The Continental Monthly, Vol. 4, No. 1, July, 1863: Devoted to Literature and National PolicyVarious
History
The Continental Monthly, Vol. 4, No. 1, July, 1863: Devoted to Literature and National Policy
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; United States -- Politics and government -- 19th century -- Periodicals
As for the other servants in the castle, I cannot even enumerate them; I
do not know the number of musicians, cooks, guards, Cossacks, and
waiting men and women. I can only say that five tables are spread every
day, and that two distributors (szafarz) are occupied from morning until
night in giving out all that is necessary for the kitchen. My mother is
often present at the distribution of the eatables; she carries with her
the keys of the closets in which are the spices, cordials, and
sweetmeats. Every morning the steward presents the bill of fare to my
parents, who approve or change it as they find it well or ill.
Our every-day life is regulated as follows: We rise in summer at six
o'clock, and in winter at seven. My three sisters and myself sleep in
the third story, in a large room with madame. Each of us has an iron bed
with curtains. Barbara, as the eldest, has two pillows and an eiderdown
coverlet; the rest of us have only one pillow and a woollen counterpane.
After having made a hurried toilet, we say our prayers in French, and
then begin our lessons. Our tutor formerly taught us to read, write, and
count in Polish, and the chaplain taught us our catechism; but Barbara
and I are now entirely under madame's direction; our two younger
sisters, however, still receive lessons from the tutor.
At eight we visit our parents, to wish them good morning, and take our
breakfast. In winter we eat soup made with beer, and in summer we drink
milk; on fast days we have a very good panada. After breakfast we all go
and hear mass in the chapel. Our chapel is very pretty. When the service
is ended, the chaplain says the morning prayers aloud in Latin; the
whole court repeat them; but to tell the truth, I have as yet neglected
to ask the meaning of them, and some day I must do it.
We then return to our apartment and recommence our studies. Madame makes
us write, under her dictation, lines from Malherbe, the French poet.
We have a pianoforte, and a German, who directs our orchestra, gives us
lessons; he receives three hundred florins every year. Barbara plays
quite well. After the music lesson, the hair dresser comes to arrange
our hair; he always begins with the eldest. When he has unfortunately
heard of some new fashion, we rarely escape without shedding some blood.
My hair is longer and thicker than that of my sisters, and when I sit on
the stool it sweeps the floor; the barber consequently tries all his
experiments upon my head. The present fashion pleases me exceedingly: it
is a kind of very elegant _neglige_, one portion of the hair is gathered
upon the top of the head and falls down in rich curls; the rest is in
plaits, which hang about the neck and over the shoulders. The barber
uses a half pound of powder every time he dresses my hair.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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