《War And Peace》 Book6 CHAPTER XVII
by Leo Tolstoy
AFTER PRINCE ANDREY, Boris came up to ask Natasha to dance, and he was
followed by the dancing adjutant who had opened the ball, and many other young
men. Natasha, flushed and happy, passed on her superfluous partners to Sonya,
and never ceased dancing all the evening, She noticed nothing and saw nothing of
what was absorbing every one else at that ball. She did not notice that the Tsar
talked a long time with the French ambassador, that his manner was particularly
gracious to a certain lady, that Prince So-and-So and Mr. So-and-So had said and
done this and that, that Ellen's success had been brilliant, and that So-and-So
had paid her marked attention. She did not even see the Tsar, and was only aware
that he was gone from noticing that the ball became livelier after his
departure.
In one of the most enjoyable cotillions before supper, Prince Andrey danced
again with Natasha. He reminded her of how he had first seen her in the avenue
at Otradnoe, and how she could not sleep on that moonlight night, and told her
how he had unwittingly listened to her. Natasha blushed at these recollections,
and tried as it were to excuse herself, as though there were something to be
ashamed of in the emotion to which Prince Andrey had unwittingly played the
eavesdropper.
Like all men who have grown up in society, Prince Andrey liked meeting
anything not of the conventional society stamp. And such was Natasha with her
wonder, her delight, her shyness, and even her mistakes in talking French. His
manner was particularly tender and circumspect as he talked to her. Sitting
beside her, and talking of the simplest and most trifling subjects, Prince
Andrey admired the radiant brilliance of her eyes and her smile, that had no
concern with what was said but was due simply to her own happiness. When Natasha
was chosen again, and she got up with a smile and was dancing, Prince Andrey
particularly admired her shy grace. In the middle of the cotillion, Natasha went
back to her place, breathless at the end of a figure. Another partner again
chose her. She was tired and panting, and evidently she thought for an instant
of refusing, but immediately she put her hand on her partner's shoulder and was
off again gaily, smiling to Prince Andrey.
“I should have been glad to rest and sit by you. I'm tired; but you see how
they keep asking me, and I'm glad of it, and I'm happy, and I love every one,
and you and I understand all about it,” and more, much more was said in that
smile. When her partner left her side, Natasha flew across the room to choose
two ladies for the figure.
“If she goes first to her cousin and then to another lady, she will be my
wife,” Prince Andrey—GREatly to his own surprise—caught himself saying mentally,
as he watched her. She did go first to her cousin.
“What nonsense does sometimes come into one's mind!” thought Prince Andrey,
“but one thing's certain, that girl is so charming, so original, that she won't
be dancing here a month before she will be married.… She's a rare thing here,”
he thought, as Natasha settled herself beside him, sticking in the rose that was
falling out of her bodice.
At the end of the cotillion, the old count in his blue frock coat went up to
the young people who had been dancing. He invited Prince Andrey to come and see
them, and asked his daughter whether she were enjoying herself. Natasha did not
at once answer, she only smiled a smile that said reproachfully: “How can you
ask such a question?”
“Enjoying myself as I never have before in my life!” she said, and Prince
Andrey noticed how her thin arms were swiftly raised as though to embrace her
father, and dropped again at once. Natasha was happy as she had never been in
her life. She was at that highest pitch of happiness, when one becomes
completely good and kind, and disbelieves in the very possibility of evil,
unhappiness, and sorrow.
At that ball Pierre for the first time felt humiliated by the position his
wife took in the highest court circle. He was sullen and absent-minded. There
was a broad furrow right across his forehead, as he stood in a window, staring
over his spectacles and seeing no one. Natasha passed close by him on her way in
to supper. Pierre's gloomy, unhappy face struck her. She stopped, facing him.
She longed to come to his aid, to bestow on him some of her own overflowing
happiness. “How delightful it is,” she said; “isn't it?”
Pierre smiled an absent-minded smile, obviously not grasping what was said to
him. “Yes, I'm very glad,” he said.
“How can people be discontented at anything!” thought Natasha. “Especially
any one as nice as Bezuhov.”
In Natasha's eyes all the people at the ball were particularly kind, sweet,
good people, loving one another; none were capable of wronging one another, and
so all must be happy.
