“I see.” Disappointment coursed like a tide through Anna.
“But please don’t think that my love for Poland is any less than yours. Oh, I could tell the Russians downstairs what you’ve told me, and they would undoubtedly scuttle the insurrection. But it would be at the cost of much Polish blood, and my own self-respect. Sadly, ours is a history of invasions. The Swedes, the Turks, the Tartars, the list goes on; I’m sure you know your history. Do weapons from the past hang upon the wall of your manor house?”
Anna nodded.
“Of course. It is a Pole’s right, Anna—indeed, it is his inheritance to fight for liberty. I don’t know Jan Kiliński, but I respect him.” The king managed a sad smile. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Anna whispered, holding her tears at bay.
The two conversed a while longer, and Anna came away with a great sense of empathy for the man. It was sad to see someone so helpless and weak. He would have been a happier man if Fate had led him somewhere other than to the throne.
“I am deeply touched by you, Countess Anna Berezowska,” he told her before she left. “You are as brave as you are beautiful, and I shall not soon forget it.”
65
ANNA WAS AWAKENED ON THE morning of April 17th by a great commotion across the river. She hurried up to Jan Michał’s room, where she would have the best view of the capital. Her son had already awakened, it seemed, and been taken down into the kitchen.
Anna looked across to Warsaw. The revolt had come. Cobbler Jan Kiliński and his rebels had not waited for Kościuszko. The streets and outer courtyard of the Royal Castle raged and reverberated in chaos. The sharp reports of gunfire were matched by war cries and screams of pain. Anna could not see the Market Square from the townhome, but there came such pulsating cries from that direction that she could only imagine the horror.
“My God,” cried the Countess Gronska, coming up to the window, quite breathless from the stairs, “why couldn’t they wait for Kościuszko? Why?”
Anna had no answer. Her heart was torn. She was thrilled to see the Polish flag flying from the tower of the City Walls. She was proud of the citizenry who had risked everything to join the rebels. And she would be thankful if the effort succeeded in gaining independence. But she knew in her heart that they should have waited.
“This violence is so unnecessary,” Countess Gronska said.
The revolt raged all day and into the night. The Gronski shutters facing the river were closed, but the shrill noise could not be shut out. The household could only wait. There were no men to send across the bridge to aid the cause.
Countess Gronska took to her bed. Her health ebbed to its lowest point in weeks. Anna sat with her through the night.
The prolonged contest lasted into the early morning hours, but at last the Prussian and Russian forces in the city—those still alive—started to withdraw. All through the night and into the next day, sounds of boots and horses’ hooves could be heard on the bridge as the foreigners left Warsaw.
The countess lay restless, listening.
“Do try to sleep,” Anna urged. “We have won.”
“Thanks be to God, Anna. But we may rue this day should Catherine send them back.”
By the end of the second day, Anna stood at Jan Michał’s window again. One of her patriot friends had provided her with the news. Some seven thousand Russian and Prussian forces were gone. The frenzied mob had hanged a good many Polish traitors; however, their king was their king, and the people forgave him for his weakness. Stanisław, in turn, provided food, medical care, and shelter to the rebels.
As the sun set to Anna’s far right, an orange globe sinking into the Vistula, Anna turned her gaze across to the Royal Castle, high on the embankment. Though the gutters of the city street flowed with Russian and Polish blood, that building, which had withstood greater attacks since its creation by Mazovian dukes in the thirteenth century, stood unscathed.
Somewhere, Anna thought, behind one of those many windows, sat a sad man, a man who had not asked to be king.
In those first weeks following the revolt, Anna’s group met often. Anna made no effort to hide the meetings. If Zofia knew of them, she didn’t seem to care; her Russian friends were gone.
When the Countess Gronska was well enough, she would attend the gatherings, often voicing her opinions. “We as members of the szlachta must lead the way,” she told Anna one day after the others had left. “But where are the others? We are still the only titled members of our group.”
“There are other groups, Aunt.”
“But you know as well as I that many of the szlachta, not to mention the magnates who joined the Confederacy, are holding back, too cautious and afraid that they will lose their peasants who have joined the insurrection with the promise of freedom and their own land.”
One day, Anna’s estate manager made a surprise visit. Jacob Szraber assured Anna that her estate at Sochaczew was in good order, but informed her, while nervously shifting from one foot to the other, that he was joining a special Jewish regiment under the command of Colonel Berek Joselewicz. “It is,” he said proudly, “the first Jewish regiment since Biblical times.”
What was Anna to say? She gave him her blessing, kissing him on either cheek.
It is a sad irony, she thought, after he had left. Many of the Polish nobles were being too cautious, yet the peaceful Jewish community of Praga and Warsaw had risen to fight for the land that had welcomed them. God bless them!
The Third of May celebration in Warsaw was wildly jubilant. The Constitution still lived. Citizens gathered in the outer courtyard of the castle and in Market Square to celebrate and talk of how next year at this time the provinces of the entire Commonwealth would be free. After all, news had come that insurrections were occurring all over Poland. The city of Wilno had rid itself of the Russians. Danzig and Courland were attempting to do the same.
Zofia hired an open carriage and took Anna and Jan Michał across the river to observe the celebration. It was Jan Michał’s second name day.
“It’s not safe to get out of the coach in these swarms of peasants,” Zofia said, as they came into outer courtyard of the Royal Castle. “The view from our seats here will have to suffice.”
Anna held Jan Michał on her lap pointing out Zygmunt’s Column, just as her father had done for her. She prayed that in centuries to come other parents would do the same for their children. Atop the granite structure stood the bronze figure of the former king, a sword in one hand, a huge cross in the other. The juxtaposition of these two symbols made for a paradoxical proverb Anna was coming to understand: “He that brandishes a sword will maintain the peace.”
The carriage slowly made its way down a narrow and crowded street toward Market Square. Jan Michał had never seen so many sights, so many people, so much activity. He began to rock forward and backward on his mother’s lap, his brown eyes glittering with delight.
Zofia laughed. “Anna, your son thinks that all this is for his feast day!”
“And so it is, cousin!”
Zofia looked at her strangely at first. Then the black eyes caught Anna’s meaning. “The future and all that, you mean?”
Anna smiled.
The carriage managed to enter the square, but then the crush of the crowd brought it to a standstill.
“Maybe we should get out,” Anna suggested.
“Not on your life,” Zofia said. “We’d be stamped to powder. And, besides, some of these people haven’t bathed since Christmas. Where do they all come from?” She feigned a shudder. “Like pigs in a potato patch! It seems like they’re waiting for something.”
“Kościuszko is going to speak.”
“What?” Zofia cried, her face flashing annoyance and suspicion. “You knew this!”
“Yes,” Anna said softly.
“And you knew not to tell me. You knew that the last place I want to be is at some political demonstration.”
“It’s a celebration, Zofia.”
<
br /> “Not my kind. If I thought we could get out of here . . .”
But at that moment a great cheer went up in front of the Town Hall, which sat in the middle of the square. General Tadeusz Kościuszko was being carried up the hall’s steps on the shoulders of two men.
The little man in the white, long-tailed coat tried to settle the crowd by nodding in all directions of the square, while waving his red four-cornered peasant’s cap in the air. He seemed so unassuming, Anna thought. In that, he was like the king.
When he spoke, however, not a hint of weakness could be detected. With great enthusiasm, he addressed the citizens of Warsaw, congratulating them on their great victory. He cautioned them on their excesses, for a tide of hatred had been rising against certain magnates suspected of treason. And as he had done in Kraków, he proclaimed liberty for peasants who had left their serfdom to take up arms.
At this point in the speech, Anna heard Zofia snarl in disapproval. She was not surprised by her cousin’s reaction. No noble who had willingly signed the Confederacy of Targowica was likely to be pleased by such news.
Zofia remained quiet once Kościuszko had been hustled away from the masses, and the street began to clear enough for the carriage to make its way back.
Jan Michał had fallen asleep in Anna’s arms; it was past his nap time.
Anna’s eyes still swept the faces of the Polish soldiers. She had come hoping that Jan Stelnicki would be there, that he still rode with the little general. But he was not present today.
As the carriage moved onto the bridge to Praga, her eyes moved to her extreme right, to the ramshackle tavern, the Queen’s Head, where Jan had spent so much time. Might he. . . ?
No, he wouldn’t be there, just as he had not been in the square. Jan Stelnicki was not in Warsaw, she was certain. Had he been there, he would have stood with the little general. And he would have contacted her.
But where was he?
Zofia sat in the coach, quietly seething. Anna was getting a bit too clever for her own good.
Even though Zofia herself had offered to hire the carriage and spend the afternoon in the capital, she considered herself duped by her cousin. Anna had known all along Kościuszko was going to be there. Somehow, she managed to have her thumb on all the politics. Oh, Anna had wanted to hear the silly little general, that was certain, but she was really there to look for Jan Stelnicki. Zofia would bet every jewel she owned on it. Her cousin’s eyes never stopped darting about.
But it was all too clear Stelnicki was not in Warsaw. For all Anna knows, she thought, he is dead. So many have died. It’s best that she think him dead.
The carriage arrived at the townhome. As soon as the three entered the reception room, Marta came running. “A letter!” she cried.
“So?” Zofia’s mood had not improved.
Marta stopped suddenly. “It’s from the king!” Her face glowed with wonder.
“Give it here,” Zofia demanded.
“Oh, Mademoiselle Zofia,” the woman cried softly, “the letter is for Countess Anna.”
Zofia felt her stomach tighten. “What?”
It was true! Marta was handing the letter over to Anna.
Anna seemed as surprised as anyone.
“Well,” Zofia sighed, “open it up! That will be all, Marta.”
Anna’s fingers were fumbling with the seal. At last, she pulled the letter open. She read the dozen or more words, looked up at Zofia, then read them again.
“Well, what is it, Anna, for pity’s sake? It looks like an invitation.”
“It is. To a royal reception!”
Zofia snatched the invitation away from Anna, looking immediately to the addressee. She was certain there was some mistake. It was an invitation no doubt meant for her.
But, no. The invitation was addressed to Countess Anna Maria Berezowska, Patriot.
“But your name is included inside the invitation, Zofia.”
That is some consolation, Zofia thought, more confused than ever.
“And your mother is invited also.”
“What?” Zofia’s eyes took in the whole invitation then. It was true: the three of them were invited to the Royal Castle. “Perhaps it’s merely a mistake by the king’s secretary. In the addressing, your name was somehow substituted for mine.” Zofia was becoming confident she had struck the answer to the little mystery. “After all,” she said, “King Stanisław doesn’t know you.”
Zofia could not help but notice Anna’s green eyes widen slightly. “Or does he? Anna?”
Anna’s face was flushing apple-red.
“Anna!”
Zofia found the story that now spilled out of her cousin incredible. Was it possible? Anna had impersonated her and managed to get in to see the king. What nerve she had! How did she dare? And when Zofia started to believe it, she became incensed to think her name was used for such a stunt.
Yet, as the story went on, and the details unfolded, Zofia’s anger dissipated. She knew the fat deputy and laughed to herself to think her cousin had beaten him at his own game. And, after all, if Anna’s story were accurate, the king had not been put off by her trickery. What anger Zofia retained by the time Anna concluded her account she would later take out on Babette for aiding Anna in her subterfuge. “I must admit,” Zofia said, “I’ve underestimated your enterprise, Anna.”
Anna smiled, as if she knew Zofia would be impressed.
Instead, Anna’s smug reaction irked Zofia. “So you favorably impressed the king?”
“Oh, yes, I’m certain of it.”
“Well, that’s the answer, then.”
“The answer to what?”
“The invitation! The old king was caught by your charms. Congratulations! You’ve made a conquest. And this is no romp in the field; you’ve reached for the summit of the highest mountain.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Zofia said, her tone deepening to a sultry effect, “that at the royal reception, the King of Poland will undoubtedly ask you for an assignation.”
Zofia watched with amusement as Anna blinked at the word.
“An assignation?”
“Yes, darling,” Zofia replied with mock impatience, “an appointment to meet. Oh, the whole thing reminds me of that story about Zeus and some girl Cupid had smitten him with. Zeus transformed himself into a bull in order to carry her off. What was her name?”
“Europa. And I’m not about to be carried off by some bull.”
“No, darling, your meeting is to take place in plain sight. How clever of Stanisław.”
“You think that the king . . .”
“Of course, you goose! Why, it’s a great compliment. I should be jealous, but I’ve had my own tryst with Stanisław. I suppose he implied as much. Ah, I can see by your reaction that he did. Well, this is a great opportunity for you, dearest. After all, Europa gave Zeus great sons and achieved no little glory for herself. You may firmly establish yourself at court. Oh, he may not be an ardent lover, not like the bull that Zeus became, but I shouldn’t give everything away. Why, Ania, you look a bit pale.”
That night, Zofia sat at her vanity removing her makeup, but it was Anna’s stricken face her mind’s eye saw. She could not help but laugh aloud. In a few moments, though, with the makeup removed, it was her own serious face that stared back at her. What did the king see in Anna?
Anna had thought of not attending the royal reception, of pleading some illness, but she knew Zofia would see through such a guise. She thought of telling Countess Gronska what the king’s intent might be in hopes that her aunt would empathize with her—and provide advice. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to speak of it. And there was always the chance that Zofia was wrong; perhaps the king was not seeking an assignation. Then again, Anna knew only too well that her cousin was well versed in court intrigue and might very well be correct in her assumption.
By the night before the event, Anna lay in bed, sleepless, convinced herself that King Stanisław had singled her ou
t as his newest mistress.
Anna’s plan was to go to the supper as plainly made up and attired as possible. She would do all she could to discourage any fervor on his part.
On the day of the supper, however, Zofia took over all aspects of the preparations, behaving like an overly fastidious mother orchestrating her daughter’s initial bow into court society. This seemed a momentous event for Zofia. For Anna it became a descent into the unknown, as in her worst nightmares. When she objected to some detail of her dress, she was outnumbered, for even Aunt Stella sided with her daughter, saying she probably knew best in the matter of these royal functions.
And so, Anna was prepared like a prize fish for the master’s plate. Zofia and the French maids stuffed her into a white silk gown that Zofia had ordered for her on short notice. The bodice, the puffy sleeves, and the trim at the hem were of a silver material which shimmered magnificently. It would have made a lovely wedding dress, Anna thought, suddenly realizing that Zofia, in her perverseness, may have meant it as such. Was she being offered to the king? Her fear intensified.
Clarice coerced Anna’s reluctant feet into buckled silver slippers while Babette attached to her head a great white wig fitted out with crystal pins and silver bows. It was even more elaborate than the one she had worn on her masquerade to the Royal Castle.
Anna watched her reflection as Zofia doused her in diamonds, clasping about her neck a two-tiered necklace that drew the eye in the direction of her breasts.
“Why, Anna,” Zofia said, “you are more bosomy than one might ever have expected. Oh, don’t blush, for pity’s sake. While love enters a woman through her ears, it enters a man through his eyes!” She then fastened a three-stranded bracelet to Anna’s right wrist and teardrop earrings to her ears.
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