War And Peace: Book 8 - CHAPTER X

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IN THE ENTR'ACTE there was a current of chill air in Ellen's box, the door

was opened, and Anatole walked in, bending and trying not to brush against any

one.

“Allow me to introduce my brother,” said Ellen, her eyes shifting uneasily

from Natasha to Anatole. Natasha turned her pretty little head towards the

handsome adjutant and smiled over her bare shoulder. Anatole, who was as

handsome on a closer view as he was from a distance, sat down beside her, and

said he had long wished to have this pleasure, ever since the Narishkins' ball,

at which he had had the pleasure he had not forgotten of seeing her. Kuragin was

far more sensible and straightforward with women than he was in men's society.

He talked boldly and simply, and Natasha was strangely and agreeably impressed

by finding nothing so formidable in this man, of whom such stories were told,

but, on the contrary, seeing on his face the most innocent, merry, and

simple-hearted smile.

Kuragin asked her what she thought of the performance, and told her that at

the last performance Semyonovna had fallen down while she was acting.

“And do you know, countess,” said he, suddenly addressing her as though she

were an old friend, “we are getting up a costume ball; you ought to take part in

it; it will be great fun. They are all assembling at the Karagins'. Please, do

come, really now, eh?” he said. As he said this he never took his smiling eyes

off the face, the neck, the bare arms of Natasha. Natasha knew beyond all doubt

that he was fascinated by her. That pleased her, yet she felt for some reason

constrained and oppressed in his presence. When she was not looking at him she

felt that he was looking at her shoulders, and she could not help trying to

catch his eyes that he might rather look in her face. But as she looked into his

eyes she felt with horror that, between him and her, there was not that barrier

of modest reserve she had always been conscious of between herself and other

men. In five minutes she felt—she did not know how—that she had come fearfully

close to this man. When she turned away, she felt afraid he might take her from

behind by her bare arm and kiss her on the neck. They talked of the simplest

things, and she felt that they were close as she had never been with any man.

Natasha looked round at Ellen and at her father, as though to ask them what was

the meaning of it. But Ellen was absorbed in talking to a general and did not

respond to her glance, and her father's eyes said nothing to her but what they

always said: “Enjoying yourself? Well, I'm glad then.”

In one of the moments of awkward silence, during which Anatole gazed calmly

and persistently at her, Natasha, to break the silence, asked him how he liked

Moscow. Natasha asked this question and blushed as she did so; she was feeling

all the while that there she was doing something improper in talking to him.

Anatole smiled as though to encourage her.

“At first I didn't like it much, for what is it makes one like a town? It's

the pretty women, isn't it? Well, but now I like it awfully,” he said, with a

meaning look at her. “You'll come to the fancy dress ball, countess? Do come,”

he said, and putting his hand out to her bouquet he said, dropping his voice,

“You will be the prettiest. Come, dear countess, and as a pledge give me this

flower.”

Natasha did not understand what he was saying, nor did he himself; but she

felt that in his uncomprehended words there was some improper intention. She did

not know what to say, and turned away as though she had not heard what he said.

But as soon as she turned away she felt that he was here behind her, so close to

her.

“What is he feeling now? Is he confused? Is he angry? Must I set it right?”

she wondered. She could not refrain from looking round. She glanced straight

into his eyes, and his nearness and confidence, and the simple-hearted warmth of

his smile vanquished her. She smiled exactly as he did, looking straight into

his eyes. And again, she felt with horror that no barrier lay between him and

her.

The curtain rose again. Anatole walked out of the box, serene and

good-humoured. Natasha went back to her father's box, completely under the spell

of the world in which she found herself. All that passed before her eyes now

seemed to her perfectly natural. But on the other hand all previous thoughts of

her betrothed, of Princess Marya, of her life in the country, did not once recur

to her mind, as though all that belonged to the remote past.

In the fourth act there was some sort of devil who sang, waving his arms till

the boards were moved away under him and he sank into the opening. That was all

Natasha saw of the fourth act; she felt harassed and excited; and the cause of

that excitement was Kuragin, whom she could not help watching. As they came out

of the theatre Anatole came up to them, called their carriage and helped them

into it. As he assisted Natasha he pressed her arm above the elbow. Natasha,

flushed and excited, looked round at him. He gazed at her with flashing eyes and

a tender smile.

It was only on getting home that Natasha could form any clear idea of what

had happened. All at once, remembering Prince Andrey, she was horrified, and at

tea, to which they all sat down after the theatre, she groaned aloud, and

flushing crimson ran out of the room. “My God! I am ruined!” she said to

herself. “How could I sink to such a depth?” she thought. For a long while she

sat, with her flushed face hidden in her hands, trying to get a clear idea of

what had happened and unable to grasp either what had happened or what she was

feeling. Everything seemed to her dark, obscure, and dreadful. In that immense,

lighted hall, where Duport had jumped about to music with his bare legs on the

damp boards in his short jacket with tinsel, and young girls and old men, and

that Ellen, proudly and serenely smiling in her nakedness, had enthusiastically

roared “bravo”; there, in the wake of that Ellen, all had been clear and simple.

But now, alone by herself, it was past comprehending. “What does it mean? What

is that terror I felt with him? What is the meaning of those gnawings of

conscience I am feeling now?” she thought.

To no one but to her mother at night in bed Natasha could have talked of what

she was feeling. Sonya she knew, with her strict and single-minded view of

things, would either have failed to understand at all, or would have been

horrified at the avowal. Natasha all by herself had to try and solve the riddle

that tormented her

“Am I spoilt for Prince Andrey's love or not?” she asked herself, and with

reassuring mockery she answered herself: “What a fool I am to ask such a thing!

What has happened to me? Nothing. I have done nothing; I did nothing to lead him

on. No one will ever know, and I shall never see him again,” she told herself.

“So it's plain that nothing has happened, that there's nothing to regret, that

Prince Andrey can love me still. But why still? O my God, my God,

why isn't he here!” Natasha felt comforted for a moment, but again some instinct

told her that though that was all true, and though nothing had happened, yet

some instinct told her that all the old purity of her love for Prince Andrey was

lost. And again, in her imagination, she went over all her conversation with

Kuragin, and saw again the face, the gestures, and the tender smile of that

handsome, daring man at the moment when he had pressed her arm.

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1. Ebooks list page : 83
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3. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER III
4. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER II
5. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER I
6. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER IV
7. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XIX
8. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XVI
9. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XV
10. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XIV
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12. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER VI
13. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XIX
14. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XVI
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