The table was very large, and in the form of the letter B. The service was magnificent; in the centre stood a sugar pyramid four feet high; a French cook had been at work upon it for two weeks; it represented the temple of Hymen, adorned with allegorical figures, and surmounted by the united arms of Krasinski and Swidzinski, encircled by French inscriptions. There were, besides, quantities of other fancy articles: porcelain figures, gold and silver baskets, etc.; indeed, the table was so crowded that our dwarf Peter might have tried in vain to make his way among the various dishes and ornaments. I could not count the number of dishes, and the butler, I am sure, might try in vain to tell the number of bottles of wine which were drunk. It may perhaps give some faint idea to say that a whole tun of Hungarian wine was emptied during the repast: it was called 'Miss Barbara's wine.' My father bought it the day of Barbara's birth, that it might be drunk at her marriage, in accordance with the old Polish custom. Each of us has her tun of wine, and our butler tells me that when mine has remained two years longer in the cellar it will be perfect.
The toasts were innumerable; all drank to the newly married pair, to the republic, the king, the Duke of Courland, the prince primate, the clergy, the master and mistress of the house, and the ladies. After each toast, the bottles were broken, the cannon fired, and the trumpets sounded.
At the end of the dessert, a perfect calm succeeded to all this noise: we thought my father was about to give the signal for rising from the table, but we were mistaken. He called the steward, and said a few words to him; the latter left the room, but soon returned, bringing a black morocco case, which I had never seen before. My father opened it, and drew forth a cup enriched with precious stones; it was in the form of a raven; he showed it to all the guests, and said it had descended to him by hereditary succession from the ancient Roman family of the Corvini, and that he had never touched it since his own wedding day. He then took from the butler's hand a large bottle covered with a venerable dust, bespeaking great age. He told us, not without a certain pride, that this wine was a hundred years old; he emptied all the contents into the cup, leaving not a single drop, but as the goblet was not yet full, he poured more of the same wine into it from another bottle, and finally drank it off to the prosperity of the married pair. The toast was enthusiastically received; the music again began to play and the cannon to thunder. The cup went the rounds of the table, and its virtue was such, that a hundred bottles of old wine were emptied before it had made the entire circuit. After this crowning honor, each left the table as best he could.
Night had already set in. The ladies went up into their rooms to change their dress, but the bride and the young ladies attending upon her remained as they were. Toward seven o'clock, when the fumes of the wine were somewhat dissipated, all began to think of dancing, and the king's representative opened the ball with Barbara. At first only Polonaises, minuets, and quadrilles were danced, but as the guests became more excited, they ventured upon Mazurkas and Cracoviennes. Kochanowski dances the Cracovienne to perfection. According to the ancient usage, the leader sings stanzas, which are repeated by the others. He improvised one at the moment he began to dance with Barbara; as nearly as I can remember, it ran as follows:
'Neither king nor palatine to-day would I be,
The fortune of the starost only give to me;
For he has truly merited the fair,
The lovely lady, sweet beyond compare.'
The ball and the toasts, which had been recommenced, as if none had been offered before, were suddenly arrested, and a chair was placed in the middle of the hall. The bride took her seat upon it, the twelve young ladies began to loosen her headdress, singing in lamentable tones:
'Ah! Barbara, farewell,
We have lost thee!'
My mother took off her garland, and Madame Malachowska placed a laced cap in its stead. I should have laughed heartily at this change, if Barbara had not been all in tears: however, the cap became her wonderfully well, and every one repeated that her husband would love her dearly, very dearly. I am sure I do not doubt it: who could help loving such a good, sweet young creature?
The ceremony of the cap ended, all began again to dance, and through respect for the custom introduced by the new court, the bride danced the drabant with the king's representative, after which the orchestra played a grave Polonaise. The Palatine Swidzinski offered his hand to the bride, and she danced in turn with all the gentlemen present. As the Polonaise is rather a promenade than a dance, it suits all ages; my father made once the tour of the hall with Barbara, and then gave her back to the starost, as was most proper. The Polonaise ended the ball, and my mother sent us all off to sleep.
... I slept well, and indeed I needed rest; but I do not feel very much tired this morning. Heavens! how happy I was yesterday! I danced oftener with the prince's representative than with any one else; he is so agreeable and converses so charmingly! That is not astonishing, for he has been to Paris and Luneville; in fact, it is only a year since he returned. He was then immediately attached to the person of the prince, whom he praises highly. Indeed, if his master be more gallant than he is, he must be something really ideal.