I have bound together quite a large volume of blank sheets, which I will fill with my thoughts as they arise, with minute accounts of all that concerns me or my family, without omitting public matters. My father, a grave and serious man, regards little else than the latter; but I, a very ignorant young girl, may be permitted to follow the dictates of my fancy, and the capricious guidance of my imagination; at least there shall be neither pretension nor affectation.
To-day brings a new year, and is truly an excellent time for commencing my journal. In this castle there will be no want of leisure. We have already said our morning prayers, and I will finish my spiritual reading during vespers. It has just struck ten, and I am dressed for the day, including the arrangement of my hair. I have consequently two spare hours before dinner. I will note down to-day my reflections upon myself: I will speak of my family, of our house, of the republic, and will in future detail all that may happen to any or all of us.
I was born in 1743, and am consequently sixteen years old; I received at my baptism the name of Frances. I am quite tall; I have often been told that I am handsome, and in truth my mirror reveals the fact that I am by no means ill looking. My mother says, however, that 'one must give thanks to God for such a gift, and beware of pride; for it is His goodness, and not our merit.' My eyes and hair are black, my complexion fair and well colored; but still I am not satisfied: I would like to be much taller. It is true that my figure is slight and well formed, but I have seen women of a loftier stature than myself, and I must envy them a little, as all tell me I have attained my full height.
I belong to a very noble and ancient family, the Corvini Krasinski. God grant that I may never sully so glorious a name by any unworthy action; my desire is to render it still more illustrious, and I am sometimes sorry that I am not a man, for I should then have been capable of performing great and brilliant deeds.
My father and mother are so fully persuaded of the excellence of their origin, that our neighbors, as well as ourselves, all know the genealogy of our ancestors by heart. I confess, to my shame, that I am much more conversant with it than with the succession of our kings.
But what will be the final fate of my journal? Will it live or die? Why should it not survive through many ages, as so many letters and memoirs written in France have done? Oh, I must pay great attention to my studies! What a pity I have not the talent of Madame de Sevigné, or of Madame de Motteville! Perhaps I could write my journal better in French ... But no—that would be unworthy of a Polish girl; a native of Poland, I must write in my national tongue. It is true that French is generally used among all our nobility, but then that is a fashion, which, like all other fashions, may soon pass away, and I should not like to leave such a blot upon my memory.
If these pages should escape the rats and the rage for curl papers, and fall into the hands of any one willing to read them through, I hope the reader will pardon my ignorance, and kindly remember that I write without method, and am totally uninstructed in all the rules prescribed for the keeping of a journal. I am but just sixteen, and the great little matters now occupying so much of my attention, may in the future seem futile and unworthy of having excited so much interest. What will a sensible, sober-minded reader think of all the strange fancies passing through my brain, and the wild dreams of my imagination? But let us now return to the genealogy of my family.
[Here follows the chronological enumeration of the Krasinski family, which we omit, as its interest is purely local, and can hence be neither amusing nor instructive to readers not of Polish origin. The Diary thus continues:]
Stanislaus Krasinski, starost of Nowemiasto, of Prasnysz, and of Uyscié, is my father; and Angelica Humiecka, daughter of the celebrated palatine of Podolia, my mother: but this branch of the Krasinskis will be extinct at their death, for to my great sorrow I have no brother. We are four, and all girls, Barbara, myself, Sophia, and Mary. The members of our little court often tell me I am the prettiest, but that I do not believe. We have received the education befitting our position as young and noble ladies, in short, as starostines.
We are all well grown, and have been taught to hold ourselves as straight as reeds; we are in excellent health, fair, fresh, and rosy. We have a governess, who is charged with the care of us; we call her madame; and when she has laced us, our waists might be spanned, as the saying is, between one's four fingers.