Babette took over with makeup while Zofia went off to get herself ready. Although at Zofia’s orders Babette did persist in making her wear on her cheek a little beauty patch in the shape of cupid, Anna refused to allow her face to be made up as flamboyantly as it had been when she impersonated her cousin. The red of her lips, the rouge on her cheeks, the whiteness of her face were more subtle now.
Fully dressed and made up, Anna stood alone facing the mirror, transfixed by her own reflection. She drew in her breath. Yes, one would think it was her wedding day, she mused. Despite her fears for what the day held in store, she knew she was beautiful. She had to admit it, marveling at her reflection.
“Anna!” Zofia called from below. “The carriage is ready. Hurry down. Mother and I are waiting. It’s nearly two o’clock!”
“Just a moment!” Anna called back, continuing to study herself. There was something not to her liking. Tearing off the beauty mark, she dashed a little powder in its place. Satisfied then, she picked up the silver-lined white silk wrap and hastened downstairs.
“What kept you?” Zofia asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but the little cupid just would not adhere.”
“Where is it?”
“I shall have to do without it.” Anna knew very well it was too late now to remedy the situation. They were due at the Royal Castle in less than half an hour.
“Anna, you are lovely,” Aunt Stella whispered.
“She is a bird about to try her wings,” Zofia told her mother.
Anna’s aunt was dressed beautifully herself in a beaded gown of dark blue. A blue mantilla lay over her own hair, framing her face. Anna was taken aback slightly to see the faintest hints of color on her lips and in her cheeks. Observing the interest her aunt had taken in the occasion, she felt a twinge of guilt when she remembered that her fears for the evening had made her half-hope that her aunt wouldn’t feel quite well enough to attend. But this was one of her good days, and whatever its outcome Anna was glad for it.
In the carriage, Anna’s gown of silk was so full she had to sit alone on one side, facing her aunt and cousin.
“It has been many years since I have been to the Royal Castle,” the countess said, once they were underway. “I am glad to have the chance to see it once before . . .” Her voice trailed off, and before long her lips were moving in silent prayer.
Anna wondered how her aunt would react to finding out that the king was about to ask for an assignation with her niece? Of course, she would not condone it, even if it put the whole household in good stead with the king and his court. Or would she?
Anna watched Zofia now, radiant in her green and white gown, emerald necklace and earrings. She was calm; she seemed to gloat, like some sly serpent coiled comfortably on a warm rock. Anna suspected that Zofia saw this as the beginning of a new life for her cousin, the kind of life she liked, the kind that would preclude any room for Jan Stelnicki.
As the wheels rumbled over the wooden planks of the bridge, their repetitive clacking seemed to fall into syncopation with Anna’s thoughts: Where is my love? Where is my love? Where is my love?
The carriage moved off the bridge, heading for the city gates. Not even he could save me now, Anna brooded. If she were to consent to an assignation, her life would be reduced to nothing. She would lose her own self-esteem and Jan’s love. And what if she denied the king? What then? Of what was a king’s injured pride capable? The very security of everyone in the Gronski household might be imperiled.
Anna was sick with trepidation by the time she stepped out of the carriage into the Great Courtyard of the Royal Castle.
The Russian soldiers were gone. There was that to be thankful for, at least. The three women were helped to alight the carriage and escorted into the castle wing on the Vistula side. Servants took their wraps and a functionary directed them up the circular marble stairs. There they found themselves in the Antechamber to the Great Assembly Hall. The supper would take place in the Assembly Hall, but there was first to be a ceremony in the Throne Room, so the three followed other guests through the Marble Room, where there hung portraits of more than twenty past Polish kings. They entered the National Hall now, a kind of Pantheon of Polish history, its huge canvasses displaying scenes from the interconnected past of Poland and Lithuania. A line taken from the Aeneid praising outstanding citizens ran along the top of the walls. Anna found it striking that all of these motifs and decorations at the Royal Castle had come in recent years from King Stanisław himself. They reflected such a depth of culture in the man, and yet he could be so ineffectual in governing.
The Throne Room was actually smaller than the National Hall, so the guests here, some two hundred, had to stand while waiting for the king’s entrance. The three women stood near the rear, where the windows faced the Vistula. “Look!” the Countess Gronska whispered. “Why, if this room were cleared, the king could see our townhome from his throne.”
“Cleared or not,” Zofia sang, “I think Stanisław may have his eyes on it just the same.”
Anna took her meaning, but her aunt did not.
More people were crushing into the room. Anna was becoming overwhelmed by the lack of space and the heavy scents of powder and perfume. She was soon dizzy with claustrophobia.
Before she could voice a complaint and try to effect an exit, however, the French princess Charlotte Sic sidled over to them. She was as overly dressed, made up, and perfumed as Anna remembered.
Zofia gave her a light embrace. “You do remember my cousin Anna, Charlotte?”
“Oui. Oh, my dear!” she squealed. “Is this the same cousin? From the country? Oh, you will forgive me, about that time you were on the stairs during Zofia’s party? I don’t know what came over me. It was unforgivable, but you will forgive me, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“How charming of you. And you are breathtaking today. The king’s eyes are not so bad—”
“Charlotte,” Zofia interrupted, with a stilted cordiality, “I wish you to meet my mother.” Zofia took Charlotte by the arm to turn her in the direction of Countess Gronska, and when Anna saw the French princess wince in pain, she knew that Zofia had pinched her to shut her up.
It was painfully clear to Anna that Zofia had discussed the matter of the assignation with her friend. Who else knew about it? Anna’s anxiety increased.
Anna looked at her aunt, who was staring wide-eyed and dumb at the bizarre plump creature before her, a jeweler’s shop on legs.
When Zofia and Charlotte fell into a quiet conversation in French, Aunt Stella leaned over to Anna. “If this is typical of a French princess,” she whispered, “I have no mercy for the fate of their aristocracy.”
Anna had to put her fan to her face and turn to the window in order to hide her amusement.
Her light-hearted feeling did not last, for everyone started to bow and curtsy—there was no room to kneel—at the entrance of King Stanisław.
He swept through the entrance near to Anna. She kept her head low as he passed by so as not to draw his attention.
“My good and loyal subjects,” he began, once he was on the dais, “it is my happy duty today to publicly acknowledge some of our most deserving men who have been as responsible as anyone in seeing that the white eagle continues to fly. These are men who . . .”
His dry voice droned on while he slowly moved through the rituals of elevating to higher titles men who had served the Commonwealth. Some of the untitled were ennobled, much like it must have been for Anna’s great grandfather after he assisted King Jan Sobieski in stopping the Turks at Vienna.
The room was so crowded and airless that an hour passed with the heaviness of three. Anna thought that the ceremony would drag on forever, but because she dreaded what might come later, she almost wished that it would. She looked at Zofia, so smugly expectant. Did she think Anna’s prestige at court would somehow benefit her?
When would the king speak to her? Anna wondered. Would he
do so privately? What would he say? And if Zofia were right, if he did wish an . . . assignation, what would she say? The Countess Gronska took hold of Anna’s arm, jolting her from her thoughts. “Anna,” she whispered, “the king spoke your name. He asked if you are present.”
Anna’s heart seemed to stop, though blood rushed to her head. The room was perfectly still. From their place at the foot of the chamber, Anna could see his gentle, birdlike eyes moving through the crowd of elegant ladies and gentlemen, pausing but briefly now and again, and moving on.
“Speak up!” Zofia hissed. “He’s looking for you.”
Anna could not speak. She held her breath until the king’s gaze fell on her and when it did, she froze in terror. People turned to stare at her. A few dared to whisper.
Anna wished to be anywhere but there in that room, the subject of everyone’s attention. She thought of dashing for the door.
“There is a woman here today,” the king proclaimed, his eyes fastened on Anna, “who has touched my heart. She is a woman who is as great a Polish patriot as any of our men.”
The chamber was as a tomb; there wasn’t a movement or rustle of silk.
King Stanisław’s hand beckoned to her, as it had done not so many days before.
Anna’s feet would not move. He nodded, motioning again. She heard the whispers of her aunt and the princess at her ears, urging her on.
Swallowing hard, she picked up her skirts and moved slowly, as through a dream, toward the throne with the little man standing there, a hundred carved eagles flying against the red velvet backing of the canopy.
The hushed nobles cleared an aisle for her, as they had done for the king. Though Anna couldn’t fasten her gaze on any one thing, she sensed the eyes of everyone on her. She trembled as she moved forward, yet for every step she took, the room seemed to expand and take the king that much farther away from her.
At last, she stood before the dais and knelt, her gown spreading about her like a white flower.
Anna stared at the floor. The king’s voice resonated loud and strong now, almost youthful. “Although it was through Catherine and the Polish Sejm which elected me, it was also through Almighty God that I became King of Poland. And it is through Almighty God, ultimate Bestower of all things, and through me that I create for you, Anna Maria Berezowska, Countess of Sochaczew, the title of Princess.”
If Anna herself did not gasp, she heard others around her do so. Suddenly, she felt the king’s cold sword touch one bare shoulder, then the other.
“Princess Anna Maria Berezowska of Sochaczew,” the king said now, “the title of Princess is yours for as long as you may live and will pass to your descendants on into eternity. . . . You may rise now.”
The ceremonies were over and people began moving toward the Great Assembly Hall, where the supper would commence.
The king stepped down from the dais and helped Anna to stand. “You see, child, I told you I would not soon forget your deed.”
Anna could only smile her appreciation.
“Go now,” the king urged. “I’m sure your family is eager to congratulate you.”
Too stunned to speak, Anna bowed and fell into the flow of the crowd, dazed and happy. As she moved, people around her congratulated her and wished her well. She could only nod. The king’s interest in her had been a fatherly one. There would be no assignation!
Aunt Stella was crying as Anna approached her. “Oh, Ania, if only your parents had lived to see this day. I thank God that I have!”
Anna hugged her, holding her trembling, frail form.
“My dear, my dear!” Charlotte Sic blurted. “We are both princesses! Who would have thought?”
Anna looked to Zofia, whose smile seemed oddly enigmatic.
“Though if I were to place a monetary value on a title, dear,” Charlotte chattered on, “I should have to say yours would have more purchasing power than mine.” Her double chin trembled as she laughed. “After all, if I were to return to Paris, it’s likely my head would be used as a doorstop!”
“Congratulations, Anna,” Zofia said at last. Turning abruptly, she fell into the line of people moving toward the Great Assembly Hall.
Anna stared after her. “Isn’t she happy for me?”
“Hmmm,” Charlotte hummed, placing her hand on Anna’s arm in a confidential gesture. “Zofia had expectations for you, Anna, and I think you may have outdone them. Therein lies the problem. Ah, Zofia is lovely tonight, isn’t she? The green of the dress, the green of the emeralds, so appropriate. Excuse me, my dear,” she said, removing her hand and moving away, “I’ll go see what I can do to settle the ruffled feathers.”
“Doorstop, indeed,” mumbled Countess Gronska as she watched the princess disappear into the crush, “at least there is some purpose to a doorstop!”
At the supper table, Zofia exhibited a restrained affability but, uncharacteristically, didn’t take an active role in the conversation. She left the Royal Castle early, accompanying Charlotte Sic in her carriage.
“It’s been like a fairy tale, Anna,” the Countess said as they made ready to leave.
Anna could not disagree. The whole event had seemed dreamlike.
In the carriage, she studied the countess’ serene expression, suspecting that her aunt was relishing the notion that her niece had become one of the most eligible women in Poland, one who might even marry a magnate. Her status as a princess would place her sons within the sphere of the elected monarchy. Jan Michał, she suddenly realized, might some day be elected king.
But did her aunt think that she would be able to forget Jan Stelnicki? She smiled to herself at that notion.
They hadn’t even alighted from the carriage when they heard noise and music coming from the Gronski townhome. Outside, a retinue of carriages, coachmen, and footmen was assembled.
“I’m afraid that Zofia is entertaining, Aunt Stella.”
“Sweet Jesus,” the countess cried, “there is no need to placate the Russians now. They’re dead or exiled. And yet she insists on these revelries.”
Anna thought that Zofia would hold her parties no matter what power controlled Poland, but she would not say as much to the countess.
They entered through the rear of the house and used the servants’ stairs to reach their rooms unnoticed. Anna kissed her aunt goodnight. The woman’s mood had soured.
An hour later, a knock came at Anna’s door.
It was Clarice. “Countess Zofia wishes you to come downstairs, Madame.”
“Tell my cousin that I have already retired, Clarice.”
“Very well,” the servant said, giving a curtsy, something she didn’t always do. “Oh, Madame, I overheard the news. Congratulations!”
“Thank you, Clarice.”
A few minutes later, Clarice reappeared. “I’m very sorry, Madame, but Countess Zofia says that if you don’t come down, she’ll bring all of her guests up to you. Please allow me to prepare you to greet them.”
Anna couldn’t believe it, but she would not chance having those people come upstairs. Clarice helped her put her gown on again, and once her hair and wig were made presentable, she went downstairs.
She hurried to the reception room where many of the party were assembled. She stood in the doorway. No one noticed her at first.
Some thirty guests, mostly Poles, were drinking, talking, and laughing. Anna could see into the adjoining music room where couples were dancing to the Bulgarian rhythms of hired musicians. None of these people had been to the royal supper. This was Zofia’s court, Anna thought. These were her subjects.
Anna’s attention was drawn then to the corner of the reception room, where a clothes-press stood. Standing upon it was Zofia, who seemed to be making a toast to someone.
Zofia’s glazed eyes noticed Anna. “Ah, the guest of honor!” she cried drunkenly. “Come, toast my cousin!” Holding her wineglass high in the air, she called out even louder: “Come toast Princess Anna Maria Berezowska! To the Princess!”
Th
ose in the reception room were already quiet; others streamed out of the music room. Most raised their glasses toward Anna. “To the Princess!” they cried in a clumsy chorus.
Almost immediately a handsome man appeared before Anna, and taking her hand, kissed it. “But the Princess does not have a drink,” he said, handing her a glass.
Anna accepted it, attempting to smile even though she was aware of a wetness he had left on the back of her hand. She sensed the handsome face was merely a mask for the devil himself. A chill ran through her.
Anna studied the glass of dark liquid, wondering if it were whiskey. She was certain Charlotte Sic was around somewhere and thought it might be a mean joke of hers to have her choke on whiskey again, as she had done that day long ago at the Royal Castle. She sipped at it and found it had a sweet taste.
“I am Albin Brazow, Princess,” he declared, pressing himself closer. His breath was sour.
Anna nodded uncertainly, taking a step back while he turned to pick up another glass from the table. He was extremely handsome, extremely vain, and extremely drunk.
He called out a second toast: “To the beautiful Princess!”
Nearly everyone joined in. Except Zofia. “Albin Brazow!” she sang out now. “You and your ruby ring will see me to my room tonight, but only one will leave it!”
Everyone laughed.
Albin bowed dramatically in Zofia’s direction. “Which of your desires is the greater, my lady?” he called. “Your desire for jewels, or for men?”
“That will depend on the calibre of the jewel and the calibre of the man!” She laughed at her own comedy, while motioning Albin over to help her down. “But jewels tend to last longer, don’t you think?” She fell now into his open arms and they both toppled giggling and wrestling to the floor.
Setting down her glass, Anna used the commotion to make an exit.
Zofia’s voice rang out before Anna could make it to the stairs. “Why do you leave, Princess Anna?” she called.
Anna hurried along, but was only part way up to the first landing when Zofia came from behind and stood at the bottom of the stairs.
Push Not the River Page 52
