And Natasha sang beautifully. Those there to hear sat forward in their wooden chairs with their necks frozen in unnatural positions. Natasha’s beautiful mouth caressed her notes, notes that blended with the night air entering through the still open window where she had just been with Prince Andrei. For a moment Prince Andrei not only understood but actually felt the beauty of the music, of a larger art, and wanted to grab and seize that feeling.

When her last note was sung, Natasha’s head shifted and her shoulders dropped. She shook off a stage persona to reenter her ordinary, bright and mischievous demeanor. With an urgent gesture, she took up her dress with one hand as Zinaida led applause. Prince Andrei felt excitement that his intimate love for Natasha, for her singing, was now seen by all, and he thought himself perhaps once more a witness to history.

Zinaida’s gesture signaled the onlookers that the performance had concluded, and they began to move again, first with small turns of the head and nods of acknowledgment. A single chair scraped the floor as someone adjusted his spot, and the rustling of skirts followed. Quiet chatter resumed and the poets turned to each other and began again their arguments in situ, their backs now to Natasha. Servants appeared again with newly filled trays of glasses.