After she was fully dressed, the French powdered wig was fastened to her head. When she looked into the mirror, she was startled by her appearance.
“Anna,” Zofia cried, “you look divinely gorgeous! Why, you don’t even look as if you’re expecting.”
Anna did feel a measure of confidence and pride stirring within when she saw her reflection. And she was thankful that her condition was not apparent. Of course, she knew most people would think it quite improper for her even to be out of the house.
“Give me your right hand, Anna. I’ve brought you a ring. It’s only right that you should share in the spoils the King’s Guard left.”
Zofia slipped onto the third finger a silver ring. The silver had been worked into the shape of a lion’s paw which clasped the large stone.
Anna gasped. “What kind of stone is this, Zofia? I can’t quite determine its color.”
“That is the secret charm of the stone, Anna. Its color changes with its surroundings. It has something to do with the light. It may appear blue or green or violet or even blood red—any number of colors. It’s called alexandrite.”
“How wonderful.”
“Those people who have that same charm of changing are the successful ones. One must adapt to one’s own immediate company and situation. Consider it a little lesson from your worldly cousin. Now, I will look in on Mother to say goodnight.”
Zofia had not invited her mother. Anna wondered at the reason. Was it Aunt Stella’s recent depression?
Antoni was invited but had some previous appointment. He planned to join them there. Their relationship had not improved. Antoni had made no further advances; this was a blessing that she knew would dissipate after the birth of her child. Oh, he seemed to be trying. He spent much more time at home these days, behaving solicitously toward her. But Anna knew he was up to something, something to do with her estate. If only she could obtain an annulment. She feared how it all might end. She felt like a trapped animal. And she could not, as Zofia seemed to suggest, change her colors.
The maids took Zofia’s absence from the room as an occasion to compliment Anna. “Ah, vous êtes très belle!” cried Clarice. “You will be la crème de la crème of those women at the palace.”
“Vous êtes magnifique!” chimed Babette. She then lowered her voice to a confidential whisper: “Madame must be careful or the sudden bloom of her petals will make those of the mademoiselle appear très pale by comparison. You cannot do this, Madame, or your cousin will send us packing.”
The maids giggled naughtily.
Anna played down the impertinent joke, but in truth her confidence was bolstered.
A light snow was falling on the gloomy winter afternoon when the carriage stopped for Anna and Zofia. A dwarf attended them as they stepped up on a stool and entered the carriage of Princess Charlotte Sic. Anna met her now for the first time.
The princess had fled France for the safety of Warsaw. She was middle-aged, still rather attractive if a bit overweight. Her high white wig, rolled from the face and curled at the sides and back, presented a cherubic visage, but for a huge beauty mark that hung on one fleshy cheek. She was draped in a wrap of black silk trimmed with white fur. Anna was impressed most by her jewelry. Above the plunging neckline of her gold brocade gown was a three-tiered diamond necklace, fastened tightly at the neck and cascading in shimmering rivulets to cover the exposed area of her generous bosom.
“Your necklace is very beautiful.”
“Merci, Anna Maria. It has been in my family for generations. It once belonged to Eleanor of Aquitaine. Ah!—diamonds, they are ageless, my dear.”
“Unlike you,” Zofia said.
Charlotte became flustered, her cheeks puffing with air. “Why, Zofia, I am but thirty-two.”
Zofia nearly screamed with laughter.
The princess eyed her meanly for a moment, then turned to Anna. “Zofia can be most unkind sometimes,” she puffed. “I don’t know why I have befriended her.”
Zofia giggled. “You know very well.”
Charlotte ignored the comment. “Your cousin didn’t tell me that you were so lovely. With such competition in her own home, it is no wonder she has kept you under wraps.”
Zofia’s giggles stopped.
“Do you speak French, my dear?” Charlotte asked.
“Just a bit,” Anna said. “Usually the conversation is much too swift for me.”
“You should work at it, my sweet. It is a necessity throughout Europe.”
After some talk of trifles, Zofia and Charlotte lapsed into French, talking and laughing girlishly, confident that Anna could not keep up with the conversation.
Anna sat mesmerized by the lustrous sparkle and glow of the awesome diamonds. While her parents had instilled in her an appreciation of their privileged standing, she was coming to realize there were other nobles who were much more wealthy. “There is rich and there is rich,” Zofia had once told her. She could not take her eyes away from the diamonds that coruscated to the vibration of the carriage. It must be a wonderful thing, she thought, to be so rich.
In time Anna tried to follow the tête-à-tête, pretending to be lost in her own thoughts. They were gossiping about an infamous Italian who had created a scandal at the Polish court a few decades previous. They spoke of how this Giacomo Casanova had beauty and charms that were irresistible to women of all ages; how he tried to start a lottery and failed; how he challenged a member of the prestigious Branicki family to a duel and won; how he was routed from Poland, but not without the compensation of thousands of gold coins from the men’s gaming tables and countless gems from the women’s jewel boxes.
“Charlotte,” Zofia intoned, “is it true he left behind so many red-faced men and sulking women? Surely you’re old enough to remember him yourself?”
Charlotte pursed her lips in mock-anger. “You little bitch!”
“They say,” Zofia continued, “that he was wonderfully well-endowed where it counts most.”
“You are incorrigible,” Charlotte laughed.
“I know. I know.”
Although the distance to the Royal Castle was short, the line of vehicles proceeding across the outer courtyard and into the Great Courtyard was long, and nearly an hour passed before the carriage door was finally opened for the ladies to alight at the Senators’ Gate.
Clad in knee breeches and a gold brocade coat, the Princess’ dwarf helped them down, then led them past the soldiers who stood at attention in their red and yellow uniforms. Their wraps were taken by servants on the ground floor before they followed the little man up the circular marble steps, where they found themselves in the Antechamber to the Great Assembly Hall.
The ornate room was alive with animated talk and laughter. Zofia and Charlotte paused occasionally to nod and speak to nobles they knew. Anna was dazzled by the buzzing chamber; windowless, it was lighted by hammered gold sconces and magnificent glass-and-gem chandeliers, each bearing dozens of gleaming candles.
Anna was glad she’d come, glad that her condition didn’t show, and glad, too, that Antoni had not accompanied them. I will enjoy myself tonight, she thought, as much as any single and independent woman in the hall. If for only one evening, she wanted to live as if nothing had happened to her the previous September.
Anna regretted for the moment not wearing a more elaborate dress. The women here wore gowns of exotic materials and richly flamboyant colors. Some of the French-influenced dresses covered scaffoldings of metal. Most women wore wigs, and many of them wore their faces heavily powdered and their lips and cheeks rouged; the older the woman, it seemed, the heavier the makeup. Perfume wafted about them and the exposed area of their bosoms were like jeweler’s display windows.
The men in the room were no less colorful, Anna noted. Many of them still clung to the traditional Polish garb the men of Sochaczew wore: long coats over tight trousers, colorful sashes—often of Turkish design—at the waist, and ruffs at the neck. The older nobles wore chains and medals in me
mory of past deeds. Other men wore the Oriental gowns that became fashionable at court about the time King Jan Sobieski defeated the Turks. But Anna could see that the French costume of buckled shoes, stockings and breeches, ruffs, and laces was making inroads, despite stalwart Polish nobles who thought the style effeminate.
Supper commenced at three in the afternoon. Zofia had advised her that the early hour was to allow for the activities of the evening. Tonight it was to be a concert. The dwarf led the women into the adjoining Marble Room where they were seated at one of a score of round tables draped with white silk.
“We have struck it lucky today,” the princess whispered. “This is the room in which the king holds his intimate Thursday dinners with artists, literati, and others of the intelligentsia. He uses the round tables to show that all guests are of equal rank.”
“Like King Arthur,” Anna said.
“Equal rank or not, Charlotte,” Zofia corrected, “we aren’t so very lucky. Someone just told me the king is dining in the Great Assembly Hall tonight.”
“Ah!” The princess was mildly deflated. “Oh well, Anna, you shall have to wait to catch a glimpse of the king.”
Anna took little notice of the news. She was still taking in the room and its profusion of marble, from the black and white diagonally set squares of the flooring to the grays, browns, and greens of the walls, door frames, and entablature that reached to the ceiling. Ensconced in the entablature on all sides were the portraits of some twenty Polish monarchs of the past.
The empty place on Anna’s right was reserved for Antoni. She found herself wishing he would miss the occasion altogether. She was thoroughly enjoying herself.
The food was fragrant and delicious. As in even the most modest Polish homes, the preoccupation with good food was wedded to the notion of true hospitality, and the king now called out his best from his kitchens. The Royal Cook, Paweł Tremo, was reputed to be the finest culinary chef in Europe. He combined the exotic French cooking with the traditional Polish fare the king so loved. Zofia warned Anna to eat lightly, and Anna soon learned the reason for the advice. For nearly three hours, a parade of magnificently attired servants carted in course after course of borsch, cold meat appetizers, spicy marinades, fish, vegetables, an array of roasts, including the king’s favorite, roast mutton. Anna, however, was most delighted by the chef’s aromatic specialty, grouse in hazel sauce.
The cellar gave up its finest: wines from France and Spain that were suited to the particular courses. Spring water, preferred to wine by the king, was poured into crystal goblets.
“It is all so extravagant,” Anna whispered to Charlotte Sic.
The French princess shrugged, as if to say it was nothing.
If a Pole was said to be stingy, it was because he stinted himself only to be generous to his guests. Anna was witnessing firsthand the king’s generosity—but she doubted he was ever stingy, to himself or anyone.
Anna was relieved to find that King Stanisław’s rule at table went against most monarchs of the day: the trend toward conversations in French. Here, only Polish was spoken. For that she was grateful. And proud.
Supper topics centered on mad country days, hunting trips, cruises on flower-covered boats, expensive miniature portraits, and porcelain fixtures from Saxony. There were stories and jokes sweetened and spiced with puns and des mot à double entendre. Anna was coming to realize that conversation here was an art. These people were saying nothing of importance, but they were saying it with wit, grace, and expertise.
Fine fruits from the royal orangery were served for dessert. When Anna commented on the delicious apricots, oranges, and peaches, Zofia assured her that there were magnates who surpassed the king with their hothouse figs and pineapples.
To Anna’s left sat an elderly baron who had been quiet through dinner. He spoke up now, addressing those at table. “Has everyone heard the story of Countess Kossakowska?” he asked.
Those who paid attention to him laughed and said they had. He seemed to be deflated for the moment, until his gaze came around to Anna. “You have not heard it, Countess Grawlinska?”
“I have not,” Anna said politely.
“Then you must! It is most amusing.”
Anna noticed Zofia rolling her eyes but nodded anyway to the man, as if to give him permission.
“Well, the Countess Kossakowska is very wealthy, you know. Wife of a magnate. Oh, this is a very good story.”
Anna nodded solicitously.
“Well, it seems that the eccentric countess was traveling in her carriage one day when the cries of an orange peddler caught her ear and appetite. But she soon realized she had not a single coin with her. Can you imagine?”
“What did she do?” Anna asked, only because the old man had paused, just as one actor pauses for another’s bit of dialogue.
“I’ll tell you exactly what the woman did, my dear. It is extraordinary! She gave that astounded man her pearl necklace, paying him at the rate of one pearl to one orange!”
“Oh, my!” Anna cried.
The baron was laughing at his own story, so he did not take notice that Anna found little humor in it.
She remembered her father telling her that some nobles believed that to live a noble life was to live an idle life. As she watched the flash and color of wealth this night, she thought that such excess made her more clearly understand the bloody peasants’ revolt in France.
After supper, they were escorted by the dwarf to the ladies’ lounge, then to the Great Assembly Room, the largest and most magnificent room in the Royal Castle. The dining tables had already been removed, and a performing dais was set up in the middle of the huge room with at least two hundred chairs fanning out in all directions. Windows fronting the River Vistula ran the entire length of the room and it was near them that Zofia secured the last few vacant seats. “Look!” Anna cried, peering through the darkening sky. “There’s your townhome, Zofia, just across the river!”
Neither Zofia nor Charlotte was impressed. Anna settled into her thickly cushioned chair, which was positioned behind and a little to the right of Zofia and Charlotte. While most of the tapers were being extinguished, Anna took in the room, from the wood inlaid floor to white and gold walls and some two dozen marble columns.
The statues on either side of the main entrance drew Anna’s attention. She tapped her cousin on the shoulder, whispering, “Are those not the likenesses of Apollo and Minerva, Zofia?”
Zofia made no attempt to lower her volume. “It’s Apollo, Anna,” she said cavalierly, “but if you get up close, you can see the face has King Stanisław’s features.”
Charlotte turned around, giggling. “And while you’re up close, you’ll see that Minerva bears a suspicious resemblance to Catherine.”
Anna sat back not knowing quite what to think. It was certainly no compliment to Apollo’s visage and seemed rather vainglorious of the king. Catherine’s features, imposed on Minerva, were fair enough, but the inherent link to Russia was an unwelcome one.
The theme of the room was the divine preservation of order, but Anna had no time to study the mythological ceiling painting Ordering Chaos because of the dimming light and entrance of King Stanisław.
The hundreds of nobles stood at once, then knelt in what space they could.
He acknowledged the crowd with the hint of a smile, simple and unaffected, gave the sign to rise with his right hand, then went to his throne which had been placed at the far corner of the room. He nodded to the French violinist who had taken his place on the dais. The footlights around the dais were the primary source of light now. It was not long into the first selection that Anna sensed someone watching her. Was it the dwarf? Where had he gone? A heat came into her face and goose flesh rose on her arms. More than once that afternoon his attention had unnerved her. She drew in a breath and immediately turned around, but behind her there was nothing, nothing but the windows and the river.
Anna thought the musician excellent, and so was surprised that
many people continued conversing in scarcely disguised tones. Some even walked around the darkened room, visiting with acquaintances. Even Zofia and Charlotte spoke in gay whispers as they gawked about.
Presently, Zofia turned her head to the extreme right and stared shamelessly past Charlotte toward the far side, where a striking, black-haired officer could not help but notice her interest. The man’s companion was a large and powerfully built Nordic man, who wore not a uniform but a formal green coat with silver buttons. Anna thought the ruffles at the wrists and neck humorously incongruous to such a mammoth figure of a man.
“Oh, Charlotte, look at that divine Russian in his red uniform.” Through clenched teeth Zofia carried on a perverse conversation with her friend without taking her eyes from the officer.
“Why, I suspect he is rather short,” Charlotte said.
“He has everything that attracts me,” Zofia countered, her head now nodding in his direction.
When Zofia turned to see if her cousin were watching her, Anna immediately fastened her eyes on the violinist, pretending to be lost in the music.
“I tell you,” Charlotte was saying, “that when he stands you will see that he is a short man.”
“Why should that bother you, Charlotte?” Zofia asked. “After all, you do keep your dwarf at your beck and call.”
The two laughed wickedly.
What was Zofia implying? Anna did not wish to think about it.
Zofia’s eyes narrowed at the man in red. Anna could see that he was hopelessly enchanted. “Besides,” Zofia said through clenched teeth, “many big men are little men, and many little men are big men.”
The two friends rapidly waved their fans to their faces while they tried to control their laughter.
Anna feigned ignorance, but she felt her face flushing hot. She came to accept afresh that what Zofia wrote in her diary was true. The episode with the Baron Driedruski was no fiction. Zofia had romanced him into her web, used him to her pleasure, then after setting in motion a scheme that would secure a monthly income for an imaginary child, discarded the deluded man. How many others had there been?
Push Not the River Page 20
