“I can’t bear that woman.”
“Catiche a fait donner du thé dans le petit salon,” Prince Vassily said to Anna Mikhailovna. “Allez, ma pauvre Anna Mikhailovna, prenez quelque chose, autrement vous ne suffirez pas.”†137
He said nothing to Pierre, only squeezed his upper arm feelingly. Pierre and Anna Mikhailovna moved on to the small drawing room.
“Il n’y a rien qui restaure, comme une tasse de cet excellent thé Russe après une nuit blanche,”‡138 said Lorrain, with an expression of restrained animation, sipping from a fine china cup without a handle, standing in the small, round drawing room in front of a table on which a tea service and a cold supper had been laid. Everyone who was in Count Bezukhov’s house that night gathered around the table to fortify themselves. Pierre remembered very well this small, round drawing room with its mirrors and little tables. During balls at the count’s house, Pierre, who danced poorly, liked to sit in this little room of mirrors and watch how ladies in ball gowns, with diamonds and pearls on their bare shoulders, passing through this room, looked at themselves in the brightly lit mirrors, which repeated their reflections several times. Now the same room was barely lit with two candles, and in the middle of the night a tea service and some dishes lay in disorder on one of the little tables, and various non-festive people, exchanging whispers, were sitting in it, showing with each movement, each word, that none of them had forgotten what was going on and was yet to be consummated in the bedroom. Pierre did not eat, though he very much wanted to. He glanced questioningly at his guide and saw her going out on tiptoe, back to the reception room, where Prince Vassily had remained with the elder princess. Pierre supposed that it had to be so, lingered a little, and followed her. Anna Mikhailovna was standing by the princess, and the two women were speaking simultaneously in agitated whispers.
“Allow me, Princess, to know what is and what is not necessary,” the younger woman was saying, evidently in the same agitated state she had been in when she had slammed the door to her room.
“But, my dear princess,” Anna Mikhailovna was saying meekly and persuasively, barring the way to the bedroom and preventing the princess from going in, “won’t it be too hard on poor, dear uncle at such a moment, when he needs rest? To talk about worldly things at such a moment, when his soul is already prepared…”
Prince Vassily was sitting in an armchair, in his casual pose, one leg crossed high up over the other. His cheeks were twitching badly, and, when they slackened, seemed fatter below; but he had the look of a man who was little taken up with the conversation of the two ladies.
“Voyons, ma bonne Anna Mikhailovna, laissez faire Catiche.*139 You know how the count loves her.”
“I don’t even know what’s in this document,” said the princess, turning to Prince Vassily and pointing to the inlaid portfolio she was holding in her hands. “I only know that the real will is in his desk, and this is a forgotten document…” She tried to go around Anna Mikhailovna, but Anna Mikhailovna sprang over and again barred her way.
“I know, dear, good princess,” said Anna Mikhailovna, seizing the portfolio with her hand and so firmly that it was clear she would not soon let go of it. “Dear princess, I beg you, I beseech you, have pity on him. Je vous en conjure…*140
The princess said nothing. All that could be heard were the sounds of the efforts of the struggle over the portfolio. It was clear that if she did start to talk, it would not be flattering for Anna Mikhailovna. Anna Mikhailovna held on tight, but in spite of that her voice retained all its sweet, drawling softness.
“Pierre, come here, my friend. I think he won’t be out of place in the family council—isn’t that so, Prince?”
“Why are you silent, mon cousin?” the princess suddenly shouted so loudly that the people in the drawing room heard and were frightened by her voice. “Why are you silent, when here God knows who allows herself to interfere and make scenes on a dying’s man’s threshold? Intriguer!” she whispered spitefully and tugged at the portfolio with all her might, but Anna Mikhailovna went a few steps so as not to let go of the portfolio, and shifted her grip.
“Oh!” Prince Vassily said with reproach and astonishment. He got up. “C’est ridicule. Voyons, let go, I tell you.”
The princess let go.
“You, too!”
Anna Mikhailovna did not obey him.
“Let go, I tell you. I take it all upon myself. I’ll go and ask him. I…let that be enough for you.”
“Mais, mon prince,” said Anna Mikhailovna, “give him a moment’s rest after such a great sacrament. Here, Pierre, tell us your opinion,” she turned to the young man who, coming up close to them, looked with astonishment at the princess’s spiteful face, which had lost all decency, and at the twitching cheeks of Prince Vassily.
“Remember that you will answer for all the consequences,” Prince Vassily said sternly. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Loathsome woman!” the princess cried, suddenly falling upon Anna Mikhailovna and tearing the portfolio from her.
Prince Vassily hung his head and spread his hands.
At that moment the door, that awful door at which Pierre had stared for so long and which had opened so softly, now opened noisily, banging against the wall, and the younger princess ran out clasping her hands.
“What are you doing!” she said desperately. “Il s’en va et vous me laissez seule.”†141
The elder princess dropped the portfolio. Anna Mikhailovna quickly bent down and, picking up the disputed object, ran to the bedroom. The elder princess and Prince Vassily came to their senses and followed her. A few minutes later, the elder princess was the first to come out, with a pale and dry face, biting her lower lip. At the sight of Pierre, her face showed irrepressible spite.
“Yes, rejoice now,” she said, “you’ve been waiting for this.”
And, bursting into sobs, she covered her face with a handkerchief and ran out of the room.
After the princess, Prince Vassily came out. Staggering, he reached the sofa on which Pierre was sitting and collapsed on it, covering his eyes with his hand. Pierre noted that he was pale and his lower jaw was twitching and shaking as in a fever.
“Ah, my friend!” he said, taking Pierre by the elbow; and in his voice there was sincerity and weakness, such as Pierre had never noticed in him before. “We sin so much, we deceive so much, and all for what? I’m over fifty, my friend…I’ll…Everything ends in death, everything. Death is terrible.” He wept.
Anna Mikhailovna was the last to come out. She went to Pierre with quiet, slow steps.
“Pierre!…” she said.
Pierre looked at her questioningly. She kissed the young man on the forehead, wetting it with tears. She paused.
“Il n’est plus…”*142
Pierre looked at her through his spectacles.
“Allons, je vous reconduirai. Tâchez de pleurer. Rien ne soulage comme les larmes.”†143
She led him to the dark drawing room, and Pierre was glad that nobody could see his face. Anna Mikhailovna left him, and when she came back, he was sound asleep, his head resting on his arm.
The next morning Anna Mikhailovna said to Pierre:
“Oui, mon cher, c’est une grande perte pour nous tous. Je ne parle pas de vous. Mais Dieu vous soutiendra, vous êtes jeune et vous voilà à la tête d’une immense fortune, je l’espère. Le testament n’a pas été encore ouvert. Je vous connais assez pour savoir que cela ne vous tournera pas la tête, mais cela vous impose des devoirs, et il faut être homme.”‡144