Novels, Tales, Journeys

Korsakov showered Ibrahim with questions: Who was the first beauty in Petersburg? Who was reputed to be the best dancer? What dance was now in fashion? With great reluctance Ibrahim satisfied his curiosity. Meanwhile they drove up to the palace. Many long sledges, old coaches, and gilded carriages already stood in the field. By the porch thronged coachmen in liveries and moustaches, footmen sparkling with baubles, in plumes and with maces, hussars, pages, clumsy lackeys laden with their masters’ fur coats and muffs: a necessary suite according to the notions of the boyars of that time. At the sight of Ibrahim, a general murmur arose among them: “The Moor, the Moor, the tsar’s Moor!” He quickly led Korsakov through this motley servantry. A court lackey threw the doors open for them, and they entered the hall. Korsakov was dumbfounded…In the big room lit by tallow candles, which shone dimly through the clouds of tobacco smoke, dignitaries with blue ribbons over their shoulders,17 ambassadors, foreign merchants, officers of the guards in green uniforms, shipwrights in jackets and striped trousers, moved back and forth in a crowd to the incessant sounds of a brass band. Ladies sat along the walls. The young ones glittered with all the magnificence of fashion. Gold and silver glittered on their gowns; their narrow waists rose like stems from puffy farthingales; diamonds glittered on their ears, in their long curls, and around their necks. They turned gaily right and left, waiting for the cavaliers and the start of the dancing. Elderly ladies tried cleverly to combine the new way of dressing with the persecuted old fashion: their bonnets tended towards the little sable hat of the tsaritsa Natalia Kirillovna, and their robes rondes and mantillas somehow resembled sarafans and dushegreikas.18 It seemed there was more astonishment than enjoyment in their being present at these newfangled festivities, and they glanced sidelong with vexation at the wives and daughters of the Dutch sea captains, in dimity skirts and red blouses, who sat knitting stockings, laughing and talking among themselves as if they were at home. Korsakov could not collect his wits.

Noticing the new guests, a servant approached them with beer and glasses on a tray. “Que diable est-ce que tout cela?”^*4 Korsakov asked Ibrahim in a low voice. Ibrahim could not help smiling. The empress and the grand duchesses, radiant in their beauty and finery, strolled among the rows of guests, talking affably with them. The sovereign was in another room. Korsakov, wishing to show himself to him, was barely able to make his way there through the ceaselessly moving crowd. Mostly foreigners were sitting there, solemnly smoking their clay pipes and emptying their clay mugs. On the tables there were bottles of beer and wine, leather tobacco pouches, glasses of punch, and chessboards. At one of these tables Peter was playing draughts with a broad-shouldered English skipper. They zealously saluted each other with volleys of tobacco smoke, and the sovereign was so puzzled by his opponent’s unexpected move that he did not notice Korsakov, despite all his turning around him. Just then a fat gentleman with a fat bouquet on his chest came bustling in, vociferously announced that the dancing had begun—and left at once. Many of the guests followed him, including Korsakov.