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On the thirty-first of December, New Year's Eve, 1809 - 10
an old grandee of Catherine's day was giving a ball and midnight
supper. The diplomatic corps and the Emperor himself were to be
present.
The grandee's well-known mansion on the English Quay glittered
with innumerable lights. Police were stationed at the brightly
lit entrance which was carpeted with red baize, and not only gendarmes
but dozens of police officers and even the police master himself
stood at the porch. Carriages kept driving away and fresh ones
arriving, with red-liveried footmen and footmen in plumed hats.
From the carriages emerged men wearing uniforms, stars, and ribbons,
while ladies in satin and ermine cautiously descended the carriage
steps which were let down for them with a clatter, and then walked
hurriedly and noiselessly over the baize at the entrance.
Almost every time a new carriage drove up a whisper ran through
the crowd and caps were doffed.
"The Emperor?... No, a minister.... prince... ambassador.
Don't you see the plumes?..." was whispered among the crowd.
One person, better dressed than the rest, seemed to know everyone
and mentioned by name the greatest dignitaries of the day.
A third of the visitors had already arrived, but the Rostovs,
who were to be present, were still hurrying to get dressed.
There had been many discussions and preparations for this
ball in the Rostov family, many fears that the invitation would
not arrive, that the dresses would not be ready, or that something
would not be arranged as it should be.
Marya Ignatevna Peronskaya, a thin and shallow maid of honor
at the court of the Dowager Empress, who was a friend and relation
of the countess and piloted the provincial Rostovs in Petersburg
high society, was to accompany them to the ball.
They were to call for her at her house in the Taurida Gardens
at ten o'clock, but it was already five minutes to ten, and the
girls were not yet dressed.
Natasha was going to her first grand ball. She had got up
at eight that morning and had been in a fever of excitement and
activity all day. All her powers since morning had been concentrated
on ensuring that they all- she herself, Mamma, and Sonya- should
be as well dressed as possible. Sonya and her mother put themselves
entirely in her hands. The countess was to wear a claret-colored
velvet dress, and the two girls white gauze over pink silk slips,
with roses on their bodices and their hair dressed a la grecque.
Everything essential had already been done; feet, hands, necks,
and ears washed, perfumed, and powdered, as befits a ball; the
openwork silk stockings and white satin shoes with ribbons were
already on; the hairdressing was almost done. Sonya was finishing
dressing and so was the countess, but Natasha, who had bustled
about helping them all, was behindhand. She was still sitting
before a looking-glass with a dressing jacket thrown over her
slender shoulders. Sonya stood ready dressed in the middle of
the room and, pressing the head of a pin till it hurt her dainty
finger, was fixing on a last ribbon that squeaked as the pin went
through it.
"That's not the way, that's not the way, Sonya!"
cried Natasha turning her head and clutching with both hands at
her hair which the maid who was dressing it had not time to release.
"That bow is not right. Come here!"
Sonya sat down and Natasha pinned the ribbon on differently.
"Allow me, Miss! I can't do it like that," said
the maid who was holding Natasha's hair.
"Oh, dear! Well then, wait. That's right, Sonya."
"Aren't you ready? It is nearly ten," came the countess'
voice.
"Directly! Directly! And you, Mamma?"
"I have only my cap to pin on."
"Don't do it without me!" called Natasha. "You
won't do it right."
"But it's already ten."
They had decided to be at the ball by half past ten, and Natasha
had still to get dressed and they had to call at the Taurida Gardens.
When her hair was done, Natasha, in her short petticoat from
under which her dancing shoes showed, and in her mother's dressing
jacket, ran up to Sonya, scrutinized her, and then ran to her
mother. Turning her mother's head this way and that, she fastened
on the cap and, hurriedly kissing her gray hair, ran back to the
maids who were turning up the hem of her skirt.
The cause of the delay was Natasha's skirt, which was too
long. Two maids were turning up the hem and hurriedly biting off
the ends of thread. A third with pins in her mouth was running
about between the countess and Sonya, and a fourth held the whole
of the gossamer garment up high on one uplifted hand.
"Mavra, quicker, darling!"
"Give me my thimble, Miss, from there..."
"Whenever will you be ready?" asked the count coming
to the door. "Here is here is some scent. Peronskaya must
be tired of waiting."
"It's ready, Miss," said the maid, holding up the
shortened gauze dress with two fingers, and blowing and shaking
something off it, as if by this to express a consciousness of
the airiness and purity of what she held.
Natasha began putting on the dress.
"In a minute! In a minute! Don't come in, Papa!"
she cried to her father as he opened the door- speaking from under
the filmy skirt which still covered her whole face.
Sonya slammed the door to. A minute later they let the count
in. He was wearing a blue swallow-tail coat, shoes and stockings,
and was perfumed and his hair pomaded.
"Oh, Papa! how nice you look! Charming!" cried Natasha,
as she stood in the middle of the room smoothing out the folds
of the gauze.
"If you please, Miss! allow me," said the maid,
who on her knees was pulling the skirt straight and shifting the
pins from one side of her mouth to the other with her tongue.
"Say what you like," exclaimed Sonya, in a despairing
voice as she looked at Natasha, "say what you like, it's
still too long."
Natasha stepped back to look at herself in the pier glass.
The dress was too long.
"Really, madam, it is not at all too long," said
Mavra, crawling on her knees after her young lady.
"Well, if it's too long we'll take it up... we'll tack
it up in one minute," said the resolute Dunyasha taking a
needle that was stuck on the front of her little shawl and, still
kneeling on the floor, set to work once more.
At that moment, with soft steps, the countess came in shyly,
in her cap and velvet gown.
"Oo-oo, my beauty!" exclaimed the count, "she
looks better than any of you!"
He would have embraced her but, blushing, she stepped aside
fearing to be rumpled.
"Mamma, your cap, more to this side," said Natasha.
"I'll arrange it," and she rushed forward so that the
maids who were tacking up her skirt could not move fast enough
and a piece of gauze was torn off.
"Oh goodness! What has happened? Really it was not my
fault!"
"Never mind, I'll run it up, it won't show," said
Dunyasha.
"What a beauty- a very queen!" said the nurse as
she came to the door. "And Sonya! They are lovely!"
At a quarter past ten they at last got into their carriages
and started. But they had still to call at the Taurida Gardens.
Peronskaya was quite ready. In spite of her age and plainness
she had gone through the same process as the Rostovs, but with
less flurry- for to her it was a matter of routine. Her ugly old
body was washed, perfumed, and powdered in just the same way.
She had washed behind her ears just as carefully, and when she
entered her drawing room in her yellow dress, wearing her badge
as maid of honor, her old lady's maid was as full of rapturous
admiration as the Rostovs' servants had been.
She praised the Rostovs' toilets. They praised her taste and
toilet, and at eleven o'clock, careful of their coiffures and
dresses, they settled themselves in their carriages and drove
off.
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