implicitly, moved toward the sofa she had indicated. As soon
as Anna Mikhaylovna had disappeared he noticed that the
eyes of all in the room turned to him with something more
than curiosity and sympathy. He noticed that they whispered to one another, casting significant looks at him with
a kind of awe and even servility. A deference such as he had
never before received was shown him. A strange lady, the
one who had been talking to the priests, rose and offered
him her seat; an aide-de-camp picked up and returned a
glove Pierre had dropped; the doctors became respectfully
silent as he passed by, and moved to make way for him. At
first Pierre wished to take another seat so as not to trouble
the lady, and also to pick up the glove himself and to pass
round the doctors who were not even in his way; but all at
once he felt that this would not do, and that tonight he was a
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person obliged to perform some sort of awful rite which everyone expected of him, and that he was therefore bound to
accept their services. He took the glove in silence from the
aide-de-camp, and sat down in the lady’s chair, placing his
huge hands symmetrically on his knees in the naive attitude
of an Egyptian statue, and decided in his own mind that all
was as it should be, and that in order not to lose his head
and do foolish things he must not act on his own ideas tonight, but must yield himself up entirely to the will of those
who were guiding him.
Not two minutes had passed before Prince Vasili with
head erect majestically entered the room. He was wearing
his long coat with three stars on his breast. He seemed to
have grown thinner since the morning; his eyes seemed larger than usual when he glanced round and noticed Pierre. He
went up to him, took his hand (a thing he never used to do),
and drew it downwards as if wishing to ascertain whether it
was firmly fixed on.
‘Courage, courage, my friend! He has asked to see you.
That is well!’ and he turned to go.
But Pierre thought it necessary to ask: ‘How is…’ and hesitated, not knowing whether it would be proper to call the
dying man ‘the count,’ yet ashamed to call him ‘father.’
‘He had another stroke about half an hour ago. Courage,
my friend..’
Pierre’s mind was in such a confused state that the word
‘stroke’ suggested to him a blow from something. He looked
at Prince Vasili in perplexity, and only later grasped that a
stroke was an attack of illness. Prince Vasili said something
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to Lorrain in passing and went through the door on tiptoe.
He could not walk well on tiptoe and his whole body jerked at each step. The eldest princess followed him, and the
priests and deacons and some servants also went in at the
door. Through that door was heard a noise of things being
moved about, and at last Anna Mikhaylovna, still with the
same expression, pale but resolute in the discharge of duty,
ran out and touching Pierre lightly on the arm said:
‘The divine mercy is inexhaustible! Unction is about to
be administered. Come.’
Pierre went in at the door, stepping on the soft carpet,
and noticed that the strange lady, the aide-de-camp, and
some of the servants, all followed him in, as if there were
now no further need for permission to enter that room.
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Chapter XXIII
Pierre well knew this large room divided by columns
and an arch, its walls hung round with Persian carpets. The
part of the room behind the columns, with a high silk-curtained mahogany bedstead on one side and on the other an
immense case containing icons, was brightly illuminated
with red light like a Russian church during evening service.
Under the gleaming icons stood a long invalid chair, and in
that chair on snowy-white smooth pillows, evidently freshly
changed, Pierre sawcovered to the waist by a bright green
quiltthe familiar, majestic figure of his father, Count Bezukhov, with that gray mane of hair above his broad forehead
which reminded one of a lion, and the deep characteristically noble wrinkles of his handsome, ruddy face. He lay just
under the icons; his large thick hands outside the quilt. Into
the right hand, which was lying palm downwards, a wax taper had been thrust between forefinger and thumb, and an
old servant, bending over from behind the chair, held it in
position. By the chair stood the priests, their long hair falling over their magnificent glittering vestments, with lighted
tapers in their hands, slowly and solemnly conducting the
service. A little behind them stood the two younger princesses holding handkerchiefs to their eyes, and just in front
of them their eldest sister, Catiche, with a vicious and determined look steadily fixed on the icons, as though declaring
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to all that she could not answer for herself should she glance
round. Anna Mikhaylovna, with a meek, sorrowful, and
all-forgiving expression on her face, stood by the door near
the strange lady. Prince Vasili in front of the door, near the
invalid chair, a wax taper in his left hand, was leaning his
left arm on the carved back of a velvet chair he had turned
round for the purpose, and was crossing himself with his
right hand, turning his eyes upward each time he touched
his forehead. His face wore a calm look of piety and resignation to the will of God. ‘If you do not understand these
sentiments,’ he seemed to be saying, ‘so much the worse for
you!’
Behind him stood the aide-de-camp, the doctors, and
the menservants; the men and women had separated as in
church. All were silently crossing themselves, and the reading of the church service, the subdued chanting of deep bass
voices, and in the intervals sighs and the shuffling of feet
were the only sounds that could be heard. Anna Mikhaylovna, with an air of importance that showed that she felt
she quite knew what she was about, went across the room
to where Pierre was standing and gave him a taper. He lit
it and, distracted by observing those around him, began
crossing himself with the hand that held the taper.
Sophie, the rosy, laughter-loving, youngest princess
with the mole, watched him. She smiled, hid her face in her
handkerchief, and remained with it hidden for awhile; then
looking up and seeing Pierre she again began to laugh. She
evidently felt unable to look at him without laughing, but
could not resist looking at him: so to be out of temptation
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she slipped quietly behind one of the columns. In the midst
of the service the voices of the priests suddenly ceased,
they whispered to one another, and the old servant who
was holding the count’s hand got up and said something to
the ladies. Anna Mikhaylovna stepped forward and, stooping over the dying man, beckoned to Lorrain from behind
her back. The French doctor held no taper; he was leaning
against one of the columns in a respectful attitude implying
that he, a foreigner, in spite of all differences of faith, understood the full importance of the rite now being performed
and even approved of it. He now approached the sick man
with the noiseless step of one in full vigor of life, with his
delicate white fingers raised from the green quilt the hand
that was free, and turning sideways felt the pulse and reflected a moment. The sick man was given something to
drink, there was a stir around him, then the people resumed
their places and the service continued. During this interval Pierre noticed that Prince Vasili left the chair on which
he had been leaning, andwith air which intimated that he
knew what he was about and if others did not understand
him it was so much the worse for themdid not go up to the
dying man, but passed by him, joined the eldest princess,
and moved with her to the side of the room where stood the
high bedstead with its silken hangings. On leaving the bed
both Prince Vasili and the princess passed out by a back
door, but returned to their places one after the other before
the service was concluded. Pierre paid no more attention
to this occurrence than to the rest of what went on, having
made up his mind once for all that what he saw happening
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around him that evening was in some way essential.
The chanting of the service ceased, and the voice of the
priest was heard respectfully congratulating the dying man
on having received the sacrament. The dying man lay as
lifeless and immovable as before. Around him everyone began to stir: steps were audible and whispers, among which
Anna Mikhaylovna’s was the most distinct.
Pierre heard her say:
‘Certainly he must be moved onto the bed; here it will be
impossible..’
The sick man was so surrounded by doctors, princesses,
and servants that Pierre could no longer see the reddish-yellow face with its gray manewhich, though he saw other faces
as well, he had not lost sight of for a single moment during
the whole service. He judged by the cautious movements of
those who crowded round the invalid chair that they had
lifted the dying man and were moving him.
‘Catch hold of my arm or you’ll drop him!’ he heard
one of the servants say in a frightened whisper. ‘Catch hold
from underneath. Here!’ exclaimed different voices; and the
heavy breathing of the bearers and the shuffling of their feet
grew more hurried, as if the weight they were carrying were
too much for them.
As the bearers, among whom was Anna Mikhaylovna,
passed the young man he caught a momentary glimpse between their heads and backs of the dying man’s high, stout,
uncovered chest and powerful shoulders, raised by those
who were holding him under the armpits, and of his gray,
curly, leonine head. This head, with its remarkably broad
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brow and cheekbones, its handsome, sensual mouth, and
its cold, majestic expression, was not disfigured by the approach of death. It was the same as Pierre remembered it
three months before, when the count had sent him to Petersburg. But now this head was swaying helplessly with the
uneven movements of
