Sunday, January 20th.
I have neglected my journal during the past week; we have been so busy with the preparations for the marriage; there are such crowds of people at the castle; every one is occupied doing the honors; both mornings and afternoons are passed in company. Our studies are laid aside—the chronology, the French grammar, and even Madame de Beaumont lie quiet and undisturbed in their places. We are busily engaged with our needles, because each one of us desires to make a present to Barbara. I am embroidering a morning dress, which will be charming; I even steal some hours from my sleep that I may the sooner finish it. Mary is embroidering a straw-colored muslin, with shaded silks mingled with gold thread, and Sophia is making a lovely toilet cover.
My mother is entirely occupied with the trousseau; she opens her wardrobes and chests, bringing out linen, cloth, furs, curtains, and tapestry. I help her as well as I can; she is sometimes good enough to ask my opinion; she is so scrupulous, so much afraid of not dividing our shares equally. She is so particular, that she even sends for the chaplain to judge of the exactness of the division. The tailors and lace-makers who have come from Warsaw to make up the trousseau will hardly be able to finish their work during the next month. The linen is all ready. The young ladies belonging to our suite have aided materially. They have been sewing at linen during the past two years, and now they are marking it with blue cotton. These poor girls will soon be very expert in making the letters B and K. The trousseau will be magnificent.
Barbara cannot conceive what she will ever be able to do with so many dresses! Until now none of us have ever had more than four at a time: two brown woollen ones, with black aprons, for every-day wear, a white one for Sundays, and a more elegant one for grand occasions, ceremonials, etc. We always found them quite enough, but my mother says that her ladyship the starostine will need an entirely different toilette from that required by Miss Barbara; that what was proper for a young girl will not be sufficient for a married woman.
I spoke of a ball of silk given to Barbara by my mother on the day of the betrothal; well, that was to make a purse for the starost. Barbara works at her purse from morning till night: the tangled silk was given her as a trial of her care and patience; for she must first wind the skeins without breaking them or dimming their lustre. She has succeeded admirably. Barbara may marry without doubt or fear; our little Matthias answers for her vocation.
The chamberlains and the equerry have departed with their letters of announcement. Barbara is terrified at the thought that the princes and lords of the court may perhaps come from Warsaw. What a child she is! As for me, I should be delighted! But I just remember—the investiture of the prince royal took place on the eighth of this month. The evening before the ceremony, our cousin, Prince Lubomirska, Palatine of Lublin and the prince royal's marshal, gave a magnificent ball. The dinners, balls, and concerts are said to have lasted more than a week. The new Duke of Courland made a speech in Polish, which produced an excellent effect. He is now regarded as an independent prince, and has shown both dignity and greatness of mind throughout this whole affair.
The Polish Courier gave all the details of the ceremony. If I had had time I should have copied them, they interested me so deeply! But all these details are nothing to what I should have seen with my own eyes had I been there. What is description compared with one's own observation? I am really very glad of the final investiture of the prince; it is the only public matter which pleases and consoles me; all else seems to be in a most lamentable condition. While I am so diligently working at Barbara's morning dress I am forced to hear things which sadden me deeply. The chaplain reads the papers aloud to us, and I see that the republic loses daily in power and dignity; the neighboring powers invade it under divers pretexts; their troops pillage and devastate the country, while the Government refuses to interfere.... I dare not think of the future, but my father says we must enjoy the present. All speak in subdued tones of the woes which threaten Poland, and then dance and drink; the joyous festivals and banquets would deceive one into thinking the times must be prosperous. The Poles, perhaps, act like our little Matthias; when he is vexed he never lets the glass leave his hands, repeating always: He who pines, needs good wines (dobry trunek na frasunek); the sadder he is, the more he drinks.
Friday, January 25th, 1759.
The starost arrived yesterday, and Barbara found on her table this morning two beautiful silver baskets filled with oranges and bonbons; she distributed them among us (her sisters) and the young ladies of the court; even the waiting women received their share. Our work is progressing; my morning dress is nearly finished.
My mother gives Barbara a bedstead with all its furniture. We have long had our flocks of geese and swans. There is a poor creature in the castle who can do nothing but pick down; poor Marina is so stupid that she is incapable of comprehending anything more difficult, and passes her whole life in this occupation. Each of us has her share of the down; Barbara will have two large feather beds, eight large pillows of goose down, and two small ones of swans' down. The pillows are made of stuff spun in the castle, and are to be covered with crimson damask, besides which they will have an upper case of Holland cambric, trimmed with lace. The young ladies of our suite have put a great deal of work upon them.