At the sight of Ibrahim a general murmur of ‘The negro, the negro, the Tsar’s negro!’ arose among them. He hurriedly led Korsakov through this motley crowd. A palace footman flung the doors wide for them, and they entered the hall. Korsakov was dumbfounded…. In the great room lit by tallow candles which burned dimly in the clouds of tobacco smoke grandees with blue ribbons across their shoulders, ambassadors, foreign merchants, officers of the Guards in their green uniform, shipbuilders in jackets and striped trousers thronged up and down to the continual music of wind instruments. The ladies sat round the walls, the younger among them decked out in all the splendour of fashion. Their gowns dazzled with gold and silver; out of monstrous farthingales their slender forms rose like the stems of flowers; diamonds sparkled in their ears, in their long curls and round their necks. They glanced gaily to right and left, waiting for their cavaliers and for the dancing to begin. The elderly ladies had made ingenious attempts to combine the new fashions with the now prohibited style of the past: their caps bore a close resemblance to the sable head-dress of the Tsaritsa Natalia Kirilovna,1 and their gowns and mantillas somehow recalled the sarafan2 and dusbegreika. 3 They seemed to feel more astonishment than pleasure in being present at these newfangled diversions and looked askance at the wives and daughters of the Dutch skippers who in dimity skirts and red bodices sat knitting their stockings and laughing and chatting among themselves as though they were at home.

Noticing the new arrivals, a servant came up to them with beer and glasses on a tray. Korsakov was completely bewildered.

‘Que diable est-ce que tout cela?’ he asked Ibrahim in an undertone. Ibrahim could not help smiling. The Empress and the Grand Duchesses, resplendent with beauty and brilliant attire, walked about among the guests, talking to them graciously. The Tsar was in the next room. Korsakov, anxious to present himself, could hardly make his way through the constantly moving crowd. The next room was mainly full of foreigners, who sat there solemnly smoking their clay pipes and emptying earthenware mugs. On the table were bottles of beer and wine, leather pouches with tobacco, glasses of punch and some chess-boards. At one of the tables Peter was playing draughts with a broad-shouldered English skipper. They zealously saluted one another with volleys of tobacco smoke, and the Tsar was so taken aback by an unforeseen move on his opponent’s part that he failed to notice Korsakov for all the latter’s shifts. Just then a stout gentleman with a large bouquet on his breast bustled in and announced in a loud voice that dancing had begun. He went out again immediately, and a great number of the guests, Korsakov among them, followed.

The unexpected scene took him by surprise. Ladies and gentlemen stood in two rows facing each other along the whole length of the ball-room; to the sounds of the most mournful music the gentlemen bowed low, the ladies curtseyed still lower, first to the front, then to the right, then to the left, then straight before them again, to the right, and so on. Korsakov stared wide-eyed at this peculiar way of passing the time, and bit his lips. The curtseying and bowing continued for the best part of half an hour; at last they stopped and the stout gentleman with the bouquet proclaimed that the ceremonial dances were over, and ordered the musicians to play a minuet.

Korsakov was delighted, and prepared to shine. Among the young ladies there was one in particular who appealed to him. She was about sixteen, luxuriously dressed but in good taste, and sat near an elderly man of stern and imposing appearance. Korsakov dashed up to her and asked for the honour of a dance. The young beauty looked at him in confusion, and seemed at a loss for an answer. The gentleman sitting by her side frowned more than ever. Korsakov was waiting for her decision but the gentleman with the bouquet came up to him, and leading him into the middle of the room said pompously:

‘My dear sir, you are at fault.