house! "He has never seen anybody like you." These words
are still sounding in my ears, as if somebody were repeating
them constantly.

I was so gay at dinner that the princess had to reproach me
several times. After dinner we went again to pay some visits,
but we left the carriage only twice, as all the people were out
for the same purpose. We met in the streets, the carriages
stopped, sometimes several of them at one time, and cards were
exchanged amid much laughing, noise, and confusion. In the
evening it was still gayer when the pages and the torch-bearers
were moving about with their lights and brilliant uniforms.
There were even several accidents, but we fortunately arrived
safe. We returned home quite late. I went to sleep at once,
being very tired, but queer dreams flitted through my head.

The following day at noon, when I sat with the princess in the
drawing-room, beginning a new piece of work on the frame, the
chamberlain announced: "His Royal Highness the Duke of Courland."
The princess rose quickly, and hastened to meet him at the
entrance. I, in the first moment wanted to run away, but my wish to
see him was still stronger than my timidity, and I stayed. As soon
as he entered he approached me and inquired about my health. I
answered distinctly, although I felt very much embarrassed, and
when he sat near my working-frame, I had sufficient command of
myself to thread at once some very fine needles with rather coarse
silk, in spite of my trembling hands.

He praised my skill; stayed about half an hour, and although he
talked most with the princess, still he found an opportunity to
say many amiable things to me. I could thus ascertain that my
different dress did not change me in his eyes. He departed
saying that he hoped to see us the same evening at the ball. I
heard then that the Marquis d'Argenson, the French ambassador,
was giving a ball to which I was to go.

What a reception it was! Why, Basia's wedding was nothing in
comparison. And how highly educated are all these people in
Warsaw! Whenever they open their mouths it is to compliment, but
the duke's compliments surpass them all. He could not talk with
me as much as at the _bal-masqué_, neither did I answer as
boldly. But then I was no longer the Goddess of the Sun, and
besides, it always happened that somebody was standing near us
as if to listen to what we were saying. I do not like it; it is
not nice, especially in well-bred people, to be inquisitive.

The princess is in high spirits; she was the only elderly lady
with whom the duke danced last night. The Prince Woivode is
more gracious to me than ever, but he seems to avoid any
questions from me or counselling me in any way. I look forward
with growing impatience to my dear sister's coming.


     _Sunday_, January 5.

During the whole of yesterday, the duke, the balls, all my
dreams, everything went from my mind; all my thoughts were with
my sister, although I have not seen her yet. She arrived
yesterday morning and was taken suddenly ill. The princess
hastened at once to her house, but I was not allowed to go. I
spent the whole day in the most dreadful anxiety, and sent to
three churches to have masses said. At last, after midnight the
princess returned with the news that Basia was as well as could
be expected, and that she had a little daughter. This morning I
begged on my knees to be allowed to go there, but they said it
would not be proper, and that I should have to wait several
weeks. The Staroste came here for one moment, very happy to be a
father. The little girl is, they say, beautiful. If they would
only let me see her! She will be named Angela in honor of my
gracious Mother.

This morning the duke sent his congratulations and best wishes
for the little grand-niece. Oh! I am longing to see my sister.


     _Wednesday_, January 8.

Basia is still in bed, but the news from her and her little
daughter is the best.

I have seen the duke once only; he was away hunting with the
king, but yesterday he appeared unexpectedly and stayed over an
hour. How good he must be, and how he loves his father! He spoke
about the late queen, his mother, with tears in his eyes. One
can see also that he loves Poland, and that he has a most noble
and valiant heart. Everything I ever heard of him is true; he is
not praised even enough; one cannot well describe the charm of
his voice, his sweet smile, and the look of his blue eyes, so
deep and so soft! I do not wonder that the Russian empress was
charmed with him,--that he carried away the hearts of the
Courland people; and I shall not be surprised if after his
father's death, Poland calls him to the throne. And he likes
me!... Sometimes I think that it cannot be. Still, yesterday his
eyes told me that so plainly; and not only his eyes, but some of
his words too, and the Prince Woivode also seems to think so.

The princess made me feel a little sad when, at table, she said,
with some meaning, it appeared to me, that "many women have
already pleased the duke" and that the last one he sees always
seems to him the most beautiful. But how childish I am! how
should that trouble me?

Am I the only pretty woman in this world? In my eyes the three
Warsaw belles, Mademoiselle Wessel, the Countess Potocka, and
the Princess Sapieha are without any comparison more handsome
than I. And what is more, they know how to enhance their beauty,
which is an art quite unknown to me. The duke says that that is
my great charm, but it seems to me that my complexion is quite
eclipsed by theirs. Especially at the ball in the French
embassy Madame Potocka was ravishing, and the duke danced with
her twice. Well, what right have I to be displeased with that?


     _Sunday_, January 12.

I ought to be quite pleased now! At the ball of the Woivode of
Russ, last Thursday, the duke danced only with me. On Friday he
called here again. Yesterday he sent us by his aide-de-camp an
invitation for a new Italian opera, "Semiramide," given in the
court theatre, and there he devoted himself exclusively to me.
There I was also presented to the king, who was very gracious
and inquired about both my honored Parents. Still more, the
Staroste came here an hour ago announcing that the duke wished
to stand godfather to the little Angela, and desires me to be
the godmother,--me, nobody else; he insisted upon that.

The christening will be magnificent, in the royal Collegiate
Church. There were to be more couples invited to assist, but
out of respect to the duke the honor will be left solely to
him; the others will only be witnesses of the ceremony. Many
of the most distinguished persons will be invited. The whole
of Warsaw will talk about the affair, and certainly the
"Courier" will describe it, and our two names will stand there
together.

What will Madame Strumle and the young ladies in the school say
to that, and my honored Parents, and all the people in Maleszow,
and the good Matenko? I am sure he will say that it is because
of his predictions.

Oh, that Matenko! how often his words come to my mind. He is
responsible for all my troubles; but for his hints no foolish
notions would have entered my head. As it is, I do not feel two
days alike: sometimes the happy thoughts crowd around me, life
seems full of hope, and I hardly know that there is an earth
under my feet; then suddenly everything seems to fade, and my
heart feels heavy and so sad!

For instance, to-day when I was so enraptured at the news of
the christening, the princess mentioned,--I do not know
why,--that the law of the Church forbids the godparents to marry
each other, and I shuddered.

But what makes me feel really happy is that at last I shall see
my dearest sister. After the christening we go to her house.


     _Wednesday_, January 15.

The ceremony took place yesterday and I have seen Basia, who
looks beautiful, although she has grown a little thin and pale.
She is always as good as an angel, and as happy as a queen.

The duke begged that the little girl be named after me, but
Basia was firm in her first purpose; and she was right, for this
honor was due to our gracious Mother. Thus the little girl was
christened "Angela;" she is a dear little thing, and she cried
during the whole ceremony, which is a good sign that she will
live to be aged. It was the first time in my life that I stood
as godmother; I did not know how to hold the baby, so the duke
had to help me. It seemed so queer to stand with him before the
altar surrounded by so many people, and to write down my name
next to his in the large book. Perhaps it was to this event that
Matenko's predictions referred.

Everybody is congratulating me on the great honor which befell
me. The duke is still more attentive than before, and a little
more familiar; he calls me "my beautiful partner," and the
little girl is always "our little Angela." He presented handsome
gifts to Madame Starostine and to me, and threw handfuls of gold
among the attendants and the poor in the church.

I for my part could not do so much, but the little embroidered
christening robe, my gift to Angela, has cost me more than a few
hours' work.

But I forget to speak about an important affair. The topic of
conversation in Warsaw has for some time been a hunting party
which the Prince Jerome Radzivill, the Hetman of the Lithuania
army, is preparing for the pleasure of the king and the duke.
He is spending thousands in order to make a grand display, and
has had the game brought from the forests of Lithuania, over 500
miles away. The fête will be to-morrow; the weather is fine and
the sleighing excellent. The duke wished to drive his "partner,"
and it shall be so. The four Warsaw belles--for I am counted now
as the fourth--will go in one sleigh, and the duke will be our
driver. All four will have costumes alike, but of different
colors,--long velvet coats, tight at the waist, trimmed with
sable, and small caps with fur to match. The Countess Potocka
has selected blue, the Princess Sapieha dark green, Mademoiselle
Wessel marroon, and I shall wear dark crimson.

It is a pity Basia will not see all this, but she is so happy
with her little Angela that she does not care for anything else.


     _Friday_, January 17.

I have never in my life seen anything so magnificent as this
hunting party. We started at nine o'clock in the morning. One
could not possibly count all the horses and sleighs which were
assembled before the king's castle, but ours was the handsomest
of all, and we followed first after the king. The duke, in a
hunting costume of green velvet, looked superb!

We had a long drive far beyond the Church of the Holy Cross, to
Ujazdow. There, coming down the hill on which is built the city
of Warsaw, is a large field usually planted with wheat.[12] This
field was enclosed by a fence with a gate, ornamented with
escutcheons, devices, and inscriptions. In the middle stood an
iron kiosk into which the king and the duke entered. Near the
kiosk was a space covered with bear-skins for the most notable
men, and further on, an amphitheatre with an iron railing for
the ladies. The whole place looked like a forest, for except a
space left around the kiosk, the ground was covered with big
pine-trees planted for the occasion. In the background, one saw
the hills covered with a throng of spectators.

    [12]That place is now Lazienki, with a park and a
        charming little palace built by the last Polish
        king, Stanislaus Poniatowski, for his summer
        residence.

As soon as we arrived and took our seats the trumpets and the
horns gave the signal, and the hunters of the Prince Radzivill
let the wild beasts loose from the enclosure. There were bears,
deer, wild boars and wolves; the trained dogs chased them toward
the kiosk, and one cannot describe the howling and the roaring
of the wild animals, the barking of the dogs, the shrieking of
the ladies, and all the noise which ensued. The king himself
shot three wild boars; the duke killed much game, and fought a
bear with the spear, a proof of great strength and skill. The
skin of that bear was presented to me for a rug.

The hunt lasted until four o'clock in the afternoon; we had a
lunch served to us during that time. There were perhaps a
hundred hunters and game-keepers of the Prince Radzivill, all
dressed in red livery and armed with guns and pikes.

This entertainment was given in honor of the anniversary of the
coronation of the king; for the same purpose there will be a
ball to-night given by the Marshal of the Crown, Bielinski.


     _Saturday_, January 18.

The ball was splendid. The duke was very gay and happy, as on
that day he received a diamond-star order from the king. I
danced a great deal and my feet are aching; but I am sorry that
I spoke of it, for now I shall have to stay at home and rest for
ten days. The princess fears that the incessant dancing and late
hours will injure my health; really, my cheeks have become
rather pale.

We received letters from Maleszow. My honored Mother deigned to
write to me herself, recommending earnestly that I be prudent
about my health and that I take the greatest care of my
reputation, so as to give no cause for the slightest reproach
for frivolity. She says that I ought not to believe all the
compliments I may hear, that often a young girl is called a
belle through some passing fancy, not because her beauty really
deserves it; and that it sometimes spoils her whole life, for
her head is turned, her expectations aim too high, and she may
be forsaken and laughed at in the end. I am sure that will never
be the case with me. My ambition may be ever so high, but nobody
shall know about my disappointment if it comes. Still I could
not help crying when I read that letter; I carry it with me and
often read it over. Happy is the young girl who never leaves her
parents' home! I often regret the old Maleszow Castle.


     _Wednesday_, January 29.

At last the ten days of my retirement are over. There were four
balls during that time, and one of them a _bal-masqué_, where I
was to appear in a Scotch quadrille with the three other belles.
But no entreaties of the duke or others could make the princess
relent; when she has said anything she never changes her
decision.

I was sorry to miss the balls, but no one looking at me would
have guessed it. It is true that the duke came here often, and
praised my patience and courage so much that it was a great
comfort. The hours spent in his company are delightful. He talks
about Saint Petersburg, or Vienna, where he also spent some
time; he describes the good people in Courland; and he always
knows how to put in a word the meaning of which, I think,
escapes all other ears but mine.

How well he knows the bad affairs of our country! It is only
through respect to his father that he does not dare to speak
about them openly. What a good king he would make! The princess
says that his extreme amiability has a particular aim,--to gain
partisans for the future,--and that if he were elected king, he
would perhaps not even look at us. I do not believe it. I can
see plainly that the princess is not in favor of him; she would
like rather to see a Lubomirski on the throne.

To-night there will be an entertainment at the Ladies Canonesses'; a
very agreeable house and much frequented. This order was founded by
the Countess Zamoyska, in imitation of the Ladies' Chapter House of
Remiremont in Lorraine. It is said that it originated from the pity
the countess felt for a young girl of a noble family, who was to be
married in spite of her dislike and even despair. She was an orphan
and had no inclination for the convent life, but her high birth
forbade her accepting a situation, so she was obliged to marry,
merely for a home. In order to give a shelter to other homeless
Polish girls, where they could lead a Christian life and be free
to marry according to their liking, the countess bought Maryville,
a large building once belonging to the Jesuits, and had it altered
into small apartments, with a common dining-room and large
reception-parlors; she endowed it and also completed an adjoining
chapel, erected by the Queen Mary Kasimir, the wife of John Sobieski,
in memory of his victory over the Turks near Vienna in 1685.

There are eleven canonesses and the abbess. In order to be
elected, the young girls must be fifteen years old, and prove
their nobility for six generations on both parents' sides. They
are addressed with the title of "Madame."


     _Ash Wednesday_, February 19.

Thank God, the carnival is over! I see that one can grow tired
even with entertainments. There have been so many during the
last weeks that I felt in a continual whirl. I could do nothing,
nor think of anything else but dresses, visits, assemblies, and
other festivities. At first such a life seems amusing, but by
and by one feels disheartened, and in my life I have never known
such tedious hours as those I passed in the last fortnight. And
yet so many people think that I am so very happy, and they envy
me.

How beautiful the Countess Potocka looked at the ball last
night, dressed as a sultana! She was the queen of the ball, and
danced the whole evening. I danced only the first polonaise; I
hurt my foot and refused all the invitations. Toward the end the
duke came to ask me for a dance, but I did not care to dance
then. Thank God, the carnival is over!


     _Saturday_, February 29.

A few words in haste: I am going unexpectedly to Sulgostow.
There was nothing said about it yesterday when the Staroste and
Basia came to take their leave, but this morning the Prince
Woivode came to my room and said that my sister and her husband
begged me to go with them; that I shall have a good rest there
and probably see my honored Parents, so I ought to go. I believe
that all the prince's advice tends to my good, so I did not
hesitate, but I am sorry the duke does not know anything about
it. Perhaps he will not mind it at all; perhaps he will not even
notice it, as there are so many pretty women in Warsaw; and the
Countess Potocka, she does not go away.


     _Sunday_, March 15.

I returned two days ago. My diary was forgotten here in my desk, so
I could not write in Sulgostow. I was away a fortnight, but it seemed
much longer. My honored Parents are expected in Sulgostow in a few
days, but the Prince Woivode, who came for me, did not want to wait
even a few hours; we were almost flying on the road, with fresh
horses waiting at each station, and we reached Warsaw in one day.
The duke came the following morning; he looked pale, almost ill. He
gave me to understand that it was my sudden departure, without saying
good-bye, which made him feel so badly. He said almost bitterly that
"a friend deserves better treatment." I am sorry now that I went
away, and to be sincere, I was sorry for it more than once during
that fortnight, but the Prince Woivode says that it was for the best.
I must confess that often I do not understand him at all, but I obey
him blindly, for I feel that he is interested in my future. The
princess greeted me very graciously.

In Sulgostow I spent most of the time petting the little Angela,
and embroidering a cushion for the Christ's chapel, in order to
propitiate Heaven in a certain direction, which I do not dare
to name here. I worked assiduously; it seemed to me that every
stitch made the fulfilment of my wishes nearer, and now my work
is finished.

They celebrated with great magnificence the anniversary of
Basia's wedding in Sulgostow. How many changes in this one year!


     _Thursday_, March 19.

Yesterday was one of the most pleasant days I can remember. The
duke was as gay and charming as at the beginning of our
acquaintance. He came here first in the morning, but only for a
moment, as he was going to a hunt with the king; then in the
evening, when we did not expect him at all, he ran in,--I think
he walked, as no carriage was heard,--and he stayed a few hours.
He is freer now to leave the castle, as his two brothers, Albert
and Clement, are in Warsaw, and they keep the king company.

The Duke Clement is said to be very good and religious, and he
is to enter the Church. It is quite right that the king, having
several sons, wishes to give one of them to the service of God,
but it is as well that it was not the lot of the Duke of
Courland.


     _Tuesday_, March 24.

Although it is Lent, I have a delightful time; the duke runs in
as often as he can leave the Castle. He says that he rests here
from the etiquette of the court. But to-morrow will be the end
of all the worldly pleasure. The princess has a few rooms kept
for her in the Convent of the Holy Sacrament, and every year,
before Easter, she secludes herself for eight days in order to
be well prepared for confession. All the ladies do the same, and
I naturally shall accompany the princess. During eight days we
shall see only priests and nuns; we shall read only religious
books, and work for the Church or the poor.


     _Holy Thursday_, April 2.

Our retirement is over, Easter confession is made, and I feel so
free in my mind and so quiet in my heart! I had an excellent
confessor, Father Bodue; he is all the fashion, as he is French,
but even in spite of fashion I would always choose him for my
director. He is a saint, and he is so wise! We had many and long
conversations with him. He knew so well how to speak to my heart
and make it humble and full of contrition, he was so convincing
when speaking of the voidness of the things of the world and the
dangers of it, that really there were moments when I wanted to
leave everything and become a sister of charity in his hospital.
I was just pacing my little cell thinking earnestly about it,
when my maid entered and whispered that she saw one of the
duke's hunters passing near the convent. My devout thoughts were
thus scattered and I could not grasp them again.

Still, Father Bodue told me also that one can be saved as well
in the world when living virtuously, and that such a life is
still more meritorious, as it is more difficult. Why, then,
should I shrink from it?

I really regret that this week is over, although we lived in
perfect seclusion. To-day we shall see everybody, as we are
going to the Castle for the ceremonies of Holy Thursday.


     _Friday_, April 10.

Easter is over. I cannot say that those days were unpleasant,
but the quietude of thought and heart of one week ago, they are
mine no more. Moreover, my conscience has more than one thing to
reproach me for, so soon after my most earnest resolves!

For instance, that as early as Holy Thursday I was guilty of a
dreadful piece of vanity! Was such a thing ever heard of?

It occurred thus: when I was to put on my mourning-dress, as is
the custom in holy week, the princess entered my room followed
by two maids carrying a magnificent gown of white satin with a
long transparent veil, a wreath of white roses for my hair, and
a bouquet for my corsage. I was amazed, but the princess
explained that on Holy Thursday after Mass, said in the chapel
of the Castle, the king and all the assemblage go to a large
room where twelve poor men are sitting at table, and the king,
in imitation of Christ's humility, washes their feet and serves
them at dinner. During this ceremony, one of the society young
ladies is to make a collection for the poor. The king himself
appoints the young lady; this time he named me, and promised to
give the collected money to Father Bodue for his hospital, which
is being built. I felt overcome with joy hearing this, but it
was not because of the poor or Father Bodue; it was simply
vanity. I saw myself, not in a heavy black and unbecoming dress,
but clad in white, I alone among all the other women,--and thus
the handsomest of all! It was wicked, but my conscience feels
better now for having confessed it here.

The collection was extremely successful; I had over five
thousand ducats. The Prince Charles Radzivill alone, saying "My
love![13] one has to give something to such a fair lady," tossed
down five hundred gold pieces, so that the tray bent.

    [13]The Prince Charles Radzivill had the habit of
        beginning each sentence with the exclamation "My
        love!" and therefore he himself was generally
        called, "the Prince My-love." He was the wealthiest
        magnate of Lithuania. After the dismemberment of
        Poland, when all his estates were confiscated, he
        emigrated to Paris and there bought the whole street
        between his palace and the market, in order, as he
        said, that his Polish cook might not lose his way.
        That street, near the Louvre, has still the name of
        "Rue Radzivill."

At first I felt rather timid, my knees were shaking at each low
courtesy which I had to make before every person, but by and by
I grew bolder, and on that day the lessons of my dancing-master
proved to be really useful. The marshal of the court accompanied
me telling the names of the persons we were approaching, and
when the tray grew too heavy he emptied it into a bag carried by
the king's page.

My ears were filled with compliments. The duke told me that it was
fortunate that I begged for money, not for hearts, as every man would
have to give me his. "I would never ask for such a thing," I answered;
"for who would value a heart begged for?" He seemed pleased with my
answer,--I wonder how he could imagine that I should think otherwise.
A woman to beg for a heart--even of the king himself,--why! it would
be a shameful, base thing. To accept it, when it is offered to her,
earnestly and honorably, that is another thing.

But again my thoughts are wandering. To return to my narrative;
the ceremony of the washing of the feet was very touching. I
have still before my eyes the king as he was bending over the
feet of the poor old men, and as he stood behind their stools at
dinner. Moreover, our Augustus III., although no longer young,
is very handsome and stately, and everything he does is done in
a proper manner. The Duke Charles is quite the likeness of his
father.

On Good Friday, we went, dressed in deep mourning, to visit the
Holy Sepulchre. We were in seven churches, saying in each of
them five Paters and five Aves in honor of the five wounds of
Christ; in the cathedral I knelt one hour before the holy
Sacrament.

On Saturday evening there was a grand "Resurrection Service" in
the cathedral; the music by the court orchestra was admirable.

The Easter table in our house was sumptuous, and until yesterday
the tables remained covered with all kinds of meat and pastry.[14]
Who would have thought one year ago, when, on the third day after
my arrival at the boarding-school, I was sitting at the poor Easter
table feeling very melancholy--who would have guessed then that one
year later I would eat an Easter egg with the Duke of Courland?

    [14]The Easter dinner, or the "consecrated meal," is
        still a special feature in Poland, and an elaborate
        affair even among the poorer people. During several
        days meat and pastry are prepared, and on Holy
        Saturday the tables are set, with the symbolical
        lamb in the middle, and every dish garnished with
        sprays of boxwood. Then a priest is summoned, who
        puts on a white surplice, and saying the appointed
        prayers he sprinkles the table with holy water.

        In the villages on Easter morning the peasants bring
        baskets with eggs, bread, cheese, and perhaps a
        sausage, to church, and standing in two rows have
        them consecrated.

        At noon the dinner begins with hot bouillon served
        in cups; all the other dishes are cold. But first of
        all, the lady of the house, holding a plate of
        hard-boiled eggs cut in pieces, presents them to
        every one in turn, wishing a "glad Alleluia." The
        table sometimes stays covered several days, hot
        dishes being added to succeeding dinners, and the
        pastry lasts sometimes several weeks, by some
        mystery remaining as fresh as on the first day.

        The children always have their own table, with
        miniature dishes ornamented with boxwood, a lamb in
        candy, colored eggs, etc. They would never forget to
        have them consecrated, and the little girls very
        earnestly play the hostess, partaking of the eggs
        with their own guests.

        In olden times, the Polish houses tried to surpass
        each other in setting the most sumptuous Easter
        tables. In an old manuscript is found the following
        description of a festival given by Prince Sapieha,
        in the sixteenth century.

        In the middle of huge tables stood a lamb of candies
        and marzipan, which were distributed "only to
        ladies, dignitaries, and church men." Around it,
        representing the seasons of the year, stood four
        wild boars, each stuffed with hams, sausages, and
        turkeys. The prince's chef showed wonderful skill in
        roasting those boars whole. Then came twelve deer,
        also roasted whole, and stuffed with a variety of
        game: hares, woodcocks, partridges, hazel-hens,
        etc.; these were for the twelve months of the year.
        Around the table, numbering the weeks of the year,
        were fifty-two mazourkas, that is, large square
        cakes stuffed with all kinds of fruit, and three
        hundred and sixty-five babas, for the days of the
        year; each was one ell high and on their iced
        surfaces were various inscriptions, mottoes,
        proverbs, and witty verses, which the invited guests
        took pleasure in deciphering.

        In the way of beverages there were: first, four
        antique silver tankards with wine from "King
        Batory's time" (that is, one hundred years old);
        then twelve silver pitchers of old Tokai; then
        fifty-two silver barrels of Spanish, Italian, and
        Cypress wines, and three hundred and sixty-five
        bottles of Hungarian wine. For the household there
        were 8,760 quarts, as many as there are hours in one
        year, of home-made mead. The invited guests feasted
        during one whole week. As soon as the morning
        service was over they surrounded the tables, and the
        entertainment lasted till midnight; the prince's
        court band played lively airs, and the young people
        were never tired of dancing, nor the elderly ones of
        talking of "the good old times," sipping the
        Hungarian Malmsey, and drinking to the health of the
        prince.

He seemed to have grown thin; it is perhaps because of the long
fast. We also have not had any meat for forty days, and neither
butter nor milk during the holy week; everything was cooked with
oil, and on Friday we fasted the whole day. I did not mind it at
all, but for a man it must be different. Yesterday I was looking
anxiously at him: I thought he would not notice it, as he was
talking with the Prince Woivode, but he thanked me afterwards
for my solicitude. I felt quite ashamed; how careful a young
girl ought to be, not only of her words, but even of her eyes!


     _Wednesday_, April 15.

We leave Warsaw to-morrow. The Prince Woivode and his wife are
going to their estate "Opole," and they take me with them. My
honored Father wrote a letter to the princess saying that she
may keep me as long as she is not tired of me. I hope that will
never be; I endeavor to please her as well as I can, and I feel
the greatest awe of her. If I ever live to be old I wish to have
her dignity of demeanor; even the duke is afraid of her.

I am glad that I am not yet going to Maleszow. I have it in my
head that I ought not to return there just as I was, and if I
arrived now there would be no change. No change? Oh! yes, there
is a great change, but not the one I mean. Yet, things cannot
stay long as they are now, something must take place. Will it be
yes, or no? I shall not be surprised if it is yes, and in the
other case--well, I will not bend my head, even if my heart
break. It sounds like riddles, but if when I think of him I am
afraid that some one may guess my thoughts, how could I write
more plainly? As it is I have already said too much; it is
better to stop and put my book under lock and key.


     OPOLE, _Wednesday_, April 24.

We have been here for nearly a week; the place is pretty, but I do
not feel very cheerful, and nothing seems to go right. The trees
ought to become green, but they are as black as in mid-winter; it
ought to grow warm, and it is still cold. I wanted to begin some
embroidery, but I have not the necessary silks; I wished to play,
but the harpsichord is most dreadfully out of tune, and they have
to send to town for the organist. There is a large library, but the
princess has the key of it, and I am afraid to ask her for it. The
prince has bought some new French books, the works of Voltaire, the
most celebrated author in France; he paid, before my eyes, six
golden ducats for a few volumes, and not very large ones; but the
princess does not allow me to read them. What is still worse, there
arrived, just fresh from Paris, a novel which is all the rage, the
"Nouvelle Héloïse," written by a certain M. Rousseau. I took the
book eagerly in my hand, but the author says in the introduction,
"No mother will allow her daughter to read this book," and the
princess most sternly forbade it to me.

I had still another disappointment yesterday; the physicians in
Warsaw ordered the princess to ride horseback for her health; she
laughed at them, saying that she would never do it, but the Prince
Woivode believed their advice good, and he bought a beautiful mare,
quite gentle, which was brought here. The princess very reluctantly
consented to ride a little in the garden, but I, who am not afraid
of horses, was just dying to learn how to ride, and I said so
yesterday. I got a terrible scolding; the princess said that such
an exercise would be quite indecent for a young lady, and I had to
give up all my plans,--such beautiful plans, of riding and hunting
with--well, with some one.

There are many people coming here to pay their respects to the
prince, who is the Woivode of this province, but they are not
very interesting. The one person whom I like to see is the
Prince Martin Lubomirski, the first cousin of the Woivode, but
much younger, and whom I have already met in Warsaw. He owns
the earldom of Janow, which is not far from here, and he has
invited us very eagerly to pay him a visit; I hope we shall go.
The princess always finds something to censure in him, but I
like him very much; he talks most agreeably, and is a great
friend of the Duke of Courland.


     JANOW, _Friday_, May 1.

We have been here two days, and the Prince Martin announced from
the very first that he would not let us go away soon. I do not
think there can be found anywhere a host more generous, gay, and
hospitable than the Prince Martin. The princess says that he
sows his money broadcast as though he expected it to grow. He
has now a new scheme on foot: they are cutting a road through a
beautiful forest near the castle,--from my window I can see the
magnificent trees fall under the axes of at least a hundred
workmen,--and at the end of the road they are building a small
palace, but in such haste that it seems to grow under one's
eyes. There is a wager between the Prince Martin and the Prince
Woivode that the building will be ready in four weeks, and I am
sure the younger prince will be the winner. The whole forest is
to be enclosed with a hedge and serve as a preserve. Men have
been sent to distant places to bring deer and bears, besides the
game which is found around here. There is some mystery about all
that hasty work; I wonder what it is!

This place is beautiful indeed. The old and majestic castle
stands upon a hill above the Vistula, and commands a most
admirable view over picturesque villages, forests, and the
winding river. The halls and rooms are innumerable, the
furniture rich and elegant, and the gallery of portraits is said
to be the finest in the country. But my room seems to me the
most charming of all; it is in a high tower, and it makes me
feel like the heroine of a novel. From each of the three windows
is a different view, each beautiful, but I sit most near the
window looking towards the little palace, the progress of the
work going on there interests me so very much. On the walls of
my room is Olympus painted in fresco. "Venus lui manquait, mais
il la possède maintenant," said Prince Martin, gallantly, when
he brought me in.


     _Sunday_, March 3.

I rose before the sun, and I must have looked like a ghost when
I glided through the large halls, on my way to the gallery of
portraits.

The Prince Martin, following the example of our ancestors, who
kept with great care the pictures of their most illustrious
members, and the memory of their great deeds, determined to
gather all such souvenirs of the Lubomirski family in one room.
He brought from Italy a skilful painter, also called in the help
of a very learned man, who knew all about the Polish history,
and after long researches and debates the plan was carried out
in 1746; as the inscription above the door testifies. The
princess says it is a pity that all these portraits and pictures
are not painted in oil on canvas instead of "in fresco," as
they never can be removed, and it is more difficult to take care
of them. In any case the gallery, as it is now, is superb.

Yesterday after dinner our host brought us in and explained the
meaning of the large paintings, relating the facts and the
anecdotes about them. It was so interesting that I decided to
get up very early this morning, before the house was awake, and
come here alone to look again at the pictures, and write about
some of them.

The first picture represents the three brothers Lubomirski,
young and handsome men, who in the presence of the king, and
many lords and witnesses, are dividing the inheritance of their
father. Two scriveners are writing the deed upon a roll of
parchment, and this document, dating from 1088, was the first
historical title-deed known in Poland; it is still in existence,
and the family are very proud of it.

After that picture, comes a row of portraits of stately men and
great warriors, which I must pass over. Then I see a painting
representing a chapel, where, before a miraculous image of the
Virgin, a baby is being weighed, and the other scale is covered
with gold pieces. One Prince Lubomirski, being childless, made a
vow that if a son were born to him he would offer to the Church
its weight in gold, and he kept his promise.

Farther on, I see a nun on her deathbed, with a halo round her
head; sick people touch her garments and are healed; it was
Sophy Lubomirska, who in the sixteenth century was renowned for
her sanctity.

On the other wall is represented an amusing scene: Among young
damsels at work stands a pretty little girl in a very uncomfortable
position, as her foot is tied to the leg of the table. Her aunt,
who has punished her thus for some mischief, is sternly looking at
her. But the naughty little Christina has grown to be a young lady,
and in the following picture we see her kneeling before the altar
in her room, her beautiful eyes full of ecstasy; she has just
pricked her finger with a golden needle, and gathering her blood on
a pen, she writes down her determination always to lead a saintly
life. She kept her word; married to Felixe Potocki, she was as
famous for her virtues as for her beauty. All her accomplishments,
her rare talent for music, her great skill in handiwork, were given
to God's service. She adorned His churches, composed and sang
verses to His glory, founded several convents, and her charitable
deeds were innumerable. Her own confessor wrote her life and called
her a saint.

Next come the portraits of her two brothers. First, Stanislaus,
an eminent writer, surnamed the "Polish Solomon," is surrounded
with books, and Fame crowns him with a laurel wreath. The
second, Jerome, famous for his valor, is represented with the
King Sobieski, when after the victory near Vienna they are
examining the flag of Mahomet, captured from the Turks; in the
distance the Polish army can be seen occupying the Turkish
camps.

Then I stop at a large picture representing a very exciting
adventure. In a forest covered with snow, a man is fighting with
a bear, who seems to have the better of him, when from behind a
woman in a hunting costume approaches, and holds two pistols to
the animal's ears; in the background a horse is seen running
away with a sleigh. The story runs thus: A Princess Lubomirska,
who was very fond of horses, was returning one day from a
hunting party, with only one servant, when an infuriated bear
sprang upon them. The frightened horse threw over the little
sleigh and ran away with it, and the two people were left to the
fury of the beast. The faithful servant having only said, "Your
Grace, remember my wife and children," threw himself forward to
meet the bear, who was advancing on his hind legs, and give his
mistress time to run away. But the courageous Pole did not leave
the brave man to perish; drawing two pistols from her belt, she
stepped from behind and shot the bear on the spot.

But I hear the Prince Martin talking to his dogs, which he loves
and pets as if they were children; his greyhounds are famous in
the whole country. It is time to stop and run back to my tower.


     _Thursday_, May 14.

We went to Opole, and returned here again, urged by Prince
Martin to see the villa finished; he won the wager. I asked him
to-day why he wanted another house, and he answered smiling,
"For your ladyship's sake." What does he mean?


     _Saturday_, May 16.

The duke is here! And, oh!--I can hardly believe it,--he loves
me! He loves me so much that he could stay no longer without
seeing me, and the two princes, to please him, thought to build
the villa and to give hunting parties, in order to bring him
near the object of his affection. It is fortunate that it was
dark when he appeared yesterday. Everybody would have seen how
I blushed, and he himself might have read in my eyes more joy
than I ought to have shown. How will all this end? Until now I
feigned not to understand the hidden meaning of his words. I
tried most carefully to conceal my feelings toward him; shall I
be able to do it any longer, especially here, where I shall see
him so often,--live almost under the same roof?

I cannot express the state that my heart and head are in. I see
before me either a destiny so grand that I am afraid to think of
it, or so dark and miserable that I shiver. What ought I to do?
I would rather die than ask the princess; she said, not later
than to-day, that the woman who would believe in the love of the
duke would be simply mad, and that his wife would be most
unhappy. The Prince Woivode visibly shuns any confidence.


     May 18.

I am betrothed. Is it really true? I, Frances Krasinska, I shall
be Duchess of Courland, and perhaps one day something more!

To-day we went to the little palace. The princess made a false
step mounting the stairs, and was obliged to stay in the room
with her companion, and we four went to the park. The Prince
Martin stopped to show the Woivode some preparations for the
hunt, but the duke said he preferred to walk, and took my arm.
He was silent for awhile, which seemed strange, as he generally
talks a great deal. At last he asked me if I would never be
willing to understand for whom and for what he had come here. I
tried to answer, calmly, that I knew him to be a lover of
hunting, and that there promised to be great sport. Then he put
aside all metaphors, and said plainly that he came for my sake,
"and to find his whole life's happiness." I was stunned, it came
so suddenly; but I composed myself and said: "Monsieur le Duc,
are you forgetting who you are, and what you may be one day? You
must look for a wife among the royal daughters." "You are my
queen!" he exclaimed; "you, who first by your beauty have
charmed my eyes, and afterwards by your modesty and virtues have
won my heart. I am used to having women run to me as soon as I
have spoken one word. But you, although you loved me perhaps
more than any one of them, you shunned me; I could only guess
what you were feeling. You are worthy of the first throne in the
world. If I wish to be one day King of Poland, it is in order to
put a crown on that beautiful brow of yours." How can I believe
that all that was not merely a dream!

I stood silent; no words could pass my lips. Then the two
princes drew near us. "I take Heaven and you for witnesses,"
said the duke, turning to them, "that I will never marry any
other woman but the Countess Françoise Krasinska. For reasons
easily understood, I wish my decision kept secret until the
time comes, and I am sure of your loyalty and discretion." The
princes saluted; they said something about the great honor and
their faithfulness; they whispered in my ear, "You are worthy of
it," and withdrew.

I stood as yet in a dream, but at last I had to answer to the
affectionate words; I had even to confess that I loved him much,
and had done so for a long time. Should I not have made that
avowal to my future husband? My husband! No, it cannot be true.
But then, what means the exchanged ring on my finger? I had from
Basia a little golden snake-ring which she gave me at my last
visit; the duke had observed it, and ordered a similar one with
the words "for ever" engraved inside; he put it on my finger and
took mine for himself. The trees and the birds were the only
witnesses of that silent betrothal. But these rings were not
consecrated; a Father's hand had not given me away, nor a Mother
bestowed her blessing. Oh! yes, now I believe that all is true,
for I feel hot tears on my cheeks.


     _Monday_, May 25.

One week has passed, a week of such bliss! To-day for the first
time, I was struck with the thought that my happiness might fly
away. The Dukes Clement and Albert arrived here on Thursday; the
hunt took place on Friday and Saturday, and they leave this
afternoon; perhaps he also will have to go soon! How could I
have so totally forgotten about it? Perhaps I had not time to
think of what would come next, the days are so full--not only
with my heart's content, but also with the duties of the lady of
the house; the princess is confined to her room, as her foot has
grown worse, and I have had to take her place. Or perhaps I did
not want to think at all and spoil my happiness. Now I can think
of nothing else but that departure. What will it be when he has
gone? With what thought shall I awake in the morning? For whom
shall I want to dress? What shall I do with the whole day when
he is not here!

I looked out of the window toward the villa, and saw a white
handkerchief waving from the balcony; it is the "good-morning"
he sends me every day. How early he is,--it is not yet six
o'clock! Now I see a rider galloping along the road. It cannot
be he! No, it is his favorite hunter who brings me flowers, a
message every day from him. Oh! no, my anxiety was premature; I
have not heard yet that he was going away; we may have another
happy week, and a third, and perhaps a fourth,--why did I fret?


     _Wednesday_, May 27.

My forebodings were right; he is going. A special courier came
last night with the king's order that he return at once. I saw
him this morning; I shall see him again in half an hour, when he
will come to say good-bye, and then when shall we meet again?


     _Sunday_, June 7.

Two weeks have passed. Two couriers brought me short notes under
the Prince Woivode's seal; but what is a letter, written words,
for two people who have been accustomed to talk to each other
for hours, who knew each other's thoughts without even using any
words, only looking into each other's eyes. He left me his
miniature, a fairly good likeness, but it has always the same
expression; I have a better portrait of him in my heart. I do
not answer his letters; it is hard, but I was positive when I
told him that until we were married he would not receive a
single written word from me. I think my hand would be paralyzed
if I wrote a letter without the knowledge of my aunt and my
honored Parents, and I will keep my word, although God knows how
much it costs.

How long the days seemed when he was gone! I felt in a kind of
lethargy, caring for nothing, without will or desire to do anything.
I was aroused by a very sad occurrence: the princess' health grew
worse, her foot swelled, and the doctor for whom they sent to Warsaw
declared her to be in a critical condition. I cannot express what I
felt during the three days of uncertainty. Notwithstanding all that
the duke and the princes have said to quiet my conscience, I know
very well that my silence about what has happened is an offence
toward her. From the very beginning I planned and lived in hopes
that the day would come when I should confess my involuntary fault to
her, and to my honored Parents, explaining how everything happened,
how I could not help it, and I was sure I would be pardoned. But
during those three days of danger my hopes might at any moment have
been crushed, and then what would have become of me? How could I
live without having her forgiveness? It came to my mind also that
my honored Parents are no longer young, and an unexpected illness
may come to them, and I felt utterly desperate.

The Lord be praised and thanked! The princess is better, and we
had good news from Maleszow; both my honored Parents are in
excellent health.

But it is time to return to the princess; she likes to have me
near her, and now I feel most happy at her bedside when I can do
something for her.


     OPOLE, _Thursday_, June 18.

The princess felt so much better in health and strength that we
returned here the day before yesterday. I left Janow with
regret; after all, the remembrance of the happy hours spent
there is the strongest.

In his last letter the duke frightened me, writing that he will
be obliged to go to his dukedom of Courland, and that he is
puzzling his brain as to how he shall see me before he leaves.
How long those months will be! But his sufferings are worse to
me than my own. Several guests arrived here from Warsaw, and
spoke about the change that everybody notices in him; he does
not look well, he is sad, and avoids society. People find me
also changed and looking pale. I would not care, but when I hear
the princess explaining that it is on account of the trouble and
care I took of her during her illness, then my conscience makes
me feel miserable.


     _Saturday_, July 11.

One moment of bliss, and it is gone; he has been here, but only
for one hour. He left Warsaw last Wednesday, as if to go to
Courland, but as soon as he was out of town, he left his
equipage and turned south instead of going north; now he is
travelling day and night to meet his court at the frontier. I
saw him such a short time, that I cannot realize it was not all
a dream. He came disguised as one of his hunters; nobody
recognized him but the prince and myself, but nobody ought to
have recognized him. He implored me with tears in his eyes to
write to him, and it was perhaps fortunate that he could not
stay longer, for it was hard to resist those tears.

Three months is the shortest time for his stay in Courland; how
many weeks, and days, and hours in three months!


     _Thursday_, September 3.

I have not opened my book for two months; they passed as
everything passes in this world, but that they were sad it is
needless to say. One month more to wait. In each letter the duke
assures me he will be here in October. To-day I was so glad at
seeing some dry leaves on the ground in the garden; I thought it
might already be October. We shall go to Warsaw ere long; the
princess has forgotten that she was ever ill.

I had great trouble lately,--a proposal of marriage, and a
splendid match, as they say. The princess, who from the time of
her illness is kinder to me than ever, arranged everything,
acting in concert with my honored Parents, and never a doubt
arose in her mind that I might object. It was extremely painful
to me to destroy her plans, to incur her just anger, to hear her
reproaches, and especially her innuendoes concerning the duke.
It was also very difficult to write to my honored Parents, not
knowing what excuses to make for my refusal. My honored Mother
deigned to answer me. "The Parents who allow their daughter to
leave their guidance," she writes, "cannot be very much
surprised if she does not obey their wishes." Could I ever have
foreseen that what I called the height of happiness could have
thrown me into such a depth of misery!


     WARSAW, September 22.

We have been in Warsaw for several days. With what joy I
approached the city! Here I shall see him again; he is coming on
October 1st, that is, in one week. If it was not for that hope,
life here would be intolerable. Those visits and receptions
which seemed so amusing are now a trial. I think everybody is
reading my secret in my eyes, and that all my acquaintances are
laughing at me, especially the women. Yesterday one of them made
me so nervous with her inquiries and her false solicitude that
my tears were quite near,--in the presence of at least fifty
people. But the Prince Woivode took pity upon me and came to my
rescue; he is always so good, only he does not believe in my
sorrow and troubles, and calls them "childishness."


     _Thursday_, October 1.

He arrived and is well; I have seen him, but before much
company, and when my heart was leaping to meet him I had to
stand still and wait until he entered and saluted the Prince
Woivode, and then to make the low courtesy as etiquette
requires. No matter; as long as he is here and well, everything
seems more cheerful, and all will be well.


     _Tuesday_, October 20.

My God! what a promise have I given one hour ago! The fourth of
November, when will it be? It is the birthday of the duke, and
as a gift he wants my hand. He said that he will doubt my
affection if I refuse. The Prince Woivode also pleaded for him,
and I said "yes," before I realized that I had no right to do it
without the knowledge and permission of my honored Parents. But
I will not marry without their consent; I said that I must write
to them, or otherwise I would rather enter a convent. At last
the duke submitted and promised to add a postscript to my
letter. Here my pride received a shock; is it not the young man
who ought to humbly ask the Parents for their daughter's hand?
Yes, but not a royal prince. For the first time, I felt the
difference in our rank,--that it is he who does me a favor in
marrying me. But it is too late for any regrets; my word is
given.


     _Thursday_, October 22.

A chamberlain of the Prince Woivode has gone to Maleszow with
the letters. The duke said that my letter was too humble, but I
thought it was his postscript which was too royal. What will the
answer be? My life is in suspense until then. I had the happy
thought to ask if the curate of Maleszow could not come to give
the wedding blessing; it would at least be somebody from my
home. The Prince Woivode promised to have him come, and he will
also obtain the necessary papers.


     _Wednesday_, October 28.

My honored Parents consent and give their blessing, but it is not
such an affectionate blessing as they gave Basia when she was to be
married, and it is just, for I do not deserve it. The duke expected
a separate letter for himself; as there was none, he felt a little
offended and talked with the Prince Woivode about the pride of the
Polish seigneurs. No matter, it is a relief to think that they know
everything; it is as if a stone were lifted from my heart. They
promise to keep the secret until the duke releases them. One sees
in their letter some surprise, even satisfaction at such an
alliance, but there is also, especially in the words of my dear
Mother, a kind of affectionate reproach which pierces my heart. She
writes, "If you are unhappy, you cannot ascribe your misfortune to
us; if you find felicity in your decision, for which I shall never
stop praying the Lord, your Parents will rejoice over you, but not
as much as over their other children, as you have not allowed them
to share in making your happiness." I cried so much over these
words that they are almost illegible.

The curate will come, and in six days I shall be a bride. I
cannot believe it; there are no preparations for the wedding,
everything around me is so quiet and every-day-like.

One week before Basia's wedding, what was there not in Maleszow!
If at least I could see the duke often, but sometimes two, and
sometimes three days pass without my seeing him. He fears to
awaken the suspicion of the king, and still more that of Brühl;
therefore he avoids me at receptions, and does not appear here
as often. I feel so lonesome with nobody to confide in or ask
for any advice. Even my little maid is to be sent away, and a
married woman, whom the Prince Woivode knows, but I have never
seen, is to take her place. I do not even know how to dress for
the wedding; I asked the prince, and he answered, "As every
day."

What a strange occurrence! I am making the grandest marriage in
Poland, and my shoemaker's daughter will be more dressed on her
wedding day than I on mine.


     November 4.

Married! One hour ago, before the altar, before God, we swore to
each other faith and love until death. What a terrible wedding!
At five o'clock in the morning the Prince Woivode knocked at my
door. I was quite dressed, we went out stealthily; at the gate
the duke and Prince Martin were waiting for us. It was quite
dark, the wind blew fiercely; we walked to the church, as a
carriage would have made a noise. It was not far, but I should
have fallen several times, if the duke had not supported me. At
the door of the church the good curate met us. The church was
dark and silent as a grave; at a side altar two candles were
lighted; no living soul but the priest and the sacristan. Our
steps resounded on the flagstones as in a cavern.

The ceremony did not last ten minutes, and then we hastened away
as if pursued. The duke brought us to the gate, and the Prince
Martin had to compel him to go away. I had my every-day dress
on, not even white, only I hastily put a bit of rosemary in my
hair. Yesterday, remembering Basia's wedding, I prepared for
myself, with tears, a golden coin, a piece of bread, and a lump
of sugar, but in my haste I forgot to take them this morning.

Now I am again in my room, alone. Nobody is blessing or
congratulating me, the whole house is asleep, and if it were not
for the wedding ring, which I shall soon have to take off and
hide, I could not believe that I have returned from my wedding,
that I am a married woman, that I am his forever.


     SULGOSTOW, December 24.

I was not going to write in this book any more; I saw no use for
it, as the friend I have won for my life had all my thoughts
confided to him. But cruel destiny has separated us, and I open
my book again to relate the sorrowful event. In the days of
happiness, if they ever come, it will be agreeable perhaps to
read over the accounts of the past misfortunes, although I do
not think the most perfect bliss could ever wipe them out of my
memory.

Six weeks have passed since the day of our wedding. Nobody has
guessed what happened. My new maid swore to the Prince Woivode
on the crucifix that she would be silent on whatever she may
know. Our meetings and interviews, managed by the Woivode, were
kept perfectly secret. I was still Mademoiselle la Comtesse
Krasinska to everybody. The duke, in order to be ready for any
sign from the Prince Woivode, pretended illness and did not
leave the castle, but in the end he was obliged to appear in
society, and paid a visit to the princess. It was the first
time I saw him in public; I could not control my emotion, which
was perceived by the princess. After his departure, she
overwhelmed me with reproaches, scoldings, and warnings. Sure of
my innocence, I answered perhaps too boldly, and imprudently
made her understand that it was not a mere flirtation between
the duke and me. On the following day, the princess was very
much agitated; the duke came again, and knowing he could not see
me on that day in private, he had written a short note, which he
discreetly slipped into my work-basket,--but not discreetly
enough for the watchful eye of the princess. As soon as he was
gone, she seized the basket, and when she read the inscription
on the note, "Pour ma bien aimée," her wrath burst forth in the
most dreadful and offensive words. I heard myself called the
shame, the blot on the Krasinskis' name. I heard that I would
send my Father and Mother to the grave. "But now," she added,
"this low intrigue shall be ended. I have written to Brühl,
telling him that honesty and honor are more to me than my family
ties, and I feel it to be my sacred duty to let him know that
the duke is in love with you, and that he must do what he thinks
best to stop this unlawful affection. So at this moment the king
himself is perhaps informed of your mad scheme, and of your
shame." "There is no shame," I answered, "I am his wife." As
soon as I uttered these words I realized what I had done in
revealing the secret, but it was too late. The princess was
amazed. I fell at her feet and confessed everything; there was
nothing else to be done. I implored her pardon, and begged her
in the name of God to keep the secret to herself. She seemed
surprised, but not soothed; she compelled me to rise from her
feet, saying that it was not a proper position for a lady of my
standing. She asked to be pardoned for having often treated me
not according to my dignity, of which she was unaware; but she
did not allow me to kiss her hand, and under the pretence that
her house was not good enough for a duchess, perhaps the future
Queen of Poland, she gave at once the orders for my departure. I
controlled myself so that not one disagreeable word fell from my
lips, and I shall always be thankful to the Lord for it; the
princess is my aunt, and I shall never forget the care she has
bestowed upon me during so many months.

I did not know at all where I was to go. Fortunately some one
happened to mention Sulgostow. The marshal, who came to take the
orders, heard it, and the news spread in the house that I was
going to spend Christmas with my sister. Glad of the suggestion,
I confirmed it. I wrote a letter to the duke, in care of the
princess, in which I told him about the necessity of letting my
sister know the truth, and in less than two hours, in a closed
carriage with my maid, I was travelling fast, not knowing what
was to become of me. I reached Sulgostow in such a confused
state of mind that when Basia saw me and heard the disconnected
sentences,--that the princess sent me away from her house, that
I was innocent, that the duke was my husband,--she was so
frightened that she wanted to call for help, and to send for the
doctor; she was sure that I was insane. No news yet from Warsaw!


     _Saturday_, December 30.

I received a letter from the duke (I think I shall never call
him otherwise). He is in despair about my departure, angry with
the princess, and much afraid of Brühl discovering everything. I
am leaving Sulgostow; the happiness of my sister makes my lot
still more miserable. I love her with my whole heart, and I pray
God that she may always be as happy, but this comfortable home,
the attention her husband's family pay to her, the many tokens
of affection from our honored Parents, the little Angela who is
so fond of her mother, and of whom her father is so proud,--all
this stabs my heart when I compare her fate with mine. I will
go to Maleszow. When I shall hear the words of forgiveness from
the lips of my honored Parents, and they embrace me, I shall
perhaps feel more tranquil. Perhaps the year begun with them
will be as happy as those that I spent under their roof, when a
gay and careless girl.


     IN MALESZOW CASTLE, January 5, 1761.

I have been here for several days, but I am not any happier. My
honored Parents greeted me in such a strange manner. I wanted to
throw myself at their feet, and I would have felt better for it,
but they did not allow it. The Count bowed low to me as if I
were a stranger; even now he will not sit next me, and he gets
up when I enter the room. This homage paid to my new title is
grievous to my heart. At the first dinner he whispered in my
ear, "I could under the pretence of testing, order a bottle of
'Miss Frances' wine.' I am sorry not to taste it at the first
dinner, but the custom requires that the first cup be emptied
by the father, and the second by the bridegroom; any other order
is considered a bad omen. But will that happy moment ever come?"
he added, so sadly that I was hardly able to restrain my tears.
Oh! that dinner was for me a real suffering; everybody seemed to
be under some constraint; even Matenko was not up to his
standard. The Count winked at him to make him tell some jokes,
but they were not a success.

He is a sharp fellow, Matenko. Yesterday he entered my room
mysteriously, when I was alone, and kneeling on both knees, with
an expression which was half droll and half melancholy, he drew
from his vest a little bunch of dried leaves tied with a white
ribbon and a golden pin in it. I could not at first make out
what he meant when he said, "I am sometimes a prophet." Then I
recollected the bouquet from Basia's wedding. I ran after
Matenko, who still on his knees was retreating toward the door,
and put in his coat a diamond pin I had received from the duke.
Neither of us said a word, but both perhaps thought that if it
was strange that his joking prophecy was fulfilled, how much
more strange it was that its fulfilment failed to satisfy my
expectations. When I think how I dreamed about my return to
Maleszow after my wedding! What royal presents and surprises
there would be for everybody! Even each of the peasant-women was
to receive a new cap, the girls bright ribbons, and what
entertainments and banquets were to be given to all! And here I
return to my paternal home after nearly two years of absence,
and bring no gifts to any one. When Basia came home from the
convent she had a little surprise for everybody, although she
had no more money than I; but she had leisure of time and mind,
and with her own hands she prepared the little trifles which
were valued so much. How could I do it?

Here my beloved Mother interrupted my writing. She came into my
room carrying heavy bundles of costly silks, laces, and jewels,
and laying them down on the chairs she said rather timidly: "I
have brought here a part of the things which are destined for
each of our daughters; I would have brought more, but nothing
seems to me good enough. I have been talking to my honored
husband; he will sell a few villages in order that when the
happy moment comes, and the marriage is announced to the world,
our second daughter may receive an outfit in accordance with her
high rank." Moved to tears, I wanted to embrace her knees, but
she did not permit me, and was still making excuses for the
"miserable presents," as she called them.

Oh no! I cannot stand all this. I will return to Sulgostow.
There are too many eyes fixed on me here, too many exclamations
about how pale I look. My dear little sisters are asking
continually, "Why are you not married yet?" or, "When will you
marry?" Even the old servants ask me the same questions.
Yesterday the three girls whom I promised to take to my court,
came to see me. Old Peter brought his daughter himself; it was
so painful to send them away. How astonished they will be if
they hear that am I married, but cannot take them, for my
husband is a son of the king!


     SULGOSTOW, January 9.

I found no letter here from the duke. I am dreadfully anxious;
perhaps he is ill, or the king is informed about everything, and
does not let him write. If the Prince Woivode were in Warsaw he
would let me know, but he left a few days before me and probably
has not yet returned.

The farewell of my honored Parents was more tender than their
reception, but the best moments I spent were in Lisow, where I
went to visit our curate. I found him planting spruce-trees in
his garden, and he allowed me to plant one in the cemetery near
the church.[15] I leave a sad souvenir behind me, but I am not
gay myself. I heard kind and comforting words from the good
Father, and went away with more courage. If only I had news that
the duke is quite well!

    [15] This tree still shades the old building.
        (Note in 1858.)


     _Tuesday_, January 15.

New trials and new sufferings during these past days! Will there
be any kind of grief which I have not experienced?

On Saturday when we were going to dinner we heard the
postilion's horn before the palace; the door opened and Borch,
the minister of the king, entered the hall. I knew at once the
purpose of his coming, and I trembled like a leaf, but he
pretended that he wanted to pay his respects to the Staroste and
Madame Starostine, at whose wedding he had the honor to be
present. He played this part during the whole dinner, but when
it was over he asked me for a moment of private conversation,
and then told me at once that Brühl and he were informed of all
that had happened, but to them the marriage of the duke was a
mere joke; that a wedding without the knowledge of the parents,
and not blessed by the pastor of the parish, is void, and can
be annulled without any difficulty.

In the first moment I believed his words and felt doomed and
helpless, but God had mercy upon me, and suddenly my mind was
cleared. I considered whose representative was before me; I felt
sure that the Prince Woivode would not have countenanced an
illegal marriage; I was aware that upon my firmness in that
moment depended the future of my whole life; and I replied as
follows: "It is wrong of Minister Brühl, and it is wrong of you
who speak for him, to want to deceive a woman who is not yet
eighteen years old; but I am not so ignorant as you may
imagine," I continued, while he was listening in blank
amazement,--"I know that our marriage is valid; it was
consecrated by the curate of my parish before two witnesses, and
with the consent of my Parents. Yes, there is the divorce, but
the signature of both parties is necessary for it, is it not so?
and neither prayers nor threats will obtain mine or the duke's
signature." Borch was confounded. On the following day,
however, he tried to secure my signature by offering me a large
donation, and when that failed he wanted at least my promise
that, if the duke gave his consent to the divorce, I should not
withhold mine. I gave that promise in writing; I am sure of my
husband's faith and love.

       *       *       *       *       *

Here ends the journal of Françoise Krasinska. Continual sorrows
and misfortunes took away her strength, and her wish to write
about them any more. The most painful of her trials was the
inconstancy of her husband, and the apprehension of the divorce
with which she was threatened more than once. After the early
death of her parents, the homeless young woman led a wandering
life for several years, between her sister Barbara's, her aunt's
the Princess Lubomirska (who could not remain angry very long
with her favorite niece), and convents in Warsaw and in Cracow.
Her fickle husband returned to her from time to time, but their
marriage was still kept secret, under the pretence of sparing
the old king the shock. Furthermore, the visions of a brilliant
future which the young girl once nourished vanished one after
the other; as Matenko had predicted, the mitre and the crown
both slipped away. Count Biron became Duke of Courland, and
after the death of Augustus III., Stanislaus Poniatowski was
elected King of Poland.

The family of the late king moved to Saxony. Then the Duke
Charles wrote a most tender letter to his wife, asking her
forgiveness for the past, and imploring her to come to Dresden,
where, he wrote, he would publicly call her his wife, and he
would devote his whole life to her happiness, in order to redeem
the years of her beautiful youth spent in wandering and
humiliation. Although she had longed for this moment for years,
she did not yield at once to her husband's request. Her heart
wished perhaps otherwise, but her self-respect commanded her to
await at least a second invitation. She had not long to wait;
letter followed letter, and every word breathed the most tender
affection, and news came that under this suspense, the duke's
health began to give way. Convinced at last of the sincerity of
his re-awakened attachment, the young duchess, surrounded by a
numerous retinue sent from Dresden to accompany her, left her
native country; and from that time she lived in Saxony, not in
the splendor once dreamed of, but in a happy home. Her husband
now clung to her with all the passion of a young lover; her
little daughter, Marie Christine, their only child, promised to
be as beautiful as her mother, and numerous friends, among
others the Empress Maria Theresa, who was very fond of her, and
bestowed upon her the estate of Landscrown, surrounded the
"handsome Pole" with affection and admiration.

But she never forgot Poland and her relatives, nor lost the hope
of living there once again. The numerous letters written to her
sisters, her goddaughter Angela, the Princess Lubomirska, and
others, are still kept by the family and show her deep affection
and solicitude for them and her country. She did not live to a
great age, having died in 1796; and as if to prove his deep
attachment, her husband survived her only a few months.

Their daughter, Marie Christine, married Charles de Carignan, Duke of
Savoy, and had two children,--a daughter, Elizabeth Françoise, married
to the Archduke Regnier, King of Lombardy-Venice, and second cousin
of the present Emperor of Austria; and a son, Charles Albert, the
father of Victor Emmanuel, and of the Duke of Genoa, the latter being
the father of Marguerite, the "Pearl of Savoy." Thus both the King
and Queen of Italy are the great-great-grandchildren of Françoise
Krasinska.


THE END.





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