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.
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!
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!