Pelageya Melyukov, a broadly built, energetic lady, was sitting in her drawing-room, wearing spectacles and a baggy casual dress, surrounded by her daughters, doing what she could to keep boredom at bay. They were quietly dropping melted wax into water and watching the shadows of the shapes that came out, when suddenly they heard noises in the vestibule – footsteps and the voices of people arriving.
In from the vestibule trooped the hussars, fine ladies, witches, clowns and bears, clearing their throats and wiping the hoar-frost off their faces out in the hall, where candles were hurriedly lit. The clown – Dimmler – and the old lady – Nikolay – started a dance. Surrounded by the shrieking children, the mummers hid their faces and spoke in false voices as they bowed to their hostess and dispersed about the room.
‘Bless me, they’re all unrecognizable! Oh, that’s Natasha! Look who she’s pretending to be! Who is it she reminds me of? And here’s Herr Dimmler – very handsome, too! I hardly knew him. Look at him dancing! Oh, my goodness, here’s a Circassian! Little Sonya looks so nice like that! And who’s this? Well, you’ve done us a power of good! Nikita, Vanya – take these tables away. And we were having such a quiet time! . . . Ha-ha-ha! . . . That hussar, look at that hussar! Just like a boy! And the legs! . . . I can’t see!’ came the various calls.
Natasha, the young Melyukovs’ favourite, disappeared with them into the back rooms, where burnt cork and various dressing-gowns and pieces of men’s clothing were ordered, procured by the servants and received by bare, girlish arms reaching out through a half-open door. Within ten minutes all the young Melyukovs were ready to come out and join the mummers.
Mme Melyukov had given instructions for the guests to be given plenty of room and she had also arranged for them all to have refreshments, gentry and serfs; now she walked through the crowd of mummers, wearing her spectacles and a half-suppressed smile, scrutinizing them carefully but without recognizing anybody. Not only did she fail to spot the Rostovs and Dimmler, she couldn’t even pick out her own daughters or recognize her late husband’s dressing-gowns and the bits of his uniform they were wearing.
‘Now who can this be?’ she kept saying, addressing a governess but staring straight into the face of her own daughter disguised as a Kazan Tatar. ‘Must be a Rostov, I suppose. Well, Mr Hussar, which regiment do you belong to?’ she asked Natasha. ‘Give that Turk a fruit pastille,’ she said to footman walking round with refreshments. ‘His laws don’t forbid it.’
Sometimes, as she watched the weird and laughable antics of the dancers, who were now letting themselves go on the strength of their undoubted anonymity, Mme Melyukov buried her face in her handkerchief while her elderly and portly figure shook from top to toe with irrespressible laughter and indulgence.
‘My little Sasha, my little Sasha!’ she cried out.
After several dances, some of them with singing, Mme Melyukov told everyone, servants and gentry alike, to form a large circle. Some string was provided along with a ring and a silver rouble, and they started playing games.
By the time an hour had passed all the costumes were crumpled and untidy. Corked moustaches and eyebrows were being smudged away from burning, perspiring and happy faces. Mme Melyukov was beginning to tell who was who among the mummers. She went into raptures over the clever costumes and the way they suited everyone, especially the young ladies, and she thanked them all for brightening their day. The guests were then invited to take supper in the drawing-room, while the servants were catered for in the hall.
‘Oh no, you can’t go fortune-telling in an empty bath-house – it’s terrifying!’ said one person over supper, an old maid who lived with the Melyukovs.
‘What do you mean?’ asked the Melyukovs’ eldest daughter.
‘Well, I can’t see you doing it. It takes some courage . . .’
‘I will,’ said Sonya.
‘Tell us what happened to that young lady,’ said the second girl.
‘Well, what happened was this,’ said the old maid. ‘This young lady went out, took a cockerel, set a table for two, everything just as it should be, and sat down. She sat there for a while, then suddenly what does she hear? Somebody coming – a sledge drives up jingling all sorts of bells. She can hear him coming. In walks a kind of human figure, something like an officer, and he sits down across from her in his proper place.’
‘Ah! Ah!’ screamed Natasha, goggling with horror.
‘Go on. What did he do? Did he talk?’
‘Oh yes, a human voice. Everything just as it should be, and he started to woo her with fine words, and she should have kept him going till the cock crowed, but she got scared – it was too much for her and she buried her face in her hands. And he grabbed hold of her . . . It was her lucky day – the maids ran in . . .’
‘Go on with you, scaring them like that,’ said Mme Melyukov.
