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IN ST. PETERSBURG
237
speculating on the Bourse among all ranks of society;
all stocks were rising; the public generally won and
anticipated fresh gains.
I still remember the magnificent fancy-dress ball
given by the Countess Kleinmichel, the rooms filled
with the most brilliant people of St. Petersburg, the
beautiful hall with columns through which the Persian
quadrille, the chief feature of the evening, made its
entry. To the strains of a fine orchestra, there appeared
on the staircase, like a many-hued serpent, the "theory"
of sixteen beautiful young women and as many
cavaliers holding hands, and showing off gorgeous
brocades and beautiful furs, magnificent jewels and
most costly Oriental weapons. The Grand-Duchess
Cyril and the Grand-Duke Boris led the quadrille, in
which—chosen from amongst the best—the prettiest and
most graceful representatives of that set of young
ladies whom I had nicknamed "the bayaderes of the
Order of the Grand-Dukes " took part. The men mostly
belonged to the smartest regiments of the Guard. Six
months later, half these fine young men—and many
others who were dancing and enjoying themselves at
this ball—fell dead or dangerously wounded on the first
and glorious battlefields of Eastern Prussia.
As I was admiring this brilliant spectacle I found,
on turning my head, that I was standing next to Count
Witte, whom I had not seen since 1910.
" Ah ! Good evening!"
" Good evening!"
"When did you arrive?"
" A week ago."
" What a beautiful sight! "
"Yes, enchanting! But tell me, my dear Coupt, do
you not feel as if you were assisting at the ’ Festivity
during the Plague,’1 or rather ’before the Plague’?"
I had hardly spoken these words when Witte’s face
assumed a terribly serious expression. . . . He seized
1 A very well known dramatic piece in verse by our celebrated poet,
Puschkin.
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