War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [374]
“So she knows I’m betrothed, so she and her husband, Pierre, the upright Pierre,” thought Natasha, “have talked and laughed about it. So it’s nothing at all.” And again, under Hélène’s influence, that which formerly had appeared to be frightening, now seemed simple and natural. “And she’s such a grande dame, such a sweet lady, and she clearly loves me with all her heart,” thought Natasha. “And why shouldn’t I have fun?” she thought, looking at Hélène with astonished, wide-open eyes.
Marya Dmitrievna came home for dinner, silent, grave, obviously having suffered a defeat at the old prince’s. She was still too agitated after the confrontation that had occurred to be able to tell about it calmly. To the count’s question, she replied that all was well and that she would tell him about it tomorrow. Learning of Countess Bezukhov’s visit and the invitation for the evening, Marya Dmitrievna said:
“I don’t like to keep company with the Bezukhov woman and I don’t advise it; but if you’ve already promised, go, divert yourself,” she added, addressing Natasha.
XIII
Count Ilya Andreich took his girls to Countess Bezukhov’s. There were quite a few people at the soirée. But the company was almost entirely unfamiliar to Natasha. Count Ilya Andreich noticed with displeasure that this company consisted mostly of men and of ladies known for the frivolity of their behavior. Mlle George, surrounded by young men, stood in the corner of the drawing room. There were several Frenchmen, among them Métivier, who, since Hélène’s arrival, had become a familiar of her house. Count Ilya Andreich decided not to sit down to cards, not to go far from his daughters, and to leave as soon as the actress’s performance was over.
Anatole was obviously waiting by the door for the Rostovs to come in. Having greeted the count, he at once went up to Natasha and followed her. As soon as Natasha saw him, she was seized by the same feeling as in the theater, of vain pleasure at being liked by him, and of fear because of the absence of moral barriers between them.
Hélène joyfully welcomed Natasha and loudly admired her beauty and her attire. Soon after their arrival, Mlle George left the room to get dressed. In the drawing room they began arranging chairs and sitting down. Anatole moved a chair for Natasha and was about to sit next to her, but the count, who never took his eyes off Natasha, sat next to her. Anatole sat behind them.
Mlle George, with bared, fat, dimpled arms, wearing a red shawl over one shoulder, came out into the empty space left for her among the chairs and stopped in an unnatural pose. Rapturous whispering was heard.
Mlle George gave the public a stern and gloomy look and began to recite some verses in French in which the talk was of her criminal love for her son.13 In places she raised her voice, in places she whispered, solemnly lifting up her head, in places she paused and gasped, rolling her eyes.
“Adorable, divin, délicieux!”*383 came from all sides. Natasha looked at the fat George, but heard nothing, saw and understood nothing of what went on before her; she only felt herself again quite irretrievably in that strange, insane world, so far from her former one, that world in which it was impossible to know what was good, what was bad, what was sane and what insane. Behind her sat Anatole, and she, sensing his nearness, waited fearfully for something.
After the first monologue, the whole company stood up and surrounded Mlle George, expressing their rapture.
“How beautiful she is!” Natasha said to her father, who stood up along with the others and moved through the crowd towards the actress.
“I don’t find her so, looking at you,” said Anatole, following Natasha. He said it at a moment when she alone could hear him. “You’re lovely…from the moment I first saw you, I’ve never ceased…”
“Come along, come along, Natasha,” said the count, turning back for his daughter. “How beautiful she is!”
Natasha, saying nothing, went up to her father and looked