Polonaise

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  ‘Oh, Jan!’ She lay quiet for a moment. ‘You’ve made me so happy. But I mustn’t. Your family, your father, your sister. What will they say?’

  ‘They’ll say: “Welcome to America, Mrs. Warrington.” They’ll love you, Miriam.’

  ‘If I could only believe that. But, Jan, a Jewess, an ugly woman with a past.’

  ‘A beautiful woman, with a tragic past. And, I promise you, love, it’s different for Jews in our United States of America. We’re going to have sons, Miriam, you and I. Don’t think I ever forget the boys you lost. I’ve loved you most of all when I’ve seen you so good to Casimir. And, do you know, I don’t think it has ever struck the Princess what a heroine you are being.’

  ‘I’m not a person to her. Just the Jewess, Miriam. But Jenny knows. Jan, when war comes, what’s going to happen to Jenny.’

  ‘I worry about her. But it may not come, love.’ He settled her more comfortably in his arm. ‘It’s time we talked business, you and I.’

  ‘Yes.’ She snuggled against him, her dark hair brushing his chin. ‘Tell me all the news, I’m starved for it.’

  ‘It’s none of it good. But none of it quite so bad as I feared. Napoleon and the Tsar are both talking peace in loud voices and arming as fast as they can. But I don’t think it’s going to come to blows, not for this year at least. The Tsar won’t start the war. I believe that. He may alarm Napoleon into starting it; he won’t strike the first blow. But, my darling, will you promise me something? I deeply believe that nothing will happen this year, since neither Emperor is ready, but if it should by any wild chance … If you should hear that the French are massing beyond the Niemen, you’ll pack your things and come east at once, to Petersburg, and me?’

  ‘Leaving the Princess’s estate, and all her serfs, exposed in the front line?’

  ‘What do you owe the Princess?’

  ‘Nothing. But to the serfs I owe a great deal.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I was thinking about that. There was an ear at the Princess’s keyhole, was there not?’

  ‘Not the keyhole exactly, but, yes, of course.’

  ‘And none, here, today?’

  ‘No. These are my private apartments. I had the spyhole blocked up. I’ve got a letter for you, by the way, from Glynde Rendel, written the day they left. He sent another one to an address Czartoryski gave him; I thought it best to let it go.’

  ‘I’m sure you were right. I’d trust your instinct before I did my own.’ He read the letter quickly. ‘This doesn’t tell me much that I didn’t know already. Of course the Russians are arming along the border; they’d be mad not to.’

  ‘Jan!’

  ‘Yes, my darling?’

  ‘There’s so much secrecy; so much mystification. Sometimes, this last winter, I’ve been worried, frightened … Jan, it is Poland we are working for, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it is! Poland herself again, a free country, free to trade with the world. With ports on the Baltic and a clear way down to the Black Sea.’

  ‘And freedom for all?’

  He smiled down at her lovingly. ‘You really care about your serfs, don’t you? Yes, in the end, I’m sure of it, but it’s not something that can be promised at this stage. We’d lose so much support from the nobles. It’s hard enough keeping them together as it is.’

  ‘Yes, I do see that. What I don’t understand is why you don’t trust Glynde Rendel more fully. Granted you’re on the same side.’

  ‘But are we? That’s something I haven’t told you, love. Everything’s changed in England. The old King’s declared mad at last, and his son is Prince Regent. God knows what will happen next; very likely a Whig government that will make peace with Napoleon. And then, what hope for Poland?’

  ‘Our only hope a war that will destroy more homes, more farmland, kill and starve more thousands? It’s horrible, Jan.’ She shivered in his arms.

  ‘What’s worth having, is worth fighting for.’ He pulled her closer. ‘You’re cold, my darling.’ His hand played loving music on the delicate bones of her spine.

  ‘No, Jan, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’ll look after you. Always. Believe that?’

  ‘I do.’ She smiled up at him, as he bent to kiss her and they plunged back together, everything else forgotten.

  At Petersburg, they dedicated the huge new Cathedral of Our Lady of Kazan that mild September of 1811, on the tenth anniversary of the Tsar’s accession to the throne, and everyone was there for the three-and-a-half-hour service. Jan went to watch the brief parade of troops that preceded it, and met the American Ambassador, John Quincy Adams, on his way to the new Cathedral.

  ‘I’m glad to see you back.’ Adams paused to greet him. ‘Tell me, what is the news from the border?’

  ‘Not good. But not desperate. No war this year, I think. But is it true that Napoleon made the Russian Ambassador, Prince Kurakin, another of his scenes on the occasion of his birthday?’

  ‘So I hear. Madness. If he thinks to frighten the Tsar into submission, he much mistakes his man. Are you coming to the service?’

  ‘No, alas, I do not qualify for admission.’

  ‘I’m not sure whether I should absolutely condole with you,’ said Adams drily. ‘But duty calls … Come and see me, Mr. Warrington, and tell me more about how things go on at Vilno, and at Drissa, where I believe, there are fortifications being built.’

  ‘Yes, though I cannot for the life of me understand what purpose they are intended to serve. But, if you have a moment, tell me, Mr. Adams, is it true that the French are stopping and searching our merchant ships more drastically than ever?’

  ‘I am afraid so. I have tried in vain to explain to Count Lauriston that there is no way we can prevent the British from using our colours as camouflage, but that I, personally, can vouch for the bona fides of the American ships that make the dangerous journey here to Kronstadt and Petersburg.’

  ‘And what did Lauriston say to that?’

  ‘Nothing to the purpose. He’s a mouthpiece for Napoleon, no more. Caulaincourt was worth ten of him. And his master understands nothing about the realities of trade, how should he? I hope you have no vessels bound this way before the freeze-up. Frankly, there is no way I can guarantee their safety. And we both know how long, and what a struggle it takes to release a cargo once it has been confiscated by the French.’

  ‘I do indeed. But, Mr. Adams, ‘I’ve had no English news since I got back. Has the Prince of Wales, now he is Regent, not turned out the Tory government he hates and sent for his old friends the Whigs? And will that not mean they make peace with France, and everything is changed?’

  ‘Ah, you’ve not heard.’ He looked over to the imposing curved colonnade of the Cathedral, where people were still pushing their way in. ‘I’ve a moment still. The Prince Regent has surprised everyone. Wrote a civil letter to Mr. Perceval, the First Minister, telling him he felt he owed it to his father to keep the Tories in office. His Whig friends are furious, I understand.’

  ‘So it’s business as usual?’

  ‘Yes, the war goes on. Lord Wellington is still giving the French as good as he gets in Spain.’ He looked quickly around to make sure there was no possible English speaker within earshot. ‘I’ve even heard rumours that there are feelers out again between here and England, despite the state of war that technically exists between the two countries. So it may be all change again one of these days. But for goodness’ sake keep that under your hat, Mr. Warrington.’ He moved away a few steps, turned back. ‘Oh, two other pieces of news that will interest you. Lord Granville Leveson Gower is married, and Lord Ringmer is dead. Isn’t he father of a friend of yours?’

  ‘Yes. His brother succeeds, and he will be next in line. Thank you for telling me.’ He went back to the little house on the English Quay that he had once shared with Glynde Rendel and wrote a long letter to Miriam.

  The second Sejm, or Parliament, in the history of the new Duchy of Warsaw was to be held tha
t winter of 1811, and the King of Saxony came to open it with traditional pomp, and hear the swearing-in of the new members for the six departments acquired from Austria two years before. ‘If I was only a man,’ said the Princess, as she left Rendomierz to attend the ceremony, ‘I would be among the nobles there.’

  She reached Warsaw early in September, a few days before the King, and went straight to call on her friend Anna Potocka. They had a great deal to talk about. Anna had been at the Potocki estates in Russian-held Bialystok that summer, just as Isobel had been at Vinsk. ‘Do you think it has done any good?’ she asked. ‘You saw Adam Czartoryski did you not? What hopes does he hold out of tolerance from his master the Tsar?’

  ‘He wants us all to commit ourselves. Cousin Adam says Alexander is just waiting until he is sure of us before he announces a Kingdom of Poland.’

  ‘I seem to have heard that one before,’ said her friend. ‘And anyway, how can we? My father-in-law is president of the Council of the Grand-Duchy. You’ve no idea how busy he is with the preparations for the Sejm! It’s going to be the most brilliant winter we’ve seen in Warsaw for years. You’ll stay for the great opening in December, of course?’

  ‘Oh, I think so. And you?’

  ‘I’m insisting. My husband wanted to pack me off to the country for the good of my health, but I told him I’d go into a decline.’

  ‘Your health? Anna … you don’t mean?’ A quick look at her friend’s elegant figure in the revealing empire-line dress.

  ‘Yes, I do! In January. And, Isobel, I’m sure it’s a boy this time. Did I tell you about the prophecy I had from the sorceress?’

  ‘Yes, several times.’

  ‘It’s all happening, just as she said. An heir at last! You can imagine how I am looked after! But, talking of sons, how does that school of yours go on? And your little Prince? A pity he’ll be grown up when mine is ready for schooling.’

  ‘Oh, Anna, don’t take it too much for granted! By the way, what is the news of Marie Walewska?’

  ‘Still holding court in Paris. Her little boy has his nose right out of joint of course since the birth of the King of Rome, but she don’t seem to mind it too much. All the young Poles gravitate to her house when they are on leave from Spain, and crowd into her box at the opera. She’s been presented at court now. That I would have liked to have seen. Graceful Marie and that stiff-necked little Empress, who never can find the right thing to say, or doesn’t care to try. Not that there really can have been a right thing for that occasion. They say the Emperor is a devoted father.’

  ‘To both boys? It’s odd to think that a year ago the whisper was that he would never have a child.’

  ‘Yes. I wonder if Marie is glad she proved he could. What an odd way to change the future of the world.’

  ‘And her own. Think of the difference to her. Someone was telling me that old husband of hers is facing bankruptcy.’

  ‘Aren’t we all! The French seem to think Poland is made of gold and grain.’

  ‘And men,’ said Isobel. ‘If I lose many more serfs, either here in town or at Rendomierz, I really don’t know how I shall contrive to go on. But tell me about the new French Minister here, Monsieur Bignon. What is he like?’

  ‘My dear, a social disaster! No manner at all. A dyer’s son I believe, one of Napoleon’s jumped-up nobodies. He comes at you like a cavalry charge, and then can think of nothing to say, but “What are you doing in that little corner?” As if one was some poor little social outcast. At least he’s not saddled with a frump of a wife, like some of them, but his being unmarried makes his entertaining an odd enough business.’

  ‘He does entertain, though?’

  ‘Oh, yes, everyone! Be sure you get invited. And let me warn you, my father-in-law and I both think there is more to him than meets the eye. The Council are delighted with him, I believe. He really understands business, they say. And is formidably well informed. If I were you I’d make a point of telling him you keep two enemy aliens in your household. He’s bound to know!’

  Isobel met the French Resident at the theatre a few days later, and was grateful for Anna’s warning. Brought to her box by Josef Poniatowski, the Minister of War, he seemed indeed the insignificant little man Anna had described, with no conversation, nothing to say about the play they were watching. But his eyes were formidably intelligent as he asked if he might do himself the honour of calling on her next day. ‘For a quiet word, Highness? You have been travelling, I understand. I long to hear about it.’

  She received him alone, and actually found herself wishing she had not left Jenny behind in Rendomierz. Absurd. An Englishwoman; an enemy. She sometimes found herself wondering, these days, if it might not be the part of wisdom to get rid of Jenny. But how? And could she manage without her?

  They talked for a few minutes about the play, the stifling weather and the bad summer that had meant one of the worst harvests ever. ‘You have found it so on both your estates?’ he asked. ‘You are not long back, I understand, from the Ovinski estates near Vilno.’

  ‘Some months,’ she hedged. ‘And not my estates, my son’s. I feel it my duty to make sure they are kept in good shape for him.’

  ‘I did hear a rumour that the little Prince had come out as quite a fiery young Russian-hater. Some incident on your journey to Vilno?’

  ‘You heard about that?’

  ‘Highness, you would be wise to believe that I hear everything. If you will also believe that anything you tell me will be treated with the strictest confidence, I hope we will go on very well, you and I. You have two enemy aliens in your household, I understand.’

  ‘My tutor and my companion are both British, it’s true. I hardly look on them as enemies. Miss Peverel has been with me for almost ten years. And Mr. Rendel …’ She paused.

  ‘Was recommended to you by Talleyrand himself.’ He laughed the grating little laugh. ‘Does that induce you to trust me, Highness?’

  ‘That you know? That he told you? Yes, I suppose so. So, where does that leave me, Monsieur Bignon?’

  ‘It leaves you what you have always been, a most beautiful lady, a great Princess.’ His compliments were even more awkward than his laugh, and she was beginning to let herself comfortably despise him, when he concluded ‘And one with sufficient hostages to fortune, so that she had better be most scrupulously careful in her behaviour.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’ She made it light, but she was frightened, just the same.

  ‘No, Highness, a friendly warning. You have estates – you and your son – too close to the border for comfort. If trouble should come, you will have need of all your friends.’

  Glynde and his aunt had agreed to number their letters to each other, so when he received one from her at last, towards Christmas of 1811, he knew how many had failed to reach him. This one had taken nearly six months and had been so much handled on the way that it took him hours to decipher. But her first bit of news leapt from the page at him. She was writing to break the news of his father’s death – and his brother’s remarriage. She had had only one letter from him, she said: his fourth. ‘I am so very glad you are finding the running of your school such an absorbing experience.’ She said nothing whatever about the Princess, but ended by sending very kind regards to Miss Peverel.

  ‘What other news?’ asked Jenny, after condoling with him on his father’s death.

  ‘We agreed to be very careful. But she speaks of her neighbour in the big house down the road – the Prince of Wales of course – and his Regency. He’s taken over running the family business, she says, but decided to keep on the old staff. And then there’s something I still haven’t quite made out. Here, where she’s crossed it. Something about an old friend? Your eyes are better than mine; see if you can read it.’

  ‘I’ll try.’ As she took the letter, their fingers brushed, and she was silent for an instant, fighting the turmoil his touch always roused in her. She moved a little away from him, towards the light, grateful that he never noticed.
‘I don’t wonder you found it difficult. Lord knows how many hands this letter has been through. Let’s see … Something about her neighbour – the Prince Regent again, I suppose – hoping to make up an old quarrel. What on earth is this? A performing bear? A quarrel about a bear?’

  ‘Or with a bear? Russia, of course. If the Tsar really means to fight Napoleon, peace with England would be a very logical first step. I suppose we British are to be paymasters again. Bless your sharp eyes.’ He took the letter back from her, not noticing how her hand avoided his. ‘Do you realise, Jenny, that would mean we no longer had enemies all round us?’

  ‘It would certainly make a change for the better.’ Drily. ‘But, surely, you will have to go home now?’

  ‘I think not. My aunt does not suggest it. The period of mourning would be almost over by the time I managed to get there, and the rejoicings for my brother’s marriage, too. I suppose I might arrive in time to stand godfather to the heir, but, frankly, I’d rather stay here, where I’m needed. Besides, I couldn’t afford the statutory silver porringer and case of port.’ He laughed. ‘And that’s a deuced ungrateful thing to say to you, who saw to it that I’m a landed gentleman here. But when even the Princess grumbles about her finances, who am I not to emulate her? Having an estate has brought home to me just how savagely the French are bleeding this country.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she said. ‘But don’t forget you’re bleeding yourself, too. I ought not to take the income you give me.’

  ‘Your tiny salary? Try to stop!’

  ‘That’s all very well, but I want you to halve it, please.’

  ‘Halve it? Why?’

  ‘Marylka told me the other day. That you have arranged to pay Marta’s endowment to her convent for her. It’s wonderfully good of you. I’m so glad … But I want to share it.’

  ‘I’ll wring Marylka’s neck!’

  ‘Please don’t. It wasn’t her fault. You know she’s the soul of discretion. It was just bad luck. Mind you,’ she smiled rather mischievously, ‘I’d have known something was up sooner or later, by the different way the servants treat you. They used not to like you overmuch, did you know? They do now.’