War and Peace: Original Version. Лев Толстой

had evidently not expected.

      “That would be good,” she said. “I never wanted and I do not want a thing.” She threw her little dog off her knees and adjusted the pleats of her dress. “That is his gratitude, that is his thanks to the people who have sacrificed everything for him,” she said. “Excellent! Very good! I do not want a thing, prince.”

      “Yes, but you are not alone, you have sisters,” Prince Vasily replied. But the princess would not listen to him.

      “Yes, I had known this for a long time, but I had forgotten that apart from meanness, deceit and 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?” asked Prince Vasily, his cheeks twitching even more violently than before.

      “Yes, I was stupid, I still believed in people, and loved them, and sacrificed myself. But the only ones who prosper are those who are base and vile. I know who is behind these intrigues.”

      The princess was about to stand, but the prince held her back by the arm. The princess had the air of someone suddenly disillusioned with the whole of humankind: she glared angrily at the prince.

      “There is still time, my friend. Remember, Katish, that this was all done suddenly, in a moment of anger and sickness, and then forgotten. It is our duty, my dear, to correct his mistake, to make his final minutes easier and not allow him to commit this injustice, not allow him to die with the thought that he has rendered miserable those people …”

      “Those people who have sacrificed everything for him,” the princess interjected, attempting to stand once again, but the prince prevented her, “which he has never appreciated, No, cousin,” she added with a sigh, “I shall remember that in this world one must not expect any reward, that in this world there is neither honour nor justice. In this world one must be cunning and wicked.”

      “Now, listen, calm yourself; I know your noble heart.”

      “No, my heart is wicked.”

      “I know your heart,” the prince repeated, “I value your friendship, and I should wish you to hold the same opinion of me. Calm yourself and let us talk plainly while there is still time – perhaps a day, perhaps an hour: tell me everything that you know about the will, most importantly of all, where it is, you must know. We will take it now and show it to the count. He must have forgotten about it and will wish to destroy it. You understand that my only wish is to carry out his wishes religiously; that is the only reason why I came here. I am only here in order to help him and you.”

      “I understand everything now. I know who is behind these intrigues. I know,” said the princess.

      “That is not the point, my dearest.”

      “It is your protégée, your dear Princess Drubetskaya, Anna Mikhailovna, whom I would not wish to have as a maidservant, that loathsome, repulsive woman.”

      “Let us not waste time.”

      “Oh, do not speak to me! Last winter she wormed her way in here and said such vile things, such abominable things about all of us, especially about Sophia, I cannot even repeat them – that the count became ill and would not see us for two weeks. That was the time, I know, when he wrote that repulsive, loathsome document, but I thought that the paper meant nothing.”

      “That is the whole point – why did you not say anything to me earlier?”

      “In the mosaic document case that he keeps under his pillow! Now I know,” the princess said, not answering him. “Yes, if I have a sin to answer for, it is my hate for that horrible woman,” the princess almost shouted, completely changed now. “And why does she come worming her way in here? But I shall speak my mind to her, I shall. The time will come.”

      “For God’s sake, in your righteous wrath do not forget,” said Prince Vasily, smiling faintly, “that thousand-eyed envy is following our every move. We must act, but …”

      XXIX

      While these conversations were taking place in the reception room and the princess’s quarters, the carriage with Pierre (who had been sent for) and Anna Mikhailovna (who had deemed it necessary to travel with him), was driving into Count Bezukhov’s courtyard. As the wheels of the carriage began crunching gently across the straw spread under the windows, Anna Mikhailovna realised, on addressing her travelling companion with words of consolation, that he was asleep in the corner of the carriage and she woke him up. Once awake, Pierre followed Anna Mikhailovna out of the carriage and only then thought about the meeting with his dying father that awaited him. He noticed that they had driven up to the rear entrance, not the main one. Just as he stepped down from the footboard, two men in tradesmen’s clothes darted hastily away from the entrance into the shadow of the wall. Halting for a moment, Pierre made out several other similar figures in the shadow of the house on both sides. But neither Anna Mikhailovna, nor the servant, nor the coachman, who could not have failed to see these people, took any notice of them. “Perhaps that is how things should be,” Pierre thought to himself and followed Anna Mikhailovna inside. Anna Mikhailovna walked hurriedly up the dimly lit, narrow stone staircase, calling to Pierre, who was falling behind, to hurry. Not understanding why he had to go to the count, and even less why he had to go by the back staircase, he nevertheless decided that, judging from Anna Mikhailovna’s certainty and haste, it was definitely necessary. Halfway up the stairs they were almost knocked over by some men with buckets who came running down towards them, clattering their boots. These people pressed themselves back against the wall to let Pierre and Anna Mikhailovna past, and showed not the slightest surprise at the sight of them.

      “Is this the way to the princesses’ apartments?” Anna Mikhailovna asked one of them.

      “Yes, it is,” the servant replied in a loud, bold voice, as if now everything were permitted, “the door’s on the left, ma’am.”

      “Perhaps the count did not send for me,” said Pierre as he reached the landing, “I should go to my room.”

      Anna Mikhailovna halted and waited for Pierre to draw level with her.

      “Ah, my friend,” she said touching his arm with the very same gesture that she had used with her son that morning. “Remember that he is your father … perhaps in the final agony.” She sighed. “I loved you immediately, like a son. Trust in me, Pierre. I shall not forget your interests.”

      Pierre did not understand anything: once again he had the feeling, even more strongly, that this was how everything ought to be, and he meekly followed after Anna Mikhailovna, who was already opening the door.

      The door led into the lobby of the back entrance. The eldest princess’s old manservant was sitting in the corner, knitting a stocking. Pierre had never been in this wing of the house, he had not even suspected the existence of these apartments. Anna Mikhailovna enquired after the princesses’ health from a girl who was overtaking them with a carafe on a tray, calling her “my dear” and “darling”, and dragged Pierre further on along the stone corridor. The first door to the left from the corridor led into the princesses’ living quarters. In her haste (just as everything in that house was being done in haste at that moment) the maid with the carafe had not closed the door and, as they walked past, Pierre and Anna Mikhailovna automatically glanced into the room where the eldest princess and Prince Vasily were sitting close to each other, talking. Seeing them walking by, Prince Vasily made an impatient gesture and drew himself back, while the princess leapt to her feet and slammed the door with all her might in a furious gesture, locking it.

      This gesture was so unlike the princess’s constant composure and the fear expressed on Prince Vasily’s face was so uncharacteristic of his normal pompous gravity that Pierre halted and looked enquiringly at his guide through his spectacles. Anna Mikhailovna did not express any surprise, she only smiled gently and sighed, as if indicating that she had been expecting all of this.

      “Be