Yes, all the happiness in the world was still possible. Tonight.
Overjoyed and burning with gratitude toward the czar, he joined the group on the terrace.
The bay windows of the salon were wide open. The crown prince, his wife and sister, their maids of honor and the children, Count Kiselyev, and other guests among the close friends staying at the palace had just arrived for the empress’s impromptu party.
The musicians were already seated in a semicircle on the lawn. After tuning their instruments, they launched into a Glinka polonaise and a few rousing quadrilles to open the ball. Then it would be Alexandra Feodorovna’s turn to play their favorite waltzes and popular mazurkas. Her piano had been brought out and stood on the parquet that had been installed at the center of the dance floor.
Everyone was going back and forth between the hall and the perron, waiting for the czar, who was to accompany his wife on the flageolet and the cornet. It would be lovely.
Leaning against the doorpost, Nicky watched Anna as she passed back and forth before him, carrying the sheet music, the stool, the lectern, the candles and candelabra.
“Walk on, mademoiselle, walk on,” Nicky said in French, “you’re awfully pretty this evening.”
He was careful not to brush against his mother’s second maid of honor, the one who lived in the pavilion of the park. Instinctively he sensed she was already spoken for and off limits.
Pretending, like Nicky, to be unaware of the presence of “this person,” Alexandra Feodorovna was supervising the final preparations. Jamal Eddin watched her flutter about. He found the empress beautiful this evening, lively and gay, the way he liked to see her. He noticed every detaiclass="underline" the nose-gay of red mignonettes she had slipped into her belt and the filmy gown of white chiffon that she wore. He noticed Anna’s white dress too, which was not quite so bright and softened with gray-beige stripes, and that Varenka and Gayana wore matching skirts. They were pink, as was customary at fifteen, but they were long now, hiding their pantalets and ankle boots.
Jamal Eddin’s conversation with the czar had made him receptive to other impressions as well. He appreciated the beauty of some of the married women and the opulence of their décolletés, proof to their admirers that time and successive pregnancies had robbed them of none of their charms. He even admired the ample shoulders of Princess Anastasia of Georgia. As for La Potemkina… Ah, La Potemkina. Ensconced in her plum-colored flounces, dripping with jet and braid, her black curls springing from her white headdress, she was simply amusing. He watched her bustling back and forth, checking on the party arrangements, and losing her patience. There was something touching about seeing such energy in someone of such a mature age, and her spontaneity and high spirits were contagious.
“It isn’t hard to be happy tonight, is it?” Anna remarked, eyes sparkling, as Jamal Eddin walked up to where she was standing beneath the trees.
The Chinese lanterns hung among the branches, just as he had imagined them earlier. The young people stood together in a halo of light.
“There’s a party in the air,” she mused. “Just breathing, it feels like a party.”
“Anna! Where did you leave my fan a while ago?” exclaimed La Potemkina, seated at the edge of the dance floor.
The young girl rolled her eyes toward the sky.
“Oh, she’s always losing something, that one.”
“And while you’re at it, get me my shawl too, will you? Anna.”
“Coming, coming.”
Varenka made a vague gesture to follow her.
“You’re not going to leave?” he said, half mocking, half serious. “Not right away, not yet. Not like the last time?”
She understood the allusion and smiled at him.
“Then everything is fine,” he said gaily, “and I’ll be able to make the speech I’ve been preparing for the past two years.”
He bowed deeply.
“Will you do me the honor”—he emphasized the word ironically, as the obtuse student had done long ago at Count Kiselyev’s dinner table—“the honor of granting me the first waltz? The first, and all the others?”
Princess Potemkina and the Georgian princess sat back in their armchairs and fanned themselves as they watched the young people.
The ball began, as planned, with the contra dances.
Jamal Eddin led the quadrilles tirelessly, taking the dancers up and down the steps of the perron, making each couple execute bows and curtsies, then leading them toward the garden only to draw the farandole back along the paths all the way to the sovereigns. Everyone laughed at the figures he imposed upon his poor quadrillers.
When everyone had tired of prancing about in bands of eight, a sudden stillness filled the air. Both dressed in white, the czar and the czarina rose, crossed the dance floor hand in hand, and bowed to the assembly like two strolling players. The wild applause made the Chinese lanterns sway, casting glimmers of red, yellow, and blue deep into the foliage.
They sat down next to each other among the great trees, whispered in consultation, smiled, then broke into a waltz. The emperor set the tempo, playing his cornet with lively enthusiasm.
The young people hesitated shyly. No one dared to be the first.
“Well now?” Nicholas exclaimed as he changed from trumpet to flute, in between breaths. “Are you going to dance?”
Since it was an intimate party, young men were permitted to ask the girls to dance without seeking permission from their mothers. Nicky grabbed Anna, Jamal Eddin, Varenka. And the others followed.
“It’s exceptionally hot for this time of year,” Princess Anastasia of Georgia lamented as she fanned herself more vigorously.
“Their Majesties are the best musicians in the world,” La Potemkina burbled. “And just look at the young people. I must say this is a show that is worth coming for. Our Jamal Eddin—”
“Indeed, the Dagestani twirls around quite agilely,” the Georgian princess agreed.
“You mean, he waltzes like a god. I’ve seen him ride, and I knew he was an extraordinary horseman, but I wasn’t expecting this. He is the best dancer in all of Petersburg. Look at the other girls. Look how they tap their feet when he passes. They’re waiting for only one thing. Our dear, handsome Nicky is really a magnificent waltzer. But Jamal’s dancing—it’s something else entirely. Even in His Imperial Highness’s arms, Anna is trying to catch his eye. You can see she’s hoping for the next dance. But at this age, a boy is faithful to a girl, and he only has eyes for one.”
“Yes, it’s rather selfish of him to always choose the same partner.”
“Ah, the exclusivity of puppy love, my dear.”
“He’s going to end up compromising her.”
“Compromise Varenka? In whose eyes, my dear? We are among our own here.”