Romances pleased her from the first, Her all in all did constitute; In love adventures she was versed, Rousseau and Richardson to boot. Not a bad fellow was her father Though superannuated rather; In books he saw nought to condemn But, as he never opened them, Viewed them with not a little scorn, And gave himself but little pain His daughter’s book to ascertain Which ’neath her pillow lay till morn. His wife was also mad upon The works of Mr. Richardson.
She was thus fond of Richardson Not that she had his works perused, Or that adoring Grandison That rascal Lovelace she abused; But that Princess Pauline of old, Her Moscow cousin, often told The tale of these romantic men; Her husband was a bridegroom then, And she despite herself would waste Sighs on another than her lord Whose qualities appeared to afford More satisfaction to her taste. Her Grandison was in the Guard, A noted fop who gambled hard.
Like his, her dress was always nice, The height of fashion, fitting tight, But contrary to her advice The girl in marriage they unite. Then, her distraction to allay, The bridegroom sage without delay Removed her to his country seat, Where God alone knows whom she met. She struggled hard at first thus pent, Night separated from her spouse, Then became busy with the house, First reconciled and then content; Habit was given us in distress By Heaven in lieu of happiness.
Habit alleviates the grief Inseparable from our lot; This great discovery relief And consolation soon begot. And then she soon ’twixt work and leisure Found out the secret how at pleasure To dominate her worthy lord, And harmony was soon restored. The workpeople she superintended, Mushrooms for winter salted down, Kept the accounts, shaved many a crown,(*) The bath on Saturdays attended, When angry beat her maids, I grieve, And all without her husband’s leave.
[Note: The serfs destined for military service used to have a portion of their heads shaved as a distinctive mark.]
In her friends’ albums, time had been, With blood instead of ink she scrawled, Baptized Prascovia Pauline, And in her conversation drawled. She wore her corset tightly bound, The Russian N with nasal sound She would pronounce _à la Française_; But soon she altered all her ways, Corset and album and Pauline, Her sentimental verses all, She soon forgot, began to call Akulka who was once Celine, And had with waddling in the end Her caps and night-dresses to mend.