Pierre & Natasha

Natasha was standing In the middle of the drawing room With a pale yet steady face When I appeared in the doorway, She grew flustered and I hurried to her I thought that she would give me her hand But instead she stopped, Breathing heavily, Her thin arms hanging lifelessly Just in the very pose She used to stand in as a young girl When she went to the middle of the ballroom To sing But the look on her face was Quite different Peter Kirilovich— Pierre Prince Bolkonsky was your friend— He is your friend He once told me that I should turn to you Pierre sniffed as he looked at her, But he didn't speak 'Til then he had reproached her, And tried to despise her But now he felt such pity for her That there was no room in his soul for reproach He is here now Tell him to— Tell him to forgive me Yes, I will tell him to forgive you But, he gave me your letters— No, I know that all is over I know that it never can be But still I'm tormented By the wrongs I've done him Tell him that I beg him to forgive, Forgive, Forgive me for everything Yes I will tell him, tell him everything, But— But I should like to know one thing Did you love— Did you love that bad man? Don't call him bad But I don't know, I don't know at all She began to cry And a greater sense of pity, Tenderness, and love Overflowed Pierre's heart He felt the tears begin to trickle Underneath his spectacles And he hoped that no one would see We won't speak of it anymore We won't speak of it, my dear But one thing I beg of you, Consider me your friend And if you ever need help, Or simply to open your heart to someone Not now, but when your mind is clear Think of me Pierre grew confused Don't speak to me like that I am not worth it! Stop, stop, stop! You have your whole life before you— Before me? No, all is over for me! All over? If I were not myself, But the brightest, Handsomest, Best man on earth, And if I were free, I would get down on my knees, This minute, And ask you for your hand. And for your love. And for the first time in many days, I weep tears of gratitude Tears of tenderness Tears of thanks And, glancing at Pierre, Oh, Pierre I leave the room smiling And restraining tears of tenderness, Tears of joy which choke me, I throw my fur coat on my shoulders, Unable to find the sleeves Outside, my great, broad chest Breathes in deep the air With joy Despite the ten degrees of frost And I get into my sleigh