War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [295]
The next day the countess, having asked to see Boris, had a talk with him, and from that day on he stopped visiting the Rostovs.
XIV
On December 31, the eve of the new year 1810, for le réveillon,*345 a ball was given by a grand dignitary of Catherine’s time. The ball was to be attended by the diplomatic corps and the sovereign.
The dignitary’s well-known house on the English Embankment15 shone with countless lights. Police stood by the brightly lit porch laid with red baize, and not merely gendarmes, but a mounted police chief and dozens of police officers. Carriages drove away and new ones drove up with red-liveried footmen and footmen with feathers in their hats. Men in uniforms, stars, and sashes emerged from the carriages; ladies in satin and ermine carefully descended the noisily flipped down footrests, and stepped hastily and soundlessly over the baize of the porch.
Almost every time a new carriage drove up, a whisper ran through the crowd and hats were doffed.
“The sovereign?…No, a minister…prince…ambassador…Don’t you see the feathers?…” came from the crowd. One person in the crowd, better dressed than the others, seemed to know everyone and called by name the most distinguished dignitaries of that time.
A third of the guests had already arrived at the ball, but the Rostovs, who were to be there, were still hurriedly preparing to dress.
There had been many discussions and preparations for this ball in the Rostov family, many fears that they would not receive an invitation, the dresses would not be ready, and everything would not be arranged as it ought to be.
The Rostovs were going to the ball together with Marya Ignatievna Peronsky, the countess’s friend and relation, a skinny and yellow lady-in-waiting of the old court, who guided the provincial Rostovs through Petersburg high society.
At ten o’clock in the evening they were to pick up the lady-in-waiting near the Tavrichesky Garden;16 yet it was five minutes to ten, and the young ladies were still not dressed.
Natasha was going to the first grand ball of her life. She had gotten up that day at eight o’clock in the morning and had spent the whole day in feverish anxiety and activity. Since morning all her powers had been directed towards getting all of them—herself, mama, Sonya—dressed in the best possible way. Sonya and the countess put themselves entirely in her hands. The countess was to wear a damson velvet dress, and the two girls white gauze dresses over pink silk slips, with roses at the bodice. Their hair was to be done à la grecque.
All the essentials had already been done: feet, hands, neck, ears had been washed, perfumed, and powdered with special thoroughness for the ball; they already had on their silk lace stockings and white satin booties with bows; their hairdressing was nearly done. Sonya was finishing dressing, as was the countess; but Natasha, who had fussed over everybody, lagged behind. She was still sitting in front of the mirror, a peignoir thrown over her thin shoulders. Sonya, already dressed, stood in the middle of the room and, pressing painfully with her small finger, was pinning on a last ribbon, which squeaked as the pin went through it.
“Not that way, not that way, Sonya!” said Natasha, turning her head and putting both hands to her hair, which the maid who was holding it did not have time to let go of. “The bow’s wrong, come here.” Sonya crouched down. Natasha pinned the ribbon on another way.
“Please, miss, it’s impossible this way,” said the