War And Peace: Book 1 - CHAPTER XIX

作者: Leo Tolstoy

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Author: Leo Tolstoy

AT THE TIME that these conversations were taking place in the reception-room

and the princess's room, a carriage with Pierre (who had been sent for) and Anna

Mihalovna (who had thought fit to come with him) in it was driving into the

court of Count Bezuhov's mansion. When the sound of the carriage wheels was

muffled by the straw in the street, Anna Mihalovna turned with words of

consolation to her companion, discovered that he was asleep in his corner of the

carriage, and waked him up. Rousing himself, Pierre followed Anna Mihalovna out

of the carriage, and only then began to think of the interview with his dying

father that awaited him. He noticed that they had driven not up to the visitors'

approach, but to the back entrance. As he got down from the carriage step, two

men in the dress of tradesmen hastily scurried away from the entrance into the

shadow of the wall. Pierre, as he stood waiting, noticed several other similar

persons standing in the shadow of the house on both sides. But neither Anna

Mihalovna nor the footman and coachman, who must have seen these people, took

any notice of them. So it must be all right, Pierre decided, and he followed

Anna Mihalovna. With hurrying footsteps Anna Mihalovna walked up the dimly

lighted, narrow stone staircase, urging on Pierre, who lagged behind. Though

Pierre had no notion why he had to go to the count at all, and still less why he

had to go by the back stairs, yet, impressed by Anna Mihalovna's assurance and

haste, he made up his mind that it was undoubtedly necessary for him to do so.

Half-way up the stairs they were almost knocked over by some men with pails, who

ran down towards them, tramping loudly with their big boots. These men huddled

up against the wall to let Pierre and Anna Mihalovna pass, and showed not the

slightest surprise at seeing them.

“Is this the princess's side of the house?” Anna Mihalovna asked of one of

them …

“Yes, it is,” answered the footman in a bold, loud voice, as though anything

were permissible at such a time; “the door on the left, ma'am.”

“Perhaps the count has not asked for me,” said Pierre, as he reached the

landing. “I had better go to my own room.” Anna Mihalovna stopped for Pierre to

catch her up.

“Ah, mon ami,” she said, touching his hand with just the same gesture

as she had used in the morning with her son. “Believe me, I am suffering as much

as you; but be a man.”

“Really, had I not better go?” Pierre asked affectionately, looking at her

over his spectacles.

“Ah, mon ami, forget the wrong that may have been done you, think that

it is your father … and perhaps in his death agony,” she sighed. “I have loved

you like a son from the first. Trust in me, Pierre. I shall not forget your

interests.”

Pierre did not understand a word. Again he felt more strongly than before

that all this had to be so, and he obediently followed Anna Mihalovna, who was

already opening the door. The door led into the vestibule of the back stairs. In

the corner sat the princess's old man-servant knitting stockings. Pierre had

never been in this part of the house, and had not even suspected the existence

of these apartments. A maid-servant carrying a tray with a decanter overtook

them, and Anna Mihalovna (calling her “my dear” and “my good girl”) asked her

after the princesses' health, and drew Pierre further along the stone corridor.

The first door to the left led out of the corridor into the princesses' living

rooms. The maid with the decanter was in a hurry (everything seemed to be done

in a hurry at that moment in the house), and she did not close the door after

her. Pierre and Anna Mihalovna, as they passed by, glanced unconsciously into

the room where the eldest princess and Prince Vassily were sitting close

together talking. On catching sight of their passing figures, Prince Vassily

made an impatient movement and drew back, the princess jumped up, and with a

despairing gesture she closed the door, slamming it with all her might. This

action was so unlike the princess's habitual composure, the dismay depicted on

the countenance of Prince Vassily was so out of keeping with his dignity, that

Pierre stopped short and looked inquiringly over his spectacles at his guide.

Anna Mihalovna manifested no surprise; she simply smiled a little and sighed, as

though to show that she had anticipated all that.

“Be a man, mon ami, I am looking after your interests,” she said in

response to his look of inquiry, and she walked more quickly along the

corridor.

Pierre had no notion what was going on, and no inkling of what was meant by

watching over his interests. But he felt that all this had had to be so. From

the corridor they went into the half-lighted hall adjoining the count's

reception-room. This was one of the cold, sumptuously furnished rooms which

Pierre knew, leading from the visitors' staircase. But even in this apartment

there was an empty bath standing in the middle of the floor, and water had been

spilt on the carpet. They were met here by a servant and a church attendant with

a censer, who walked on tiptoe and took no notice of them. They went into the

reception-room opening into the winter garden, a room Pierre knew well, with its

two Italian windows, its big bust and full-length portrait of Catherine. The

same persons were all sitting almost in the same positions exchanging whispers

in the reception-room. All ceased speaking and looked round at Anna Mihalovna,

as she came in with her pale, tear-stained face, and at the big, stout figure of

Pierre, as with downcast head he followed her submissively.

The countenance of Anna Mihalovna showed a consciousness that the crucial

moment had arrived. With the air of a Petersburg lady of experience, she walked

into the room even more boldly than in the morning, keeping Pierre at her side.

She felt that as she was bringing the person the dying man wanted to see, she

might feel secure as to her reception. With a rapid glance, scanning all the

persons in the room, and observing the count's spiritual adviser, she did not

precisely bow down, but seemed somehow suddenly to shrink in stature, and with a

tripping amble swam up to the priest and reverentially received a blessing first

from one and then from another ecclesiastic.

“Thank God that we are in time,” she said to the priest; “all of us, his

kinsfolk, have been in such alarm. This young man is the count's son,” she added

more softly, “It is a terrible moment.”

Having uttered these words she approached the doctor.

“Dear doctor,” she said to him, “this young man is the count's son. Is there

any hope?”

The doctor did not speak but rapidly shrugged his shoulders and turned up his

eyes. With precisely the same gesture Anna Mihalovna moved her shoulders and

eyes, almost closing her eyelids, sighed and went away from the doctor to

Pierre. She addressed Pierre with peculiar deference and tender

melancholy.

“Have faith in His mercy,” she said to him, and indicating a sofa for him to

sit down and wait for her, she went herself with inaudible steps towards the

door, at which every one was looking, and after almost noiselessly opening it,

she vanished behind it.

Pierre, having decided to obey his monitress in everything, moved towards the

sofa she had pointed out to him. As soon as Anna Mihalovna had disappeared, he

noticed that the eyes of all the persons in the room were fixed upon him with

something more than curiosity and sympathy in their gaze. He noticed that they

were all whispering together, looking towards him with something like awe and

even obsequious deference. They showed him a respect such as had never been

shown him before. A lady, a stranger to him, the one who had been talking to the

priest, got up and offered him her place. An adjutant picked up the glove Pierre

had dropped and handed it to him. The doctors respectfully paused in their talk

when he passed by them and moved aside to make way for him. Pierre wanted at

first to sit somewhere else, so as not to trouble the lady; he would have liked

to pick up the glove himself and to walk round the doctors, who were really not

at all in the way. But he felt all at once that to do so would be improper; he

felt that he was that night a person who had to go through a terrible ceremony

which every one expected of him, and that for that reason he was bound to accept

service from every one. He took the glove from the adjutant in silence, sat down

in the lady's place, laying his big hands on his knees, sitting in the na

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