Robin Porecky

FO OLS I SL AND

AUSTIN

MACAULEY

Copyright Robin Porecky The right of Robin Porecky to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers. Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. ISBN 978 1 84963 075 7

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DEDICATION
To Alexa and Piers

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Among the many books that were helpful in my research, I should particularly like to draw attention to: Canaletto, The painter of Warsaw by Mieiczyslaw Wallis, Panstwowy Institut Wydawniczy, Warsaw 1954. The Journal of Countess Francoise Krasinska translated from the Polish by Kasimir Dziekonska, Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co.Ltd. 1897. The Tatras by Zygmunt Ficet, Krakow 2001. Kultura ludowa Podhala by Hanna Blaszczyk-Zurowska, Zakopane 2000. Venetian Ships and Shipbuilders of the Renaissance by Frederic Chapin Lane, John Hopkins University Press 1934. A Collection of Russian Metal Icons by Christopher Martin, Iconastas 1986. Canaletto by J G Links, Phaidon Press 1982. Henryk Sienkiewiczs great trilogy, With Fire and Sword (1884), The Deluge (1886) and Fire in the Steppe Pan Michael (1888).

GLOSSARY
(Most Polish or technical terms are explained in the text, but these clarifications may be helpful.) Black Virgin Revered Polish icon in the Paulite Monastery, Czestochowa Castellan Administrator of a Region Castellanic Son of a Castellan cepry lowlander from southern Poland ell 114 centimetres (45 inches) gneiss metamorphic rock, typically of feldspar, quartz and mica gorale highlander from Polands Tatra Mountains gripo Venetian vessel, a small sleek caravel meltemi Mediterranean wind with dangerous jet effect when channelled between islands polje hollow formed where limestone has collapsed Staroste Administrator of a District succubus female demon believed to have intercourse with sleeping men Woivode Governor of a Province

PART 1 MATENKO

CHAPTER 1

All in all, its been an odd sort of life. In the last few days, to fill the time before I fall asleep, Ive been reflecting on the ironies in my life. Im not a fool, but I became a Fool. Im not funny, but people laugh at me. Im not a womans man, but I was saddled with a baby girl. That was nineteen years ago. But I remain her Fool, and recently Ive decided to present her with a gift shell never fully understand. Its probably the reason for my nightly introspection. My starting points were bastardy and want. These yielded briefly to the glorious possibility of the sublime in serving God; but that chance I forfeited through unbridled lust during the icy Polish winter of 1742. Caught in flagrante delicto, my only possible excuse, that I was trying to keep warm, was not well received; and I was expelled from the seminary for unnatural vice. I starved then, in the snow, as I starve now in the sun. This may be another irony, but it is certainly too much starvation for a man who loves his food. As for the baby, familiarly called by her diminutive, Franulka, she was screaming when I first saw her, and she was little better when shed grown. How can she love him? she wailed, as if I were to blame. Youve seen him, Matenko, hes at least thirty, his French is bad, he muddles Latin and Polish as old people do, and hes dull. She filled the last word with such venom, and emphasised it with such a bang on my knee, that I winced.

There are worse things than being dull, I began, but as soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew Id started down the wrong path. To Franulka there was no greater crime than dullness. What things? she asked ominously. Well, I stumbled, he might be immoral, a drunkard, a villain, violent. Then Basia would be able to reform him, to use her love to make a better man of him, she said with all the passionate foolishness of a sixteen-year-old. I could understand that, it would be a challenge for Basia, there would be excitement, uncertainty. But what excitement can there be in a man who will not dance a minuet, who will not actually dance anything except a polonaise? And he never looks at the rest of us, and scarcely at Basia. He is well bred, I said in his defence, for though I too thought the Staroste of Radom was a dull dog, I felt he would suit Franulkas sister admirably. Hes not yet married to Mademoiselle Basia, and so he does not presume. Franulka looked at me pityingly. What do you know about these things, Matenko? You are a Fool, you see nothing. He does not even talk to Basia, he only converses with my Honoured Parents. By paying attention to them, is he not honouring your sister? I asked, pleased with this piece of Jesuitical reasoning. After all, it is they who are allowing Basia to marry him. That was another mistake. Franulka leaped to her feet and glared at me. Can she not make up her own mind? Why has she no view of her own? Perhaps she has. She has not, replied Franulka, stamping her foot. I asked her what she thought of him, and she answered that the will of our Honoured Parents was a sacred law to her, and that if they felt he was a suitable husband for her, then that was all that mattered.

Is she not right? I asked wickedly, heaving myself to my feet and moving a sensible distance from her. You cannot understand, she stormed, coming after me. You are not married, you do not grasp the implications. She will have to live with him, do his commands, have his children. He is not handsome, he is not dashing; how can she bear it, knowing he will touch her.. She blushed very red, and turned away, biting her lip, conscious she had followed her thoughts too far. But I knew only too well what was really upsetting her. She was putting herself in Basias place, and wondering how it was possible to be in bed and intimate with such a man. The terror was in her that her parents would put her in the same position, and I think she knew she could not do it. Unlike Basia, she dwelt upon these matters, and she could feel already the strength of physical repugnance. So there we were, as we have always been in her short life, a Fool and the daughter of Count Stanislaus Korwin Krasinski, one of Polands most ancient families. That is a jest indeed. Now that I am in a place where life is down to bare essentials, I can look back over the past years and see more clearly the close weave of our lives. In the sun which beats down on my head, it is almost pleasant to recall that earlier freezing winter when I was still a young man. Memory, of course, blunts the sharper edges, so that now I think sentimentally about that huddled figure in the corner of the barbican. But I really was dying of cold and hunger, pushing myself up against the sheltering comfort of the stone as I waited for the drawbridge of Maleszow Castle to be lowered. I must still have had an optimistic spirit, for I was praying that whoever found me would show pity, and pity was not a commodity Id often come across since my fall from grace. Id been kicked and beaten, spat upon, and bitten by dogs, and when youve been used to softer living, preparing for the priesthood, a beggars life is hard. But, gradually, the soul shrinks with the stomach, the nerves lose their sensitivity, and pain and suffering become comparative, better or worse than

the day before. There is an initial surprise one does not die as easily or as quickly as one had supposed, but that is followed by the realisation that moments of pleasure, even of joy, are still possible in the midst of misery. The beauty of a sunset over snow could still make me cry even while I was gnawing my fingers in a semblance of eating. But one does die eventually, although with difficulty and very slowly; and waiting for the drawbridge I was balancing on the brink, as near death then in the cold as I am now in the equally foodless heat. This time, of course, help is not at hand; but, though being a Fool has taught me how to live, and Ive been happier than Id any right to be, it has also taught me to be ready for an exit. At the castle I rejected help, and it saved my life. The dragoons who peacocked their way across the finally-lowered drawbridge, their high helmets foolish on their wigs, were boisterously full of celebration for the birthday of the second child of their lord. One of them magnanimously offered me a crust, and though it was very small I salivated and almost reached for it. But being still in my wits, and not yet a fool, I understood it would not save my life, but merely prolong the agony. So I mustered what dignity I could, which is not easy when one is disgusting both in look and smell, and said that only a fool would refuse such kindness, but I must do so for I needed a meal, not a morsel. I thought I would get a musket butt in my face, but they found it funny, and said I was a fool indeed, and talked among themselves. Then the Captain-in-charge re-crossed the drawbridge while the others took up guard positions, and he must have gossiped about the foolish beggar, for finally the chaplain came and ministered to me. He was a lanky man with the face of a cherub and the fair hair of an angel. Plump cheeks gave his eyes a crinkled kindly look until, at particular moments of scrutiny, they opened wider and you saw the sharp intelligence. He questioned me, for castle folk are careful. But I was just as careful, and said nothing of my past; though I did respond once when he spoke Latin, and showed I understood

his French, thus staking my claim to be a gentleman. It was even a half-true claim, for I was the bastard of a gentleman. As such, a gentleman, not a bastard, I was allowed into the castle and Father Janek put me in his own room and began to feed me back to health. At times I was left alone, for he was also curate of the local church in Lisow, but servants still brought me food and drink, and gradually I returned to that short rotundity which is my natural shape, and regained the caustic tongue that too often got me into trouble. But kindly Janek ignored the bitterness and heard only humour. You are a natural Fool, Mathias, he said delightedly the first evening, and I shall recommend you to the Count. I am certain he will give you a position unpaid, of course. What as? I asked. A kitchen scullion? Father Janek laughed as though I had made a joke, which was to be the pattern for my future life. No, no, he said, for such work would be paid. You will be a gentleman retainer, the personal Fool of Count Krasinski, Staroste of Nova Wies and Uscie. Is that not grand? What happened to his last Fool, I asked suspiciously. Did his wit desert him and so they hanged him on a washing line to dry out even more? Father Janek laughed more loudly still. You will do admirably, he said with satisfaction. The Count, being of serious disposition and not given to frivolity, has never had a jester. But recently he acquired two dwarfs to dance upon the dining table, and his dignity will be enhanced if he has a Fool as well. What about my dignity? I asked grumpily, but Father Janek gave me one of his looks of surprising acuity. I do not ask about your past, he said. Sometime I am sure you will explain it to me. Meanwhile would you rather starve? I am an ungrateful fool, I said hastily, and I would be grateful to be made a Fool. How sensible, said Father Janek, good humoured again. You have arrived at a happy time, for the Starostine has just

produced a second child, Frances, or Franoise in courtly French. It is sad it is another girl, but there is still hope of an heir. Meanwhile the Count is thanking God for his wifes recovery, for it was not an easy birth. This puts him in a generous mood, so we shall go to him tomorrow evening. So I became the castle Fool, and something more besides. For when I was taken before the Count, a pale silvery man, no longer young but stiff with dignity more than age, he ordered, with exquisite courtesy, that I should make him smile. I knew it was a hopeless task, for he did not seem to be a man who ever smiled, as it would be beneath his dignity. So I was preparing to return to cold and hunger rather than make a fool of myself when the nursemaid brought in the new-born baby. The Count looked at her gingerly, and at once she screamed, and went on screaming, deafeningly. Everyone was shocked into immobility, for her behaviour was an unthinkable violation of castle protocol. Since no one else would move, and the pretty young nursemaid was ashy-faced and probably about to swoon, fate pushed me forward, and I took the babe and looked down at her. At once the yelling stopped, and I was transfixed by a pair of black eyes. It is hard for a sinner like me to face such innocence and I almost averted my gaze. But somehow I held firm, feeling myself drawn in, and it was as though some matter between us had been settled, an irrevocable link forged, for her puckered face relaxed and I heard a gurgle of laughter, or wind perhaps. The Count smiled. It is an omen, he said portentously. You are my Fool, and honorary Chamberlain of my daughter Franoise. You will be called Matenko, and you will wear a wooden dagger as a sign of privilege. With much bowing and utterance of thanks I escaped to Father Janeks room and sank down on the floor. I had been given a job, and a gift; and, though I did not understand it then, that gifted child would be life and death to me.

CHAPTER 2

Over the many years that followed I found people laughed almost regardless of what I said, for I was a Fool and therefore funny. Even my most mordant comment was well received, for I alone was allowed to speak in the presence of the Count without permission, and since he was immune to criticism, not understanding its possibility, he took my veiled barbs as wit, and so both of us were quite content, each seeing the other as the fool. If that sounds mean, I confess that at that time I was a mean and angry man. Over the years I came to appreciate the goodness of my master, and to understand that generations of breeding had given him a dignity of such immense proportions there was little room for anything else. He kept a book about the grandeur of his ancestors, and taught his children so effectively they were able to recite the genealogy of the Krasinskis more perfectly than their morning prayer. The hall was lined with portraits of the most illustrious, starting with the Roman Tribune Marcus Valerius Corvinus from whom he claimed descent. Amid the wealth of inherited possessions, most precious to the Count was a clock presented to an especially valorous ancestor by an admiring Tartar chief whose army had been repulsed when he tried to storm the castle. It was taken out and shown on exceptional occasions. I only saw it once; and though it must, I suppose, have been a wonder in its time, I found it plain and rather ordinary. The Counts dignity had been increased by marriage, after many years of careful thought, to Angela Humiecka, daughter of a famous Woivode. She was high-prowed, tightly caulked

against emotion, and, marrying late, had hastily ploughed the billows of the marriage bed in search of sons to carry on the family line. In quick succession she had borne two girls. Then, in my first three years as Fool, she bore two more. None followed. Both parents seemed to withdraw even more into their acclaimed dignity, lest anyone should see the pain of such an affront to the Krasinski name. Three of the daughters were pale and fair like their parents, properly dutiful and placid, expecting no more than they received, which was a distant affection. But Franulka was a throw-back, for she had the black hair and eyes from the portrait of the Krasinski who had defied the Tartar; and she had inherited his fighting spirit. My life was not exciting. I was one of twenty honorary castle courtiers whose duties were to wait in the morning for the Counts entrance, to be ready for any service he might require, to play cards with him, to accompany him when visiting or riding, to defend him in case of need and, since a wooden dagger could neither defend him nor me, I modified it. But my special job was to amuse his guests and so give him honour in their eyes; and, to support me in this, there were the two dwarfs. One was nearing middle age and always wore a Turkish costume; the other, dressed as a Cossack, was even smaller, a graceful and pretty lad of eighteen, and, or so it seemed to me, eager-eyed. Since remuneration would be undignified for a gentleman, I was unpaid, but I received clothes, food, lodging, and an ass to ride; and, when my wit was simple enough for visitors to understand, some coins came my way. The Count was generous with gifts as well, as was the Countess, and so I lived well and salted away enough for any emergency that might arise. By some logic quite beyond me, salaries were given to the physician, the French Madame, the secretary, marshal, butler, commissary, treasurer, equerry, ushers, masters of the wardrobe and chamberlains. There were many others who swelled the castle retinue but they were not often mentioned, for cooks, link-boys, ostlers, valets, nursemaids and servants are necessarily invisible.

You may wonder why, if I had found my place in such a household, I hoarded emergency savings. And that is difficult for me, for I am a flawed man, constantly in fear of discovery, and I do not find it easy to talk openly about such matters except to my confessor. Father Janek had to be told, not least because he began to suspect Id been a novice priest, and must have sensed my interest in him, for we shared a room for several months. Id hoped my confession would reveal a similar inclination in him; but unfortunately, for he was a fine man in his thirties, he proved to be one of those priests who can effectively castrate themselves without the loss of balls. But it cleared the air, we became good friends, and he felt able to warn me that the younger dwarf, Dmitri, was a stallion who mounted anything available on two legs or on four; and since I have some standards, I kept away and only made a fool of myself with the young chamberlains who laughed at me as who does not but occasionally were kind. I hasten to say that this was in the early years of my castle life. I was in my twenties when I started as a Fool, and ones drives are stronger then. As a novice I had spent many hours in the chapel kneeling on the bare stone slabs, attempting to rid myself of desire. But suffering only seemed to increase it, and it was only over the years my baser urges faded. By the time Franulka selected me as playmate, victim and confidant, demanding at the age of nine to know whether Id die for her, I was as chaste, almost, as Father Janek. Terka, the nursemaid who had failed to prevent the infant bawling at the sight of the Count, would normally have lost her place for such an offence against his dignity; but my unwitting intervention had reprieved her, and she developed a liking for me which created complications. Wishing to reward me she undid her blouse and offered me the plump pink-nippled contents. One is loath to be ungrateful or ill-mannered, and so I grinned and was prepared to bear it, reaching out a very tentative hand, but she was a good girl and she laughed and said she understood the way the wind blew, tucked away her treasures and gave me a kiss upon the nose. From then on we were often in each others

company, for a castle, filled to overflowing with so many bustling people, can be a lonely place; and at times the baby was with us too, so Franulka and I were early accustomed to each other. Whenever we could, Terka and I escaped the castle altogether, exploring the countryside around it; and occasionally we persuaded Janek to come with us too. Maleszow is south of Warsaw, and the district which the Count administered was heavily forested, with craggy hills, ravines, and rivers which in the Spring were dangerously swollen. In sunshine and in snow it was far less gloomy than the four storey, four bastioned castle that loomed so menacingly over its wild surroundings, and we walked and clambered, counting the different birds we saw and hoping, fruitlessly, to catch a glimpse of the wolves and lynx that were often hunted. I listened to her chatter from the nursery, mostly about Franulka; and she wanted to hear everything I could tell her about the Count and Countess, the guests, the dinners and the entertainments. Out together again? one of the guards would usually say, leering at us meaningly; and on our return he and his companions would dutifully pretend to brush from our clothing imaginary grass and twigs. Cant have you going back inside looking like that, Matenko. People will wonder what youve been up to. Much stress was put upon the up, and as this was the height of wit to them, there would be muffled explosions of laughter behind us as we crossed the drawbridge. Terka loved the banter, rolling her eyes flirtatiously at the Sergeant with the heavily drooping moustache; and I did not mind at all, for they no longer repeated their earlier jibes about my facing two ways. Apparently fucking a maid in the bushes had made me normal. So the years passed comfortably enough, and then Franulka adopted me as her companion. She liked the fact I was her Honorary Chamberlain, for her other sisters did not have one, and that made her feel special. Her elder sister Barbara, or Basia, was tall, large boned and blonde, with

something of the stoic dignity of her parents; and in due course Kasia and Marynia grew to be the same. All of them were sensible and biddable, and far too proper to be friendly with a Fool. But Franulka was different from the start, and it did not make it easy for her. Dark where they were fair, her black hair was so straight and long she could rest her feet upon it as she sat upon a chair, a quite impossible feat, I used to say, for her sisters with their spiralling locks. She was the slenderest, too, her waist spanned by a single hand where two were needed for her sisters. Yet none of this was to her credit, for blonde, plump curly girls were proper in the family, so she was odd and her Chamberlain Fool her only claim to fame. To her, the greatest shame of all was that she was not tall, less so than Basia, and finally the shortest of the four. She felt this demeaned her in her Honoured Parents eyes and was the reason for her lack of dignity, the commonest criticism made of her. In compensation, she was desperate to be the best at everything, the prettiest, the quickest at her lessons, the most loved by her parents. She craved their affection, but she did not get it, not in the way she wanted. Her father found her too emotional, too fiery or too tearful, and she wanted hugs and kisses that were quite beneath his dignity. So he would rebuke her, for her own good, quiet crushing comments, often in the hearing of her sisters, so that she should learn to be a proper daughter of the Krasinskis. Her mother, to whom she then would run, sobbing and trying to climb upon her lap, kept her at bay, not cruelly, but because she was bewildered by such lack of common control and could not cope with it. She spoke precepts to her in the hope that she would learn, and then would yield her, with relief, to Terka, to Madame or to the Fool who seemed to be the only one who could control her outbursts. Needless to say it was untrue. I could no more control a storm than her. But I had learnt early on to give her what she wanted, and, as I seemed to be the only person in the castle who had the time, I became the recipient of her longings and her woes. For what she wanted was attention, someone to

place her in the centre of their universe, who would listen to her, not talk at her and who would know instinctively what it was she needed at any given moment. She required a companion, playmate and adviser who could explain the complications of human relationships that most children either understand innately or care about so little it is of no concern to them. But Franulka did care. She wanted to be good, correct, and loved, and she chose a Fool to be her guide. Well, I had endless patience with her, and I loved her unconditionally, for given my circumstances she was the only child I would ever have. I enjoyed the games, and was, I suppose, well placed to give advice about relationships since I was outside them, and so my mind was unaffected by emotional involvement. A Fool is not attached to any class or attitude. He is an observer of the follies of mankind, and since I had to find my own way with the Count and Countess, with Franulkas sisters, with Madame who was their teacher, and with all the guests, many of whom were relations of the Krasinskis, I was not as bad a guide as might have been expected. I had the great advantage, too, that people at all levels talk before a Fool as though he is too foolish to understand, or too unimportant to matter. So I was aware of all that went on in the castle, the current criticisms of Franulka, what were felt to be her strengths and weaknesses, what was most wanted of her, what would smooth the feathers she had ruffled and what would ease her path through life. At times we got it wrong, especially when I unwittingly became her companion in some mischief, and then I would have to take the blame. There was no evil in her but she was too curious, too eager, too adventurous, and she entirely lacked the sense of what it was to be a lady. Her sisters had been born with it, but Franulka climbed upon the battlements and sat astride the crenellations, rode behind dragoons, wandered well beyond the third floor of the castle where the ladies had their rooms and slid down stairs upon a cushion. On solemn occasions she would rush when a sedate walk was required, she would question when she should be silent, and she would

clap her hands in open delight when superior aloofness was expected of her. So I took it as my task to teach her how to act the part that others looked for in her, and she took a delight in that, and proved so apt a pupil that soon her parents felt she was much improved. Only Madame, the governess, saw the occasional veiled glance of glee at me, the stifled laugh of triumph; and fortunately she was an understanding woman, lonely for her own country and appreciative that I made her controlling task a little easier. So the daughter of a Count became apprentice to a Fool and learnt to wear a mask in public, and was gravely praised for self-control, deportment and demeanour. In private, when she was with me, the mask would slip, and she would walk upon her hands, steal sips from my beer and ask questions about the baser life in the castle that would have been deemed unsuitable by her mother. But largely Franulka just took me for granted, and that was not unpleasant as it made me feel I was not in thrall to her, as she was not to me. I think she thought each person had a Fool of some sort, someone of small importance who would give their all to them, and be rewarded by unthinking fondness. So I was able to steer her through the shoals of childhood, and she became, externally, more fitted to the mould and so more easily accepted. The Count and Countess both expressed appreciation for my role in this, and Madame and Terka too came in for precious words of commendation. But, out of their sight, it was often still a struggle, for the routine of the daughters life was tediously rigid. This was especially so for one who dreamed all the time of great adventures and who, as she grew to womanhood, secretly modelled her life on the heroines in the novels of Madame de Beaumont that her governess, desperate to plant one French seed into the heavy unpromising soil of her pupils minds, encouraged her to read. These became more real to her than the real world, and at any moment she expected Prince Cheri to sweep her off her feet. It was largely for this reason she took against Basias future husband, for in no way did he match the sort of suitor she wanted for herself. It did not seem to cross her mind that Basia might not have the same ideal.

It was a crisis which had such consequences for her, and me, that it became a turning point in both our lives. Before it I had been discontented, wondering over and over whether better opportunities might not lie elsewhere, opportunities for adventure, riches and even the kind of physical love I needed. I had vaguely planned to take the road again before I was too old to risk it. Terka, no longer necessary in the nursery now that Marynia, the youngest, had passed into the care of the French Madame, married her Sergeant of Dragoons and was busy with her firstborn. Janek, too, was so conscientious in his duties in the parish and the castle, and so much in demand, that I saw him less and less. I felt I was becoming middle-aged and peevish, and even felt neglected by Franulka who was dreaming away the early years of adolescence, hoping womanhood would finally provide her with a kingdom of her own. She even ceased to complain about the daily regime, which was a preparation for a dutiful life. She and her sisters slept in one room, in separate curtained bedsteads, each with a woollen blanket and one headrest, except for Basia, who had a coverlet of silk and twice as many pillows. At seven oclock they were woken by Madame, whose title had become her only name, and after a prayer, in French, lessons began at once, learning dialogues and anecdotes by heart until it was time, after an hour, to descend to wish their Honoured Parents good morning and have a simple breakfast. Chapel for Mass was followed by Latin prayers read by the Chaplain and repeated by the girls, German vocabulary, Polish dictation, spinet lessons from the Director of the castle orchestra, and then the dressing of the hair, a lengthy, often painful process involving puffs and up to half a pound of powder. But though she did not visit me as regularly in those awkward years, she still came on occasions, for there is little joy in having dreams if they can never be revealed. And so I heard about the young chamberlains she liked, and which ones had eyed her saucily, or sighed in lovesick fashion in her presence; and I was regaled with blessedly shortened versions of Magasin des Enfants and Prince Cheri, or, in full, the poetry of Malesherbes.

Youll never leave me, will you, Matenko, she said suddenly one day, and I was so guiltily startled that I looked at her properly for the first time in months and saw that she was changed. Youve grown up, I said, and though she reddened I stared at her, trying to sort out what the difference was. She was slender still but in a different way, her face seemed to have settled into a more perfect shape, and her eyes, as black as ever, were larger and seemed to sparkle more. Her hair was carefully dressed, more lustrous, setting off the clarity of her complexion and the pinkness of her cheeks. Youre also beautiful, I added, not just because I knew she would like to hear it, but because it was true. Not too short, too dark, too straight haired? she asked. You used to be, I answered. In fact, now I come to think about it, you were always a perfect fright and I dont know how you didnt turn me into stone. But in some mysterious way, known only to nature I suppose, youve ceased to be a gorgon. Perhaps I am in love, she teased, and suddenly I was afraid for her, and knew I could not leave her yet, for she was going to need me. She set no bounds upon her love, she was too passionate, impulsive, and knowing only novels, she was ignorant of real men who would not be long in noticing her beauty and her innocence. I must have paled, for she laughed and threw her arms about my neck. Silly Matenko, she chided. You know I love nobody but you. And your Honoured Parents, and Basia and your younger sisters, I corrected her. Her face altered. Am I more beautiful than Basia? she demanded, and the jealousy she felt, usually well hidden, was very plain. Basia is a fine girl, I answered diplomatically. She will make an excellent wife one day. But you are more beautiful, if the opinion of a Fool has any value. She looked pleased, and then she pouted.

But I will not make an excellent wife, is that what you are saying? I have never considered marriage for you, I answered hastily. You are much too young. I am soon sixteen and my Honoured Mother has told me that from that birthday I must pray each day for a suitable husband. Then when you are sixteen I will give the matter my earnest attention, and find a man who can dodge your missiles, is bald and so has no hair to pull, whose nose is so tiny that you will not be able to get a grip on it, and who is blind so that he cannot be enslaved by your comeliness. Just because I said I loved you, you think you can insult me, she said, smiling and shaking her finger at me. Then she was serious again, and blurted out, You know I cannot love Basia. I try to be like her, I want to be like her, I do everything I can to love her, but she just ignores me. Why, Matenko, what is wrong with me? Everybody likes her more than me, and I can understand that, but she doesnt seem to like me at all. She is older than you, more self-contained, and though she loves you, she does not show her feelings as you do. But she will not talk to me. I know our Honoured Parents are discussing a husband for her, but she does not seem interested at all. I asked her what sort of man was her ideal, but she snubbed me, saying that, when the time was ripe, she would be told his name, and she would marry him for life and then discover, at her leisure, what he was really like. Is that not sensible of her? It is a criticism of me. She knows I dream and pretend I am in love, and so she puts me in my place as if I were still a silly child. She is spoiled by everyone, because she is the eldest, and she thinks I am too far beneath her to be worth a conversation. She is permitted to help our Honoured Parents in the ordering of the household, and they are so affectionate to her they even kissed her on the cheek on the morning of her birthday. But I am never kissed because they do not like me. They discuss things with her, even listen to her views, though

she never has any that are different to their own. Almost every day they praise her for her appearance, but when I was found once looking at myself in my Honoured Mothers mirror, she was very angry with me, and told me it was God who had made me, and she ordered me to kneel and beg his forgiveness for being vain. I cannot stand it any more. Her voice had risen, her cheeks were flushed, and I feared she was becoming hysterical over long-concealed slights. I felt sorry for her, for in the absence of a son the Count and Countess did their duty by their children, as best they could, but their family name would not continue and so there was no joy in it for them. But it was true that Basia, as the eldest, received most nearly all they would have poured out on a son. You have to stand it, I said more sharply than I had intended. Life is never easy, and you are too special to let life beat you down. She stared at me, and seemed to calm herself, but she had not finished yet. If I am so special, when shall I see Warsaw, which Basia has already visited? And if I am so special, why did Father Albert, when he came to stay last week, give her a rosary and La Journe du Chrtien, but did not even speak to me? He is a Jesuit, I interrupted quickly, in an attempt to stop the flow. He is interested in people who have influence, and so he believes that Basia, as the eldest, is most worth his trouble. But why does he believe I will have no influence she asked. You say I am special, but like everybody else you believe I will amount to nothing. But youre wrong, all of you, and one day I will show you. She stormed out before I could reply, and slammed my door, and left me thankful I was not young again. Then two events occurred that emphasised how tightly bound I was now to the Krasinski fortunes, and those of one Krasinska in particular, and how any plans for myself alone were empty fancies. For it was publicly announced, to nobodys surprise, that Basia would shortly marry Adam

Swidinski, son of the Woivode of Craclaw, a man of high repute. And at the wedding, to the consternation of the one who saw it coming, and the parents who then dealt with it too harshly, Franulka fell in love.