could expect nothing but meanness, deceit, envy, intrigue,
and ingratitudethe blackest ingratitudein this house..’
‘Do you or do you not know where that will is?’ insisted
Prince Vasili, his cheeks twitching more than ever.
‘Yes, I was a fool! I still believed in people, loved them,
and sacrificed myself. But only the base, the vile succeed! I
know who has been intriguing!’
The princees wished to rise, but the prince held her by
the hand. She had the air of one who has suddenly lost faith
in the whole human race. She gave her companion an angry
glance.
‘There is still time, my dear. You must remember, Catiche, that it was all done casually in a moment of anger, of
illness, and was afterwards forgotten. Our duty, my dear,
is to rectify his mistake, to ease his last moments by not
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letting him commit this injustice, and not to let him die
feeling that he is rendering unhappy those who..’
‘Who sacrificed everything for him,’ chimed in the princess, who would again have risen had not the prince still
held her fast, ‘though he never could appreciate it. No, mon
cousin,’ she added with a sigh, ‘I shall always remember that
in this world one must expect no reward, that in this world
there is neither honor nor justice. In this world one has to
be cunning and cruel.’
‘Now come, come! Be reasonable. I know your excellent
heart.’
‘No, I have a wicked heart.’
‘I know your heart,’ repeated the prince. ‘I value your
friendship and wish you to have as good an opinion of me.
Don’t upset yourself, and let us talk sensibly while there is
still time, be it a day or be it but an hour…. Tell me all you
know about the will, and above all where it is. You must
know. We will take it at once and show it to the count. He
has, no doubt, forgotten it and will wish to destroy it. You
understand that my sole desire is conscientiously to carry
out his wishes; that is my only reason for being here. I came
simply to help him and you.’
‘Now I see it all! I know who has been intriguingI know!’
cried the princess.
‘That’s not the point, my dear.’
‘It’s that protege of yours, that sweet Princess Drubetskaya, that Anna Mikhaylovna whom I would not take for a
housemaid… the infamous, vile woman!’
‘Do not let us lose any time..’
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‘Ah, don’t talk to me! Last winter she wheedled herself in
here and told the count such vile, disgraceful things about
us, especially about SophieI can’t repeat themthat it made
the count quite ill and he would not see us for a whole fortnight. I know it was then he wrote this vile, infamous paper,
but I thought the thing was invalid.’
‘We’ve got to it at lastwhy did you not tell me about it
sooner?’
‘It’s in the inlaid portfolio that he keeps under his pillow,’
said the princess, ignoring his question. ‘Now I know! Yes;
if I have a sin, a great sin, it is hatred of that vile woman!’
almost shrieked the princess, now quite changed. ‘And what
does she come worming herself in here for? But I will give
her a piece of my mind. The time will come!’
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Chapter XXII
While these conversations were going on in the reception room and the princess’ room, a carriage containing
Pierre (who had been sent for) and Anna Mikhaylovna (who
found it necessary to accompany him) was driving into the
court of Count Bezukhov’s house. As the wheels rolled softly over the straw beneath the windows, Anna Mikhaylovna,
having turned with words of comfort to her companion, realized that he was asleep in his corner and woke him up.
Rousing himself, Pierre followed Anna Mikhaylovna out
of the carriage, and only then began to think of the interview with his dying father which awaited him. He noticed
that they had not come to the front entrance but to the back
door. While he was getting down from the carriage steps
two men, who looked like tradespeople, ran hurriedly from
the entrance and hid in the shadow of the wall. Pausing for
a moment, Pierre noticed several other men of the same
kind hiding in the shadow of the house on both sides. But
neither Anna Mikhaylovna nor the footman nor the coachman, who could not help seeing these people, took any
notice of them. ‘It seems to be all right,’ Pierre concluded,
and followed Anna Mikhaylovna. She hurriedly ascended
the narrow dimly lit stone staircase, calling to Pierre, who
was lagging behind, to follow. Though he did not see why
it was necessary for him to go to the count at all, still less
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why he had to go by the back stairs, yet judging by Anna
Mikhaylovna’s air of assurance and haste, Pierre concluded
that it was all absolutely necessary. Halfway up the stairs
they were almost knocked over by some men who, carrying pails, came running downstairs, their boots clattering.
These men pressed close to the wall to let Pierre and Anna
Mikhaylovna pass and did not evince the least surprise at
seeing them there.
‘Is this the way to the princesses’ apartments?’ asked
Anna Mikhaylovna of one of them.
‘Yes,’ replied a footman in a bold loud voice, as if anything were now permissible; ‘the door to the left, ma’am.’
‘Perhaps the count did not ask for me,’ said Pierre when
he reached the landing. ‘I’d better go to my own room.’
Anna Mikhaylovna paused and waited for him to come
up.
‘Ah, my friend!’ she said, touching his arm as she had
done her son’s when speaking to him that afternoon, ‘believe me I suffer no less than you do, but be a man!’
‘But really, hadn’t I better go away?’ he asked, looking
kindly at her over his spectacles.
‘Ah, my dear friend! Forget the wrongs that may have
been done you. Think that he is your father… perhaps in the
agony of death.’ She sighed. ‘I have loved you like a son from
the first. Trust yourself to me, Pierre. I shall not forget your
interests.’
Pierre did not understand a word, but the conviction
that all this had to be grew stronger, and he meekly followed
Anna Mikhaylovna who was already opening a door.
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This door led into a back anteroom. An old man, a servant
of the princesses, sat in a corner knitting a stocking. Pierre
had never been in this part of the house and did not even
know of the existence of these rooms. Anna Mikhaylovna,
addressing a maid who was hurrying past with a decanter
on a tray as ‘my dear’ and ‘my sweet,’ asked about the princess’ health and then led Pierre along a stone passage. The
first door on the left led into the princesses’ apartments. The
maid with the decanter in her haste had not closed the door
(everything in the house was done in haste at that time),
and Pierre and Anna Mikhaylovna in passing instinctively
glanced into the room, where Prince Vasili and the eldest
princess were sitting close together talking. Seeing them
pass, Prince Vasili drew back with obvious impatience,
while the princess jumped up and with a gesture of desperation slammed the door with all her might.
This action was so unlike her usual composure and the
fear depicted on Prince Vasili’s face so out of keeping with
his dignity that Pierre stopped and glanced inquiringly over
his spectacles at his guide. Anna Mikhaylovna evinced no
surprise, she only smiled faintly and sighed, as if to say that
this was no more than she had expected.
‘Be a man, my friend. I will look after your interests,’ said
she in reply to his look, and went still faster along the passage.
Pierre could not make out what it was all about, and still
less what ‘watching over his interests’ meant, but he decided
that all these things had to be. From the passage they went
into a large, dimly lit room adjoining the count’s reception
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room. It was one of those sumptuous but cold apartments
known to Pierre only from the front approach, but even in
this room there now stood an empty bath, and water had
been spilled on the carpet. They were met by a deacon with
a censer and by a servant who passed out on tiptoe without
heeding them. They went into the reception room familiar to Pierre, with two Italian windows opening into the
conservatory, with its large bust and full length portrait of
Catherine the Great. The same people were still sitting here
in almost the same positions as before, whispering to one
another. All became silent and turned to look at the pale
tear-worn Anna Mikhaylovna as she entered, and at the big
stout figure of Pierre who, hanging his head, meekly followed her.
Anna Mikhaylovna’s face expressed a consciousness that
the decisive moment had arrived. With the air of a practical Petersburg lady she now, keeping Pierre close beside
her, entered the room even more boldly than that afternoon.
She felt that as she brought with her the person the dying
man wished to see, her own admission was assured. Casting a rapid glance at all those in the room and noticing the
count’s confessor there, she glided up to him with a sort of
amble, not exactly bowing yet seeming to grow suddenly
smaller, and respectfully received the blessing first of one
and then of another priest.
‘God be thanked that you are in time,’ said she to one of
the priests; ‘all we relatives have been in such anxiety. This
young man is the count’s son,’ she added more softly. ‘What
a terrible moment!’
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Having said this she went up to the doctor.
‘Dear doctor,’ said she, ‘this young man is the count’s
son. Is there any hope?’
The doctor cast a rapid glance upwards and silently
shrugged his shoulders. Anna Mikhaylovna with just the
same movement raised her shoulders and eyes, almost closing the latter, sighed, and moved away from the doctor to
Pierre. To him, in a particularly respectful and tenderly sad
voice, she said:
‘Trust in His mercy!’ and pointing out a small sofa for
him to sit and wait for her, she went silently toward the door
that everyone was watching and it creaked very slightly as
she disappeared behind it.
Pierre, having made up his mind to
