Jan had spent much of ’93 in Paris with Kościuszko, who harbored hopes of enlisting the French in the Polish cause. The little general was a man who persevered. In time, however, word came that a new revolutionary spirit was afoot in Poland and they returned. Kraków was free because on the twelfth of the month General Madaliński took it back from the Russians.
General Kościuszko entered the square now and the crowd erupted in cheers, chants, and shouting. The pandemonium went on many minutes. Madaliński stood with him, and if he resented the fact that Kościuszko was stealing his thunder after only arriving the previous day, he didn’t show it.
Kościuszko walked to the middle of the square, not far from where Jan stood with his contingent. He wore his white striped long coat, white breeches, white shirt, red vest, and over the ruff at his neck lay the ribbon that held his Polish military cross. On his head he wore, as did Jan now, the four-cornered hat of the peasant, red with a black sheepskin rim at its base.
Why not take the hat of the peasant? Jan thought as he looked about at the masses. After all, the cause would be nothing without the peasants. There were thousands here with their scythes, ready to follow the little general.
The crowd grew hushed and the general spoke to their hearts, vowing to fight for the liberty, the integrity, the independence of his native land. He issued manifestoes to every class of man—for they were all here today—calling them forward to give unselfishly to the Commonwealth. It was his intention to “unite the hearts, hands, and endeavors of the whole land.”
Kościuszko then proclaimed the Act of Insurrection, taking on dictatorial powers and establishing a provisional constitution that granted freedom to the peasants and land to anyone who took up arms for the Commonwealth.
“Feel at last your strength,” he called, as if to the nation at large. “Put it wholly forth. Set your will on being free and independent. By unity and courage you shall reach this honored end. Prepare your soul for victories and defeats. In both, the spirit of true patriotism should maintain its strength and energy. All that remains to me is to praise your Rising, and to serve you so long as Heaven permits me to live!”
The little general raised his peasant cap in the air and the crowd roared wildly, lifting him aloft and carrying him away.
Jan twisted his own red four-cornered cap in his hand. His heart felt as if it would burst with pride.
If only Anna were here to see this, he thought. Anna, with her eyes like emerald lightning. And then the tears came.
64
ANNA WALKED INTO THE RECEPTION room and was surprised to find Count Paweł Potecki.
He stood immediately. “I’m waiting for Zofia,” he said.
“I should be glad to keep you company while you wait.” Anna sat. She sensed he was on a mission of some sort. He was dressed rather austerely in dark clothes, and there was a nervous tension in his manner. He was a handsome man just the same, and he bore himself nobly. She still felt grateful to him for his concern for her in the aftermath of Zofia’s party at which the drunken Princess Sic had ridiculed her.
“Congratulations, Countess. You’ve become a mother since last we met.”
“Thank you.”
“It was a boy?”
“Yes. A strong one, too.”
“Ha!” he laughed. “You remember our conversation. Had it been a girl, I’m certain she would have been strong, too.”
“No doubt,” Anna laughed.
As if on cue, Jan Michał burst into the room, a piece of rye bread clutched in his little hand. “Mat-ka, look!” he cried. “Bread!” He stopped at his mother’s chair and held it up.
“Ah, the crust!” Anna crooned. “Is it good, Jan Michał?”
“Oh, yes. Luteesha says it is best!”
“Is Luteesha baking today?” the count asked Jan.
The boy turned to the stranger and nodded uncertainly.
“Aren’t you quite the little man?” the count asked.
“Oh, yes!” the child said.
The count laughed and scooped the boy up onto his knee.
A breathless Marta appeared at the door in pursuit of Jan Michał. “Oh, I’m sorry, Madame,” she said. “I didn’t know you had a guest.”
“Count Potecki is waiting for Countess Zofia.”
Marta was blushing. “I turned my back on the child for one moment and he was down off his chair and gone.”
“Another few minutes,” the count joked, “and he would’ve had a sword and some of this armor off the wall and been on his way to Kraków.”
Marta’s hands went to her mouth in horror.
“It’s all right, Marta,” Anna laughed. “It’ll be some time before he can manage any of these weapons. And God willing, he won’t have to.”
Jan Michał climbed down and ran to the servant.
“Marta,” Anna said, “be certain Jan doesn’t eat anything more before the noon meal.”
“Yes, Madame,” she whispered and curtsied before closing the door behind her and Jan Michał.
“He’s such a bright child,” the count said as he stood. “You must be very proud of him.”
“I am. Must you leave so soon? Zofia should be home at any minute.”
“I’m afraid I dare not wait any longer. Zofia is unpredictable.”
“Untamable, isn’t that what you called her, Count Potecki?”
He laughed. “An untamable bird, as I recall. Well, she’s unpredictable, as well.”
Anna could not help but laugh, too.
“Will you say goodbye to her for me?”
Anna read the tension again in his face. “Goodbye?”
“Yes. You’ve no doubt heard of Kościuszko’s call to arms?”
“Of course. It’s a great hope.” Then Anna realized what he was saying. “You’re off to Kraków!”
He nodded.
“God bless you, Paweł!” His first name came out on the crest of Anna’s emotion.
“Too many nobles have lent deaf ears to the call,” he said. “They’re afraid of what the little general promises the peasants. But, by God, our outside aggressors should be our first concern.”
“You’ll be put to good use, I’m certain.” Anna’s hand touched the count’s elbow. “I’m proud of you.”
“I would have thought you’d despise the very notion of war, Anna.”
“I expect I do. But I’m in full support of the patriots’ cause, as is my aunt.”
“Do you have someone in the war effort, Anna?”
“Yes, with Kościuszko . . . Lieutenant Jan Stelnicki.”
“I’ll be sure to look him up. Thanks for your confidence. I doubt Zofia will be so approving.” He smiled sadly.
“No, I doubt that she will.”
“She’ll be livid.”
“You love her, don’t you, Paweł?”
“Yes,” he said. His face was coloring.
“She told me you asked her to marry you.” Anna was shocked at her own audacity.
“Yes. Too many times to count. Our relationship is one of convenience, not convention. Zofia’s convenience, to be sure. Anna, you’re her cousin. Tell me, does she love another?”
Anna was taken aback by the question. “I . . . I don’t know.” She was saved from any further questioning by the opening of the door.
“My, what a serious tête-à-tête!” Zofia intoned. “Hello, Paweł. Hello, Anna.”
Anna quickly excused herself, bidding the count goodbye and wishing him well.
“One would think Anna was seeing you off to war, Paweł,” Zofia said before Anna could effect an exit.
Anna climbed the stairs to her room, her mind reeling. Why had Zofia refused such a fine man? Was it because no single man could satisfy her? Or did she still have her sights on one man?
For a half hour, Anna could hear Zofia loudly carrying on in the reception room, no doubt railing against the count’s plans. His voice could be heard, too, but it maintained a leavening quality of reason.
Not long a
fter the voices had gone silent, Anna heard the front door close. She went downstairs and found Zofia still in the reception room.
“Obviously,” Zofia said, “you know exactly what he plans to do.”
“I do.”
“And I suppose you approve?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a fool,” Zofia scoffed.
“Zofia, it’s not for you or me to approve or disapprove. He is his own man and must do as his conscience dictates. Would you want it any other way?”
Zofia looked up at her cousin, as if digesting the meaning of the words. She drew in a long breath, then expelled it slowly. “Conscience, indeed!”
“Zofia,” Anna pressed, her hand reaching out to grasp her cousin’s arm. “Paweł loves you! Do send for him, or let me send for him!”
“Oh, Anna,” Zofia said, pulling away and moving toward the door.
“Zofia, don’t let him go to war in this manner, with his spirit clouded. He may not return!”
Zofia turned around, her dark, almond-shaped eyes fastening on Anna’s. “What is it that they say? ‘For every fool there are two more.’ Well, cousin, I beg you not to include me.”
Anna was at the Lubicki mansion in Warsaw when the news came. She had only just finished discussing financial matters with Duke Lubicki when Helena’s twelve-year-old brother arrived home from the outer courtyard of the Royal Castle.
“Kościuszko has met the enemy,” Mundek cried in his piping voice, “and the battle is ours! Long live the Republic!” The huge house came alive with excitement as family, friends, and servants cried out joyfully: “Long live the Republic! Long live the white eagle! Long live the little general!”
Over the next few days, details trickled into Warsaw. Kościuszko’s manifestoes had not been in vain. Hundreds and thousands of peasants armed only with scythes and other makeshift weapons, as well as a host of nobles and their retainers, joined the Polish standard of the white eagle flying against a red background.
Kościuszko had not waited for Russians to march on Kraków. He moved north with his 4,000 regulars and 2,000 scythe-armed peasants. On the fourth of April, near Racławice, Russian Generals Tormasov and Pustovalov staged simultaneous attacks on Kościuszko from separate directions. But before a third Russian force led by Denisov could take part, the Polish military, bolstered by the wild and dare-devilish scythemen, staged frontal assaults which routed the Russians.
Catherine lost a thousand men while Poland gained hope. Anna wondered what the Russians who held Warsaw prisoner were thinking. They had cause for worry.
Anna was playing with Jan Michał in his attic room when Lutisha, standing at the door on the third level, called, “Madame, the Countess Stella begs that you come down to the music room. Your guests are here.”
“Good heavens, Lutisha, I’ve lost all sense of time! I’ll be down directly. Please send up Marcelina or Katarzyna to look after Jan.”
It was only a few days after Kościuszko’s great victory, and as Anna hurried down the steps, she imagined the jubilant faces of her patriot friends.
But she opened the door to restrained, even dour, faces.
The men rose as she entered. “Good day, Countess Berezowska,” came an unsynchronized chorus.
“Good day,” Anna said, her eyes surveying the group of twenty or twenty-five. “Why are we not celebrating?”
She was soon to find out. She seated herself next to her aunt, who seemed just as curious. While everyone else remained silent, Pan Donakevi, the banker, started to explain the situation to her, beginning with a question: “Countess, do you know Kiliński the shoemaker?”
Anna shook her head.
“I’ve heard of him,” Countess Stella said. “He’s a good patriot, is he not?”
“He is a patriot, Countess Gronska,” the banker said, “but perhaps to the extreme.”
“Don’t patriots often have to go to extremes out of necessity?” Anna asked.
“Yes, of course, Countess. You’re quite right. But let me explain. Jan Kiliński and others are inciting a great number of Warsaw citizens to rebel and wrest control of the capital without waiting for Kościuszko to come up from the south.”
“But if it can be done . . .” the countess said.
“Oh, it might be possible, Countess Gronska, but it will take a man like Kościuszko, with his even-tempered leadership, to take the city with a minimum of blood-letting and loss of life.”
“And this band of rebels?” Anna asked.
“It’s a motley collection of angry citizens, unemployed soldiers, and the inevitable rabble of the city. If fully agitated, they will become ungoverned and bloodthirsty.”
“A mob,” Anna said.
“Exactly. Warsaw could become another Paris, Countess.”
“And Catherine . . .” Anna mused.
Countess Gronska let out a long sigh. “Her wrath will flare white-hot and it will rain down on Praga and the capital like dragon’s fire.”
“Dear God, can nothing be done?” Anna canvassed the group of anxious faces, slowly coming to realize there was an odd expectancy in their expressions. What is it? she asked herself. What do these people want of me? She turned to Pan Donakevi, her question on her face.
“Countess,” he said, haltingly, “we wish to ask you . . . that is, we are hopeful that you might be able to do something.”
“Me?” The little word reflected her astonishment. “What could I possibly do?”
“You could get in to see King Stanisław.” the banker said, his words flowing smoother now. “You are the only one of us who might gain his ear. Countess, you would be speaking for many more than the men and women assembled here. You would be speaking for thousands of citizens who do not wish to see anarchy in the streets. We must wait for the little general to liberate Warsaw.”
“The king doesn’t know me,” Anna said, shaking her head.
The banker seemed disappointed.
Anna forced a laugh. “Did you think because I’m noble, I know the king?”
“I didn’t know, Countess, but . . .”
“Yes?”
“Countess Gronska knows the king.”
Anna caught her breath. She immediately knew he wasn’t referring to her aunt, who sat there as silent as a stone. “My cousin?”
His hesitant nod was indicative of his discretion.
Anna could only imagine what gossip followed in the wake of Zofia’s stylish shoes.
The banker continued: “The Countess Zofia Gronska has access to the king, and you, as her cousin and a member of the nobility, will be granted an audience. We feel certain that you will.”
“It’s unthinkable.” Anna’s head pounded at the thought. “What could I say to the king?”
“You must carry our message to him,” said the banker’s wife, Pani Donakeva, in an emotional plea. “My dear Countess, something must be done at once to terminate this premature insurrection. There are human lives that depend upon it!”
Anna grew dizzy as her eyes moved around the room. How had this test come to her? Of what did these hopeful and trusting people think her capable? She had never been so unsure of herself.
Then she remembered Michał Kolbi’s words two years before when she had asked him what help she could ever be to his little group of patriots. He had assured her that one day she might be of invaluable service. He would remind her of that himself—were he not with Kościuszko providing his own invaluable service.
“Countess?” the banker whispered, calling her back to the moment.
Anna looked to her aunt. The Countess Gronska seemed about to nod her approval, but held back. Anna knew she was letting her decide for herself.
Swallowing hard, Anna said, “I’ll go to the Royal Castle this afternoon.”
Zofia arrived home from the Market Square at one in the afternoon. Anna wasted no time in going in to see her while her cousin began preparations for some afternoon event. She breathlessly explained the threat of Kiliński and his band of r
ebels.
Zofia’s face registered surprise. “How do you know of such things?”
“I have friends, reliable sources.”
“Still meeting with that ragtag group of yours? I trust you’re not doing so in my home.”
“You must believe me, Zofia. The city is at risk!”
“Oh, I believe you, darling. It’s just that such matters are so tiring. I’m surprised at your interest. But what will happen, will happen.”
“You speak as if this has no impact on our lives. Well, it does, and just as people make things happen, so too can they prevent them from happening. I’ve got to do something.”
“What?” Zofia snapped. “What is it that you think you can possibly do?”
Anna paused, taking a breath. “Will you take me this afternoon to see the king? I’m to tell him of the plot. If anyone can do something to prevent it, he can.”
“The king?” Zofia laughed, turning on Anna. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Zofia, people are depending on me.”
“What’s come over you, Anna? Will you ever lose your country naiveté? There’s nothing you can do. Leave the political intrigue to the men. What do you imagine yourself—a Joan of Arc?”
“No, it’s just that I believe—”
“Enough!” Zofia interrupted. “I can’t go with you today. I have other plans.”
“Zofia, please—”
“No, Anna! The whole notion is absurd. I’ll have no part of it, and I won’t hear any more of it.”
Anna turned and started to leave when she noticed a letter on Zofia’s writing desk. It was partially hidden by other papers, but a small part of the red seal was showing. Anna immediately thought it might be the Stelnicki seal.
Anna stopped and turned back. “Would you at least write a letter of introduction to the king?” She made a little gesture toward the secretary.
“No, now I have very little time to get ready.” Zofia advanced and closed the secretary. She was wearing her stage smile. “Goodbye, Anna.”
Anna dressed hurriedly, allowing no time for thought out of fear she would lose her nerve. She donned an afternoon dress of white Indian cotton and fashioned her hair in an upward style, setting off the auburn nicely with her amber barrettes. She wore no cosmetics or jewelry.
Push Not the River Page 49
