Continental Monthly, Vol. 4, No 3, September 1863

At these last words, Barbara again began to weep; her voice was so changed that no one could hear what she replied to my father; she fell at our parents' feet.

Then came congratulations from all sides. The Abbé Vincent, after sprinkling all the spectators with holy water, presented the paten to the wife of the king's pantler, Jordan, that she might kiss it. This was a great mistake, an incomprehensible forgetfulness of the rights of precedence: he should have offered it first to the Castellane Kochanowska, mother of the prince royal's representative. My mother, who fortunately perceived the error, repaired it by begging the castellane to take precedence of the Palatiness Granowska in reconducting the starost. Barbara walked between the king's representative and the Palatine Malachowski. In this order we reëntered the great hall, and soon after, dinner was announced.

The table was very large, and in the form of the letter B. The service was magnificent; in the centre stood a sugar pyramid four feet high; a French cook had been at work upon it for two weeks; it represented the temple of Hymen, adorned with allegorical figures, and surmounted by the united arms of Krasinski and Swidzinski, encircled by French inscriptions. There were, besides, quantities of other fancy articles: porcelain figures, gold and silver baskets, etc.; indeed, the table was so crowded that our dwarf Peter might have tried in vain to make his way among the various dishes and ornaments. I could not count the number of dishes, and the butler, I am sure, might try in vain to tell the number of bottles of wine which were drunk. It may perhaps give some faint idea to say that a whole tun of Hungarian wine was emptied during the repast: it was called 'Miss Barbara's wine.' My father bought it the day of Barbara's birth, that it might be drunk at her marriage, in accordance with the old Polish custom. Each of us has her tun of wine, and our butler tells me that when mine has remained two years longer in the cellar it will be perfect.

The toasts were innumerable; all drank to the newly married pair, to the republic, the king, the Duke of Courland, the prince primate, the clergy, the master and mistress of the house, and the ladies. After each toast, the bottles were broken, the cannon fired, and the trumpets sounded.

At the end of the dessert, a perfect calm succeeded to all this noise: we thought my father was about to give the signal for rising from the table, but we were mistaken. He called the steward, and said a few words to him; the latter left the room, but soon returned, bringing a black morocco case, which I had never seen before. My father opened it, and drew forth a cup enriched with precious stones; it was in the form of a raven; he showed it to all the guests, and said it had descended to him by hereditary succession from the ancient Roman family of the Corvini, and that he had never touched it since his own wedding day. He then took from the butler's hand a large bottle covered with a venerable dust, bespeaking great age. He told us, not without a certain pride, that this wine was a hundred years old; he emptied all the contents into the cup, leaving not a single drop, but as the goblet was not yet full, he poured more of the same wine into it from another bottle, and finally drank it off to the prosperity of the married pair. The toast was enthusiastically received; the music again began to play and the cannon to thunder. The cup went the rounds of the table, and its virtue was such, that a hundred bottles of old wine were emptied before it had made the entire circuit. After this crowning honor, each left the table as best he could.

Night had already set in. The ladies went up into their rooms to change their dress, but the bride and the young ladies attending upon her remained as they were. Toward seven o'clock, when the fumes of the wine were somewhat dissipated, all began to think of dancing, and the king's representative opened the ball with Barbara. At first only Polonaises, minuets, and quadrilles were danced, but as the guests became more excited, they ventured upon Mazurkas and Cracoviennes. Kochanowski dances the Cracovienne to perfection. According to the ancient usage, the leader sings stanzas, which are repeated by the others. He improvised one at the moment he began to dance with Barbara; as nearly as I can remember, it ran as follows:

'Neither king nor palatine to-day would I be,
The fortune of the starost only give to me;
For he has truly merited the fair,
The lovely lady, sweet beyond compare.'

The ball and the toasts, which had been recommenced, as if none had been offered before, were suddenly arrested, and a chair was placed in the middle of the hall. The bride took her seat upon it, the twelve young ladies began to loosen her headdress, singing in lamentable tones:

'Ah! Barbara, farewell,
We have lost thee!'

My mother took off her garland, and Madame Malachowska placed a laced cap in its stead. I should have laughed heartily at this change, if Barbara had not been all in tears: however, the cap became her wonderfully well, and every one repeated that her husband would love her dearly, very dearly. I am sure I do not doubt it: who could help loving such a good, sweet young creature?

The ceremony of the cap ended, all began again to dance, and through respect for the custom introduced by the new court, the bride danced the drabant with the king's representative, after which the orchestra played a grave Polonaise. The Palatine Swidzinski offered his hand to the bride, and she danced in turn with all the gentlemen present. As the Polonaise is rather a promenade than a dance, it suits all ages; my father made once the tour of the hall with Barbara, and then gave her back to the starost, as was most proper. The Polonaise ended the ball, and my mother sent us all off to sleep.

… I slept well, and indeed I needed rest; but I do not feel very much tired this morning. Heavens! how happy I was yesterday! I danced oftener with the prince's representative than with any one else; he is so agreeable and converses so charmingly! That is not astonishing, for he has been to Paris and Luneville; in fact, it is only a year since he returned. He was then immediately attached to the person of the prince, whom he praises highly. Indeed, if his master be more gallant than he is, he must be something really ideal.

I am very glad that the festival will be continued this evening; but we must begin to dance early, for on Shrove Tuesday we cannot dance after midnight.

I have not yet seen Barbara – I should say her ladyship the starostine, for my parents desire we should so call her. Her absence puts me completely out of my reckoning, but I have fallen heir to her bed and work table. I have finally all the honors due to the eldest. I am no longer Frances, still less Fanny; I am the young starostine… Indeed, I needed some consolation.

Wednesday, February 27th.

To-day is Ash Wednesday, and we must languish a whole year before another carnival comes round.

Our guests already begin to leave us. His majesty's representative departed yesterday, and the married pair will go day after to-morrow. We will accompany them to Sulgostow. The starost can invite no strangers, as all amusements are forbidden during Lent; an exception has been made in favor of Kochanowski, the castellan's son. He earnestly solicited this favor, and the starost could not refuse him, as he was his comrade at college.

I am enchanted with the prospect of the little journey we are to make. I shall see my good sister's palace and domains. I cannot become accustomed to say her ladyship the starostine, when I speak of Barbara, but I know I ought to follow the example of my parents, who call her nothing else.

Barbara has become very grave since her marriage; she wears dresses with long trains; she looks to me several years older in her grand robes, and still seems quite sad, but that is easily understood, as she is about to quit her father's and mother's home; and then, the idea of being entirely alone with a person she scarcely knows must distress her.

She is so timid with the starost that no one would think he was her husband; but he is not in the least timid: he calls her my wife, approaches her often, and talks much more to her than he ever did to our parents.

Saturday, March 9th.

We returned yesterday from Sulgostow: I amused myself exceedingly while there, but it is a real sorrow not to be able to bring her ladyship the starostine back with us. How time flies! A week has already elapsed since she left the castle!

Last Friday, when all our guests had departed, Barbara rose early, and went to the parish church at Lissow; she made an offering of a golden heart to the chapel which contains the image of her patron saint, and then bade the good priest adieu. When she returned to the castle, she took leave of all the courtiers and attendants; then went down to the farm, and distributed all the little articles which had belonged to her domestic establishment as a young lady. She gave away her cows, geese, and chickens to a poor peasant of Maleszow, who had just been burned out of house and home; she kept only two crested hens and her swans, which she will take with her to Sulgostow. She gave me her birds and flowers.

After this distribution of her little property, she expressed a desire to go once more all over the castle; she visited all the rooms on every story, and remained long in the chapel and in our own apartment. We had scarcely finished our breakfast, when the cracking of whips was heard, and a chamberlain entered to announce that the carriages were ready. The starost went to Barbara and told her it was time to go. Her heart swelled at these words, and tears streamed from her eyes; she threw herself at our parents' feet to thank them for all their kindness, for the care they had bestowed upon her, and the happiness she had enjoyed during eighteen years. She added:

'All I can desire in the future, is to be as happy as I have been until the present day.'

For the first time in my life I saw my father weep. Ah! what tender blessings our poor Barbara received!.. All who were present at this scene were deeply moved.

When we reached the drawbridge, the captain of our dragoons opposed our passage, and told the starost he would not suffer him to proceed until he had received some pledge as a promise that he would at some future day bring Barbara back to the castle. The starost gave him a beautiful diamond ring.

During this colloquy I had leisure to examine the starost's equipages. They are truly magnificent: the first one had two seats, was yellow, and lined with red cloth; next came a fine landau, then a barouche, and several britschkas. The horses belonged to the finest breeds. To the yellow carriage, intended for the married pair, were harnessed six noble animals, white and gray. The various members of the suite followed in the other vehicles, and we (young ladies) brought up the rear.

Her ladyship the starostine wept aloud, and we heard her sobs distinctly; they almost broke my heart.

The courtiers, chamberlains, and even the peasants, accompanied us quite a considerable distance. Barbara threw them all the money she had about her, and the starost displayed an unheard-of generosity; he gave to every one, beginning with the steward and ending with the lowest servant in the castle.

Wherever we stopped to rest our horses, or to pass the night, we found the attendance admirable. The starost gave his orders, and the tables were covered as if by magic. The Jews, who keep most of the inns upon the high road, turned everything out of doors, even their children and goods, to make room for us.

Shortly before arriving at Sulgostow, we met the palatine and the Abbé Vincent, who had preceded us in order to receive the young couple.

The peasants, led by the starost's steward, met us at the frontier of the Sulgostow estate. The eldest member of the peasantry made a speech, at the conclusion of which all cried aloud: 'May the bride and groom live a hundred years!'

As we entered the palace courtyard, a company of hussars discharged their muskets, and the captain presented arms. The palatine, with his nephew and all his court, received us at the first gate; loud acclamations arose from every quarter.

The starost presented her ladyship the starostine with an enormous bunch of keys, and the following day she assumed the reins of government. She gave her orders and directions in a manner that made it a pleasure to hear her; it is true that she had been instructed from her infancy by our mother in all the details of housekeeping.

Sulgostow is situated differently from our castle of Maleszow; the two mansions possess few points of resemblance. The former is a palace, and the latter a castle.

Sulgostow is gay and splendid; luxury abounds on all sides, and grandeur appears in the least details. The court is numerous, and the table excellent; but that which is of more importance is the eagerness to oblige, and the attention shown by every one toward my sister. I foresee that she will soon forget our castle.

I tasted several excellent new dishes at Sulgostow, and for the first time in my life drank coffee. My parents do not like it; they say it is unwholesome for young persons, especially for young girls, as it heats the blood and makes the skin yellow. But I believe they will one day lay aside this prejudice. It is not long since coffee was first introduced into Poland, and people must become accustomed to it gradually. As for me, I drank plenty of it at Sulgostow; the starost is very fond of this beverage, and obtained from my parents permission for me to drink a small cup every day.

Apropos to coffee, we all laughed heartily one day when some one recalled the verses of the poetess Druzbacka. Speaking of a bride just arrived at her husband's castle, she says: 'She could not find even three little grains of coffee; but he gave her instead a great soup plate, filled with soup made of beer and cheese.'

Certainly, the new starostine has no such complaint to make.

I was very sorry to leave the starost's palace so soon. Mr. Kochanowski, the castellan's son, is very lively, and amused us exceedingly; when we drove out, he always rode on horse back near our carriage door.

Her ladyship, the starostine, sobbed bitterly when we parted from her. I too felt very sad, and feel still more so now that we have returned to Maleszow; I fear this melancholy will not soon pass away.

Tuesday, March 12th.

I foresaw that my sister would take all my gayety away with her. The castle seems deserted, and all pleasure has vanished with our dear Barbara… My parents are also very sad: Barbara, being the eldest, was much more with them than we were, and rendered them a thousand services. I try to fill her place, but I am very awkward in lighting my father's pipe, and in choosing the silks for my mother's embroidery. With time and the help of God I hope to become more skilful, but I can never equal Barbara (I must call her so for this once). I have plenty of good will, but notwithstanding that, forget many things, while my sister never forgot anything: the whole court speak of her in the most affectionate and exalted terms.

My parents sent a chamberlain to Sulgostow to-day, to inquire for her ladyship the starostine. All the chamberlains covet the honor of bearing the message. Michael Chronowski, who leaves to-morrow for Opole, really regrets his ancient condition.

The castle becomes daily more melancholy; the castellan's son has gone, and, during the last three days, the only visitors we have had were some travelling friars and a gentleman of our neighborhood, who brought his young wife to introduce to our parents. This gentleman formerly belonged to our court, and he seemed to me very well bred.

'My heart,' said he to his wife (who had not spoken two words), 'if I am a good husband and father, you must thank, first the starost, and then the steward; the former never spared his reprimands, nor the latter his leathern strap.'

I was charmed with this naïveté; and my father made him some very handsome presents.