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Volume I, Part One, Chapter XVII

While the sixth anglaise was being danced at the Rostovs' to the sounds of musicians playing out of tune from exhaustion, and tired waiters and cooks were preparing supper, Count Bezukhov suffered his sixth stroke. The doctors declared that there was no hope for recovery; the patient was given silent confession and communion; preparations were being made for extreme unction, and in the house there was the bustle and anxiety of expectation, usual at such moments. Outside the house, beyond the gates, undertakers crowded together, hiding from approaching carriages, awaiting a rich order for the count's funeral. The commander-in-chief of Moscow, who continuously sent adjutants to inquire about the count's condition, came himself that evening to bid farewell to the famous Catherine-era grandee, Count Bezukhov.

The magnificent reception room was full. Everyone stood up respectfully when the commander-in-chief, having spent about half an hour alone with the patient, emerged from there, slightly acknowledging the bows and trying to pass as quickly as possible past the gazes of the doctors, clergy, and relatives directed at him. Prince Vasily, who had grown thinner and paler over these days, escorted the commander-in-chief and quietly repeated something to him several times.

Having seen the commander-in-chief off, Prince Vasily sat down alone on a chair in the hall, crossing his legs high, resting his elbow on his knee and covering his eyes with his hand. Having sat like that for some time, he got up and, with unusually hasty steps, looking around with frightened eyes, walked through the long corridor to the back half of the house, to the eldest princess.

Those in the dimly lit room spoke to each other in uneven whispers and fell silent each time, glancing with eyes full of question and expectation at the door that led to the dying man's chambers, which made a faint sound when someone came out of or went into it.

— The human limit, — an old man, a clergyman, was saying to a lady sitting next to him and listening naively, — the limit is set, thou shalt not pass it.

— I wonder, isn't it too late for extreme unction? — the lady asked, adding his clerical title, as if not having any opinion of her own on the matter.

— The sacrament, my mother, is a great one, — the clergyman replied, passing his hand over his bald spot, across which lay several strands of combed-over half-gray hair.

— Who was that? The commander-in-chief himself? — they asked in another corner of the room. — How youthful looking!...

— And he's in his sixties! They say the count doesn't recognize anyone anymore? They wanted to administer extreme unction?

— I knew someone who received it seven times.

The second princess came out of the sick man's room with tear-stained eyes and sat down next to Dr. Lorrain, who sat in a graceful pose under a portrait of Catherine, leaning his elbow on the table.

— Très beau, — said the doctor, answering a question about the weather, — très beau, princesse et puis, à Moscou on se croit à la campagne.

— N'est-ce-pas? — said the princess, sighing. — So he can drink?

Lorrain pondered.

— He has taken his medicine?

— Yes.

The doctor looked at his Breguet watch.

— Take a glass of boiled water and put in une pincée (he showed with his thin fingers what une pincée meant) de cremortartari...

— I tid not pelieve, — the German doctor was saying to the adjutant, — that he vould surfife a thirt stroke.

— And what a robust man he was! — said the adjutant. — And to whom will this wealth go? — he added in a whisper.

— Hunters vill pe found, — the German answered, smiling.

Everyone again looked back at the door: it creaked, and the second princess, having prepared the drink indicated by Lorrain, carried it to the patient. The German doctor walked over to Lorrain.

— Do you think he might pull through till tomorrow morning? — the German asked, pronouncing French poorly.

Lorrain, pursing his lips, strictly and negatively waved his finger in front of his nose.

— Tonight, no later, — he said quietly, with a decent smile of self-satisfaction at clearly knowing how to understand and express the patient's condition, and stepped away. ————

Meanwhile, Prince Vasily opened the door to the princess's room.

The room was semi-dark; only two icon lamps burned before the icons, and it smelled nicely of incense and flowers. The whole room was cluttered with small furniture: chiffoniers, little cupboards, small tables. Behind a screen, the white covers of a high featherbed could be seen. A little dog barked.

— Ah, it's you, mon cousin?

She stood up and smoothed her hair, which was always, even now, so unusually smooth, as if it were made of one piece with her head and covered with lacquer.

— Has something happened? — she asked. — I got so frightened.

— Nothing, everything is the same; I only came to speak to you, Catiche, about business, — the prince said, sitting down wearily in the armchair she had risen from. — How warm you've made it in here, though, — he said, — well, sit down here, causons.

— I thought perhaps something had happened? — the princess said and, with her unchanging, stone-stern facial expression, sat down opposite the prince, preparing to listen.

— I was trying to fall asleep, mon cousin, and I cannot.

— Well, my dear? — said Prince Vasily, taking the princess's hand and bending it downwards, as was his habit.

It was evident that this "Well, what" referred to many things that, without naming them, they both understood.

The princess, with her dry and straight waist disproportionately long compared to her legs, looked directly and impassively at the prince with prominent gray eyes. She shook her head and, with a sigh, looked at the icons. Her gesture could be interpreted both as an expression of sorrow and devotion, and as an expression of fatigue and hope for an early rest. Prince Vasily interpreted this gesture as an expression of fatigue.

— And me? — he said, — do you think it's any easier? Je suis éreinté, comme un cheval de poste; but all the same, I must talk to you, Catiche, and very seriously.

Prince Vasily fell silent, and his cheeks began to twitch nervously, first to one side, then to the other, giving his face an unpleasant expression that never showed on Prince Vasily's face when he was in drawing-rooms. His eyes, too, were not as they usually were: at times they looked brazenly joking, at times they glanced around in fright.

The princess, holding her little dog on her lap with dry, thin hands, looked attentively into Prince Vasily's eyes; but it was clear that she would not break the silence with a question, even if she had to remain silent until morning.

— Now see here, my dear princess and cousin, Katerina Semyonovna, — Prince Vasily continued, evidently not without inner struggle getting down to the continuation of his speech, — in moments like these, one must think about everything. We must think about the future, about you... I love you all like my own children, you know that.

The princess continued to look at him just as dully and motionlessly.

— Finally, I must also think of my family, — Prince Vasily continued, angrily pushing the little table away from himself and not looking at her, — you know, Catiche, that you three Mamontov sisters, plus my wife, are the only direct heirs of the count. I know, I know how hard it is for you to speak and think of such things. And it's no easier for me; but, my friend, I am in my fifties, one must be prepared for everything. Did you know that I sent for Pierre, and that the count, pointing directly at his portrait, demanded him?

Prince Vasily looked at the princess inquiringly, but could not tell if she comprehended what he had told her, or was simply looking at him...

— I do not cease praying to God for one thing, mon cousin, — she replied, — that He would have mercy on him and allow his beautiful soul to peacefully leave this...

— Yes, that is so, — Prince Vasily continued impatiently, rubbing his bald head and again angrily pulling back the table he had pushed away, — but, finally... finally the fact is, you know yourself, that last winter the count wrote a will by which he left all his property to Pierre, bypassing the direct heirs and us.

— He has written many wills! — the princess said calmly, — but he could not leave it to Pierre. Pierre is illegitimate.

— Ma chère, — Prince Vasily said suddenly, pulling the table to himself, growing animated and beginning to speak faster, — but what if a letter has been written to the Emperor, and the count asks to adopt Pierre? Do you understand, given the count's merits, his request will be granted...

The princess smiled as people do who think they know the matter better than those they are talking to.

— I'll tell you more, — Prince Vasily continued, grabbing her hand, — the letter was written, although not sent, and the Emperor knew about it. The only question is whether it has been destroyed or not. If not, then as soon as everything is over, — Prince Vasily sighed, thereby letting it be known what he meant by the words everything is over, — and the count's papers are opened, the will with the letter will be passed on to the Emperor, and his request will certainly be granted. Pierre, as a legitimate son, will receive everything.

— And our portion? — the princess asked, smiling ironically as if anything, but only not that, could happen.

— Mais, ma pauvre Catiche, c'est clair, comme le jour. He alone will then be the legitimate heir to everything, and you won't receive even this much. You must know, my dear, whether the will and the letter were written, and whether they were destroyed. And if for some reason they have been forgotten, then you must know where they are, and find them, because...

— That is all that was missing! — the princess interrupted him, smiling sardonically and not changing the expression of her eyes. — I am a woman; according to you, we are all stupid; but I know this much, that an illegitimate son cannot inherit... Un bâtard, — she added, supposing by this translation to finally show the prince his baselessness.

— How can you not understand, finally, Catiche! You are so smart: how can you not understand, — if the count wrote a letter to the Emperor in which he asks him to recognize his son as legitimate, then Pierre will no longer be Pierre, but Count Bezukhov, and then he will receive everything according to the will? And if the will with the letter are not destroyed, then you, except for the consolation that you were virtuous et tout ce qui s'en suit, will have nothing left. That is certain.

— I know that the will is written; but I also know that it is invalid, and you seem to consider me a complete fool, mon cousin, — the princess said with that expression with which women speak when they suppose they have said something witty and offensive.

— My dear Princess Katerina Semyonovna! — Prince Vasily began impatiently. — I have come to you not to bicker with you, but, as with a native, good, kind, true relative, to speak about your own interests. I am telling you for the tenth time that if the letter to the Emperor and the will in favor of Pierre are among the count's papers, then you, my darling, and your sisters, are not heirs. If you don't believe me, then believe knowledgeable people: I have just spoken with Dmitry Onufrievich (this was the house's lawyer), and he said the same thing.

Evidently, something suddenly changed in the princess's thoughts; her thin lips turned pale (her eyes remained the same), and her voice, as she began to speak, broke out with such peals as she evidently had not expected herself.

— That would be fine, — she said. — I wanted nothing and I want nothing. —

She threw her little dog off her lap and smoothed the folds of her dress.

— There's gratitude, there's appreciation for people who sacrificed everything for him, — she said. — Splendid! Very good! I need nothing, Prince.

— Yes, but you are not alone, you have sisters, — replied Prince Vasily.

But the princess was not listening to him.

— Yes, I knew this long ago, but I forgot that, apart from baseness, deceit, envy, intrigues, apart from ingratitude, the blackest ingratitude, I could expect nothing in this house...

— Do you or do you not know where this will is? — Prince Vasily asked with an even greater twitching of his cheeks than before.

— Yes, I was a fool, I still believed in people and loved them and sacrificed myself. But only those succeed who are base and vile. I know whose intrigues these are.

The princess wanted to stand up, but the prince held her by the arm. The princess had the look of a person who had suddenly become disillusioned with the entire human race; she looked maliciously at her interlocutor.

— There is still time, my friend. Remember, Catiche, that all this was done inadvertently, in a moment of anger, illness, and then forgotten. Our duty, my dear, is to correct his mistake, to ease his last moments by not allowing him to commit this injustice, not to let him die with the thought that he has made miserable those people...

— Those people who sacrificed everything for him, — the princess caught up, attempting to rise again, but the prince did not let her, — which he never knew how to appreciate. No, mon cousin, — she added with a sigh, — I will remember that in this world one cannot expect reward, that in this world there is neither honor nor justice. In this world one must be cunning and wicked.

— Now, voyons, calm down; I know your excellent heart.

— No, I have a wicked heart.

— I know your heart, — repeated the prince, — I value your friendship and would wish that you held the same opinion of me. Calm down and parlons raison, while there is time — maybe a day, maybe an hour; tell me everything you know about the will, and most importantly, where it is: you must know. We will take it right now and show it to the count. He has surely forgotten about it already and will want to destroy it. You understand that my sole desire is to sacredly fulfill his will; that is the only reason I came here. I am here only to help him and you.

— Now I understand everything. I know whose intrigues these are. I know, — the princess was saying.

— That is not the point, my soul.

— It is your protégée, your dear Anna Mikhailovna, whom I would not wish to have as a chambermaid, that vile, nasty woman.

— Ne perdons point de temps.

— Oh, don't talk! Last winter she ingratiated herself here and said such vile things, such nasty things to the count about all of us, especially about Sophie — I cannot repeat them — that the count fell ill and for two weeks would not see us. During that time, I know that he wrote that nasty, vile paper; but I thought that paper meant nothing.

— Nous y voilà, why then did you not tell me before?

— In the mosaic portfolio that he keeps under his pillow. Now I know, — the princess said, not answering. — Yes, if I have a sin, a great sin, it is my hatred for that scoundrel, — the princess practically shrieked, entirely transformed. — And why does she ingratiate herself here? But I will tell her everything, everything. The time will come!