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Volume II, Part Three, Chapter XII

On the 31st of December, on the eve of the new year 1810, le réveillon, [[the midnight supper.]] there was a ball at a grandee of Catherine's day. The diplomatic corps and the sovereign were to be at the ball.

On the English Quay the grandee's well-known house shone with countless lights of illumination. At the lighted entrance with its red baize stood the police, and not only gendarmes but the police superintendent at the entrance and dozens of police officers. Carriages drove off, and ever new ones drove up with red-liveried footmen and footmen with plumes in their hats. From the carriages emerged men in uniforms, stars, and ribbons; ladies in satin and ermine stepped cautiously down the noisily lowered carriage-steps and passed hurriedly and noiselessly along the baize of the entrance.

Almost every time a new carriage drove up, a whisper ran through the crowd and caps were doffed.

— The sovereign?... No, a minister... a prince... an ambassador... Don't you see the plumes?... — was said in the crowd. One of the crowd, better dressed than the rest, seemed to know everyone and named by name the most distinguished grandees of the day.

Already a third of the guests had arrived at this ball, while at the Rostovs', who were due to be at this ball, hurried preparations of dressing were still going on.

There had been much talk and many preparations for this ball in the Rostov family, many fears that the invitation would not be received, that the dress would not be ready, and that things would not be arranged as they should.

Together with the Rostovs there drove to the ball Marya Ignatyevna Peronskaya, a friend and relative of the countess, a thin and sallow maid of honor of the old court, who guided the provincial Rostovs in the highest Petersburg society.

At ten in the evening the Rostovs were to call for the maid of honor at the Tauride Garden; and meanwhile it was already five minutes to ten, and the young ladies were not yet dressed.

Natasha was going to the first big ball of her life. She had got up that day at eight in the morning and had been in a feverish anxiety and activity all day long. All her powers, from the very morning, had been directed to one thing: that they all — she, Mamma, and Sonya — should be dressed as well as could be. Sonya and the countess relied entirely upon her. The countess was to wear a masaka velvet dress, the two girls white gauze dresses over pink silk slips, with roses on the bodice. Their hair was to be dressed à la grecque. [[in the Greek style.]]

Everything essential had already been done: legs, arms, neck, and ears were already especially carefully washed, perfumed, and powdered for the ball; silk openwork stockings and white satin shoes with little bows were already on; the coiffures were almost finished. Sonya was finishing dressing, and so was the countess; but Natasha, who had been busy on behalf of everyone, had fallen behind. She still sat before the mirror with a peignoir thrown over her thin shoulders. Sonya, already dressed, stood in the middle of the room and, pressing with her little finger till it hurt, was pinning on the last ribbon, which squeaked under the pin.

— Not like that, not like that, Sonya! — said Natasha, turning her head from her coiffure and clutching with her hands at her hair, which the maid holding it had not had time to let go. — The bow's not right, come here. — Sonya sat down. Natasha repinned the ribbon differently.

— If you please, miss, it can't be done like that, — said the maid who was holding Natasha's hair.

— Oh, good heavens, well, afterward! There, like that, Sonya.

— Will you soon be ready? — came the countess's voice. — It's ten already.

— In a moment, in a moment. — And are you ready, Mamma?

— I've only my toque to pin on.

— Don't do it without me, — cried Natasha. — You won't manage it!

— But it's ten already.

It had been decided to be at the ball at half past ten, and Natasha had still to dress and to call at the Tauride Garden.

Having finished her coiffure, Natasha, in a short petticoat from under which her dancing shoes showed, and in her mother's bed jacket, ran up to Sonya, looked her over, and then ran to her mother. Turning her mother's head, she pinned on the toque, and, scarcely having time to kiss her gray hair, ran back to the girls who were taking up her skirt.

The holdup was over Natasha's skirt, which was too long; two girls were taking it up, hurriedly biting off the threads. A third, with pins in her lips and teeth, ran from the countess to Sonya; a fourth held the whole gauze dress high on her raised arm.

— Mavrusha, quicker, my dear!

— Give me the thimble from there, miss.

— Will you soon be done, at last? — said the count, coming in at the door. — Here's some scent for you. Peronskaya must be quite tired of waiting.

— Ready, miss, — said the maid, lifting the taken-up gauze dress with two fingers and blowing on something and shaking it, expressing by this gesture her sense of the airiness and freshness of what she held.

Natasha began to put on the dress.

— In a moment, in a moment, don't come in, Papa, — she cried to her father, who had opened the door, still from under the gauze of the skirt that covered her whole face. Sonya slammed the door. A minute later the count was let in. He was in a blue dress coat, stockings, and shoes, scented and pomaded.

— Ah, Papa, how nice you look, charming! — said Natasha, standing in the middle of the room and smoothing out the folds of the gauze.

— If you please, miss, if you please, — said the girl, kneeling, pulling at the dress and shifting the pins with her tongue from one side of her mouth to the other.

— As you will! — cried Sonya in a despairing voice, having looked over Natasha's dress, — as you will, it's long again!

Natasha stepped back to look at herself in the pier glass. The dress was long.

— Truly, madam, it's not a bit long, — said Mavrusha, crawling on the floor after the young lady.

— Well, if it's long, we'll tack it up, we'll tack it up in a minute, — said the resolute Dunyasha, taking a needle from the kerchief on her bosom and setting to work again on the floor.

At that moment the countess came in shyly, with quiet steps, in her toque and velvet dress.

— Ooh! my beauty! — cried the count, — better than any of you!... — He wished to embrace her, but, blushing, she drew back so as not to crease her dress.

— Mamma, the toque more to one side, — said Natasha. — I'll repin it, — and she darted forward, and the girls who were taking up the skirt, not managing to dart after her, tore off a little piece of the gauze.

— Good heavens! What's this? Truly, it's not my fault...

— Never mind, I'll tack it, it won't show, — said Dunyasha.

— A beauty, a queen, my pretty one! — said the nanny, who had come in at the door. — And little Sonya too, why, what beauties!...

At a quarter past ten they at last got into the carriages and drove off. But they still had to call at the Tauride Garden.

Peronskaya was already ready. Despite her age and plainness, exactly the same thing was going on with her as at the Rostovs', though not with such haste (for her this was a habitual matter), but her old, plain body was likewise perfumed, washed, and powdered, likewise carefully washed behind the ears, and even, just as at the Rostovs', her old maid admired her mistress's attire rapturously when she came out into the drawing room in a yellow dress with a cipher. Peronskaya praised the Rostovs' toilettes.

The Rostovs praised her taste and toilette and, taking care of their coiffures and dresses, at eleven o'clock settled themselves in the carriages and drove off.