Hotel Maltański*** history chronicle of a ball

As I have already said, my entrance into high society in Krakow was through Countess Raczynska; however, seeing that I did not call on her with my letter of reference written by my father, I decided to take Wladyslaw Gunther’s advice, and try my luck with Wladyslaw Podhorski. The reader may recall that in other passages of my book, I emphasized the differences between the landed gentry of the Northeastern borders, and that of the landed gentry of the Ukraine and Podolia. Our Mohylow, Minsk, Witebsk, and Vilnius gentry were far more modest, not as wealthy, and more democratic than their Ukrainian and Podolian counterparts who owned thousands of acres of farmland, giant factories—not just distilleries, but sugar refineries, as well. It wasn’t only the Potockis, the Branickis, or the Sanguszkos with stables, fine palaces, and endless numbers of servants and valets, but the average gentry of the Ukraine and Podolia led a much grander life than we did. The Podhorskis were a rich family, and many of them led a life undoubtedly more extravagant than the typical landed gentry of the Northeastern borders.

Wladyslaw Podhorski was of average height, and dark hair. He was extremely ceremonious, polite, and softspoken. When he spoke, two strange movements accompanied him: he shook his head as if he were trying to rid himself of a pest around his neck; followed by what looked like an attempt to shake his conversation partner’s hand, which he would retract at the last moment, and calmly place his own hand back on his chest. He told me that he had heard of my father. He also told me that Countess Stefan Zamoyski was having a small party for her youngest daughter, Wanda, at her home, the "manor on Straszewskiego" and that he would gladly take me along. We made arrangements that I would come by his apartment before the ball, and that together with his cousin, Wladyslaw Gunter, and his nephew, Zaza Podhorski, we would head off to the party. He suggested that I should also leave my calling card with Countess Zamoyski.

The ball would be in a week, so I didn’t have much time to get my tails. I ordered them the next day, and wrote to my mother asking for money. I didn’t go to the most expensive tailor, Szufa, who charged 250 crowns for tails, but instead to Stachiewicz on the Square. He made it for me for 200 crowns. It’s unbelievable, but I still have it, having had it altered over the years according to the fashion of the day.

I had known Zaza Podhorski, who later became a famous General, earlier. He recently died in desperate poverty. He had been married to Miss Zdziechowska. We were good friends, and saw each other often, not only at balls, but at Mrs. August Sokolowski’s and Wladek Gunter’s , as he lived with the Sokolowskis. I often ate dinner there, and then the three of us would go to a party. We were at the Grand Hotel cafe every day as well, along with the rest of the young society set.

With great excitement, I put on my first set of tails and marched of to Wladyslaw Podhorski’s. We went to Countess Zamoyska’s. It was a small home, surrounded by gardens, with beautiful interiors. I was introduced to the biggest names in Poland, many of these great names possessing great beauty, as well. Among the gentlemen, I immediately noticed a small, slim, dark haired young man who could have easily played the part of an aristocrat in one of d’Annuncio’s stories. This young man had soft, wavy hair and a black moustache. He was a lively character who spoke and laughed with the ease of a person who knows everyone in the group. His name was Imus (Hieronim Tarnowski), son of Stanislaw Tarnowski. Later, around the time of World War One, he married Wanda Zamoyska, the young lady who was having her first big party that evening. I saw Hieronim Tarnowski often then, during carnival in 1911 and 1913, but we weren’t close. It was later when I took my department Chair at the university in Krakow that we became good friends. We would sometimes eat dinner together at the Grand, engrossed in discussion mostly about politics, since we both opposed the government of the colonels.

Imus Tarnowski and Wladyslaw Gunter led the dances. Balls in Krakow, as in Warsaw, began with the waltz. It was good form to dance with as many ladies as possible before the waltz ended and the quadrille began. This quadrille was a pure formality, which bored everyone. After the quadrille, there was another longer waltz. It’s hard to describe the thrill we all felt, the leaping, and also fluidity of the dance; the gentlemen nervously waiting like racehorses at the gate for the moment we could glide to our chosen partner, and begin to dance. I remember racing either to Kasia or Ina Potocki, whom I found most attractive, but the competition was always fierce.

Finally we danced the mazurka, which marked the high point of the first part of the ball. The couples were lined up and broken into groups of four. The first group began the dance. The mazurka danced in Krakow was of unparalleled beauty. I had danced the mazurka before at other Polish balls in Moskow, Bigosow, and many in Bielica. So, it was not as if I hadn’t seen good dancers before. Even the best of the Borderland dancers could not compare with those in Krakow. The ball at Countess Zamoyska’s wasn’t even the most representative of this, because the mazurka needs a larger ballroom, and because the best dancers still hadn’t arrived. I met them later at balls at the Potockis’ palace Pod Baranami. Adam Zamoyski, his brother, Zygmunt, (their mother was a Wysocka), Edward Plater and Edward Bochenek were known to be the best dancers in Krakow. All, except Edward Bochenek, were tall and handsome. Everyone gathered around to watch when they danced. The older guests interrupted their conversations, stopped playing cards in other rooms, or left the buffet table to marvel the "ballet" on the dancefloor.

The remarkable thing to me in the mazurka was the compact, precise, staccato movements of the dancers, leading their partners, leaping into the air and hitting hard back on the floor. Raising their left hands into the air, they moved with strength and precision, their verve concentrated into concise poses. The ladies glided smoothly, keeping close watch of their partners. The "circle," "basket," and "four corners" were just some of the many moves in the endless whirl. The "roosters" interrupted loudly from time to time. The dance was even more phenomenal with the accompaniment of the wonderful orchestra.

At last came the call, "choisissez!" The groups of four would change partners; the best dancers again exchanging amongst themselves, so that the first eight were the cream of the cream. Again came the "four corners," "circle," "single column," "chalny," "basket." The ladies were tossed about like balls until the Marymount began. In this move, four dancers hold hands with four other dancers. These four slide their legs into the center of the circle forming a cross, which spins swiftly as the dancers holding them are doing a mazurka in a circle. The strength in the arms of the dancers, and the endurance in the legs of those spinning was impressive.

The groups of four continued to dance, again forming groups of eight. The best dancers were always dancing as they were constantly being chosen by the ladies, and in this way, the quality of the mazurka was only marginally compromised by the changing of partners. After two and a half hours of this, the mazurka would wind down, and at twelve thirty supper would be served. The partners from the mazurka automatically remained dinner partners, so ladies always took this into consideration upon an invitation to dance. Prowess on the dancefloor was only a part of what a lady looked for in her partner. Manners, eloquence, and the ability to amuse the fellow guests were very important. These qualities played a great role during carnival. Those of the younger generation who were educated, well read, and could make intelligent conversation, were not only popular with the ladies, but also with the older generation. The two groups did mix at these parties, occasionally even in cultural, literary and political debates.

Supper was a rather modest meal (despite false and exaggerated claims about this and other aspects of Krakow social life made by Magdalena Samozwaniec) as it was no small task to feed several hundred people. In any case, here the custom set by Pod Baranami of serving a cold buffet, including delicacies sent from Krzeszowice, was employed. Fine wines and Champagne were prominently displayed. However, supper, in general, at Pod Baranami was known for its frugality. There were times when families coming through Krakow, especially from the Ukraine or from areas near Poznan, put on lavish parties with caviar, wild game, and exotic fruit. These were not at balls, but at soirees, and usually during Lent, which was in contradiction with religious practice. This extravagance was also seen at the balls at Baron Goetz-Okocimski’s remarkable palace in Okocim. A description of these amazing parties will be included separately.

Young people did not get drunk at balls. We would run for a glass of Champagne in between longer waltzes, or after dancing the quartet in the mazurka, but in the whirl of the dance it would quickly evaporate.

The second part of the ball began also with a waltz, followed by the cotillion. It started in the same way as in the mazurka, but the "choisissez" was different. Giant baskets of flowers: roses, carnations, lilies, lilac, mimosa, and stock were brought. The men rushed to the flowers and chose their partners with bouquets. The ladies, however, had flowers and ribbon, which they would pin to the buttonhole of the partner of their choice. The most popular girls had whole gardens of flowers to take home, and the men had their suits plastered with pinned flowers; looking more impressive than any decorated diplomat. The cotillion lasted a few hours as well, leaving the white mazurka with the oberka for last. In the early morning hours, borsch with croutons would be served.

The reader may be surprised that these dances, which would sometimes last until seven or eight in the morning, were almost every night, one after another. I remember that during the carnival of 1911 and 1913, I danced at over twenty balls in each season. It got to the point that whenever there happened to be a day or two break between dances, we felt odd and didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Obviously, this kind of partying was extreme and it made any attempts at having a real day job impossible. There were other parties to attend: breakfasts, lunches, teas, so that we were constantly leaving our calling cards.

In the beginning, I tried to go to the library in the afternoon, but I usually ended up falling asleep on the books. It was embarrassing, because I had never lived like that before. I sometimes felt guilty, but I couldn’t resist going to those parties. In any case, once you were in, you couldn’t get out. Invitations poured in, one after another. We would ask girls in advance to all sorts of events, and they would write it all down on their dance cards. The dance cards looked like the agendas of today’s bank director’s or politician’s. One could criticize our powerless indulgence of these social functions, but it was hard to resist the charm of the carnival. Actually, not even Lent would affect our social calendars. Instead of dances, there were breakfasts, dinners, jours fixes with petit jeux, evening recitals, and soirees. Many people who didn’t manage to give their parties during carnival gave them during Lent. The only difference this made in our lives was that we slept at night, most dinner parties ending around midnight or one in the morning. After Lent, came Easter with its celebrations, and then the "green carnival," where again dances began. Only summer put an end to the festivities in Krakow. People went to the countryside, and the empty, bored, city slept.

I felt so debauched by my social life, that I decided that I couldn’t go on this way any longer. Easter of 1911, I went to visit my parents in Wiesbaden for two weeks. I decided that when I got back to Krakow, I would cut myself off entirely from the social scene. I managed to do it, but not completely.

These parties cost a lot of money, of course, but maybe not as much as one might think. Many homes got their food from their residences in the countryside. For example, Pod Baranami got their compotes, ham, sausage, meat, and produce from Krzeszowice. All of the grand homes in Krakow had their own extensive wine cellars with a rich array of fine, old wine. It became the custom that the most aristocratic ladies would have only two ball gowns for carnival, laundered and pressed alternately. Magdalena Samozwaniec has written all kinds of unpleasant nonsense about this, but the truth is, that these "uniforms," much like our tails (only a few dandies from the border regions had two) became quite tattered by the end of carnival, which didn’t bother anyone. Some young men did have problems with shirts, like the famously huge, Tudzio Wolkowicki, who sweat profusely, and had to take an extra shirt along to balls. Only a few married ladies, or girls raised out of Poland, had grander wardrobes, but this was considered gauche. The sweeping waves of Strauss’ waltz, the wild rhythm of the mazurka and oberka made us oblivious to the beauty or dress of our partners. The magic was in the moments when an especially pretty, bright, jolly, and often flirtatious girl would check her dance card, and with our note pads in hand, we would wait for her merciful verdict. In 1911, I could really only ask the same girls to the big dances, the mazurka and cotillion, as I wasn’t much of a Romeo. Dancing often with the same girl didn’t appear out of place. How romantic these pure and idealistic delights! I remember well the quick, short, and hot breath of my partners during a long waltz and the heat from their breasts under my arm. And yet, these moments were never disturbed by any secret desire for anything other than the joy we felt just dancing.

I especially enjoyed dancing with the two eldest daughters of Andrzej Potocki. Andrzej Potocki, we all know, was one of the leading figures in Krakow society. When he became Governor of Galicia, he moved to Lvov. He was killed by a Ukrainian terrorist in 1908. His lovely wife, Krystyna, nee Tyszkiewicz, was very close to her wealthy and powerful husband. She mourned his death deeply, dressing only in black for the rest of her life. She received company for the first time after his death, in 1910. Her two older daughters, Katarzyna and Maria, better known as Kasia and Ina, had come of age. Balls at Pod Baranami were given on Tuesdays, and depending on the length of carnival, there were usually four. It became tradition then that carnival would begin and end at Pod Baranami; at midnight herring sandwiches were served to mark the beginning of Lent. Carnival really only was over, though, in the minds of mothers and married ladies. The young people who were interested in art and literature, who enjoyed the Bohemian scene in Krakow, which shared the traditions of Paris and Munich, would finish their herring and go to the Michalik’s cafe. The Michalik’s was a place where poets, writers, artists, and actors would come with their girlfriends. The last night of carnival was celebrated here with great flourish. The whole cafe was decorated with colorful ribbons and lights. Guests came in masks and costumes, everyone threw confetti, which covered the dancers like dyed snow. Streamers tangled around the boisterous crowd like green, red, and yellow rays. Krakow, again borrowed not only from French tradition, but also of the Italian harlequin.

From Mrs. Potocki’s grand ball we came to this joyous, rambunctious mob. Everyone was in costume, so when I arrived with my friends, I didn’t know whether it was all right to be in tails. Quickly, we saw that this wouldn’t be a problem. Since this was just a cafe, we took off our tails, turned our sleeves inside out, and headed back in to the dancing crowd.

Wacław Lednicki, "Pamiętniki", Tom II, B. Świderski - Londyn 1967

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