CHAPTER XV

Natásha had not had a moment free since early morning and had not once had
time to think of what lay before her.

In the damp chill air and crowded closeness of the swaying carriage, she
for the first time vividly imagined what was in store for her there at the
ball, in those brightly lighted rooms—with music, flowers, dances,
the Emperor, and all the brilliant young people of Petersburg. The
prospect was so splendid that she hardly believed it would come true, so
out of keeping was it with the chill darkness and closeness of the
carriage. She understood all that awaited her only when, after stepping
over the red baize at the entrance, she entered the hall, took off her fur
cloak, and, beside Sónya and in front of her mother, mounted the brightly
illuminated stairs between the flowers. Only then did she remember how she
must behave at a ball, and tried to assume the majestic air she considered
indispensable for a girl on such an occasion. But, fortunately for her,
she felt her eyes growing misty, she saw nothing clearly, her pulse beat a
hundred to the minute, and the blood throbbed at her heart. She could not
assume that pose, which would have made her ridiculous, and she moved on
almost fainting from excitement and trying with all her might to conceal
it. And this was the very attitude that became her best. Before and behind
them other visitors were entering, also talking in low tones and wearing
ball dresses. The mirrors on the landing reflected ladies in white,
pale-blue, and pink dresses, with diamonds and pearls on their bare necks
and arms.

Natásha looked in the mirrors and could not distinguish her reflection
from the others. All was blended into one brilliant procession. On
entering the ballroom the regular hum of voices, footsteps, and greetings
deafened Natásha, and the light and glitter dazzled her still more. The
host and hostess, who had already been standing at the door for half an
hour repeating the same words to the various arrivals, “Charmé de vous
voir,” * greeted the Rostóvs and Perónskaya in the same manner.

* “Delighted to see you.”

The two girls in their white dresses, each with a rose in her black hair,
both curtsied in the same way, but the hostess’ eye involuntarily rested
longer on the slim Natásha. She looked at her and gave her alone a special
smile in addition to her usual smile as hostess. Looking at her she may
have recalled the golden, irrecoverable days of her own girlhood and her
own first ball. The host also followed Natásha with his eyes and asked the
count which was his daughter.

“Charming!” said he, kissing the tips of his fingers.

In the ballroom guests stood crowding at the entrance doors awaiting the
Emperor. The countess took up a position in one of the front rows of that
crowd. Natásha heard and felt that several people were asking about her
and looking at her. She realized that those noticing her liked her, and
this observation helped to calm her.

“There are some like ourselves and some worse,” she thought.

Perónskaya was pointing out to the countess the most important people at
the ball.

“That is the Dutch ambassador, do you see? That gray-haired man,” she
said, indicating an old man with a profusion of silver-gray curly hair,
who was surrounded by ladies laughing at something he said.

“Ah, here she is, the Queen of Petersburg, Countess Bezúkhova,” said
Perónskaya, indicating Hélène who had just entered. “How lovely! She is
quite equal to Márya Antónovna. See how the men, young and old, pay court
to her. Beautiful and clever… they say Prince —— is quite mad about
her. But see, those two, though not good-looking, are even more run
after.”

She pointed to a lady who was crossing the room followed by a very plain
daughter.

“She is a splendid match, a millionairess,” said Perónskaya. “And look,
here come her suitors.”

“That is Bezúkhova’s brother, Anatole Kurágin,” she said, indicating a
handsome officer of the Horse Guards who passed by them with head erect,
looking at something over the heads of the ladies. “He’s handsome, isn’t
he? I hear they will marry him to that rich girl. But your cousin,
Drubetskóy, is also very attentive to her. They say she has millions. Oh
yes, that’s the French ambassador himself!” she replied to the countess’
inquiry about Caulaincourt. “Looks as if he were a king! All the same, the
French are charming, very charming. No one more charming in society. Ah,
here she is! Yes, she is still the most beautiful of them all, our Márya
Antónovna! And how simply she is dressed! Lovely! And that stout one in
spectacles is the universal Freemason,” she went on, indicating Pierre.
“Put him beside his wife and he looks a regular buffoon!”

Pierre, swaying his stout body, advanced, making way through the crowd and
nodding to right and left as casually and good-naturedly as if he were
passing through a crowd at a fair. He pushed through, evidently looking
for someone.

Natásha looked joyfully at the familiar face of Pierre, “the buffoon,” as
Perónskaya had called him, and knew he was looking for them, and for her
in particular. He had promised to be at the ball and introduce partners to
her.

But before he reached them Pierre stopped beside a very handsome, dark man
of middle height, and in a white uniform, who stood by a window talking to
a tall man wearing stars and a ribbon. Natásha at once recognized the
shorter and younger man in the white uniform: it was Bolkónski, who seemed
to her to have grown much younger, happier, and better-looking.

“There’s someone else we know—Bolkónski, do you see, Mamma?” said
Natásha, pointing out Prince Andrew. “You remember, he stayed a night with
us at Otrádnoe.”

“Oh, you know him?” said Perónskaya. “I can’t bear him.
Il fait à présent la pluie et le beau temps. * He’s too proud for
anything. Takes after his father. And he’s hand in glove with Speránski,
writing some project or other. Just look how he treats the ladies! There’s
one talking to him and he has turned away,” she said, pointing at him.
“I’d give it to him if he treated me as he does those ladies.”

* “He is all the rage just now.”