‘There is nothing like a cup of this excellent Russian tea after a sleepless night,’ said Lorrain with subdued enthusiasm as he sipped from a delicate Chinese cup without a handle, standing in the little round room at a table with tea-things and some cold supper on it. All of those who had foregathered that night in Count Bezukhov’s house had come to fortify themselves at this table. Pierre had fond memories of this little round room with its mirrors and tiny tables. When balls were held in the count’s house, Pierre, who was no dancer, had enjoyed sitting in that little room of mirrors, watching the ladies in their ballroom finery decked out with diamonds and pearls on their bare necks, as they passed through and admired themselves in the brightly lit mirrors that multiplied their reflections over and over. Now in the middle of the night in that same room dim light came from two candles, and the tea-things and refreshments were scattered about on one of the little tables, while all sorts of people in ordinary clothes sat there whispering together, showing with every gesture, every word, that no one could ignore what was happening at that moment and what was about to happen in the bedroom. Pierre didn’t eat anything even though he was feeling very hungry. He turned to consult his guide, and saw her tiptoeing back to the reception-room where Prince Vasily had stayed behind with the eldest princess. Pierre assumed that this also had to be, so after a moment’s hesitation he followed. Anna Mikhaylovna was standing beside the princess, and they were talking in emotional whispers both at the same time.
‘Allow me, Princess, to know what is necessary and what is not necessary,’ Princess Katishe was saying, her highly emotional state no different from when she had slammed the door of her room.
‘But, my dear princess,’ Anna Mikhaylovna was saying with gentle persuasiveness, barring the way to the bedroom and not letting her pass, ‘don’t you think that might be rather too taxing for poor Uncle just now, when he needs to rest? At a time like this to talk of worldly affairs when his soul has been prepared . . .’
Prince Vasily was sitting in a low chair in his customary pose, one leg crossed high above the other. Both of his cheeks were twitching furiously, and when they relaxed they made him look heavy-jowled, but his air was that of a man little interested in the two ladies’ discussion.
‘No, no, my dear Anna Mikhaylovna, let Katishe do what she wants. You know how the count loves her.’
‘I don’t know what’s in this document,’ said Princess Katishe to Prince Vasily, pointing to the inlaid portfolio which she held in her hand. ‘What I do know is that the real will is in his desk, and this is a paper that has been forgotten . . .’
She tried to get past Anna Mikhaylovna, who skipped across to bar her way again.
‘I know, my dear, sweet princess,’ said Anna Mikhaylovna, taking hold of the portfolio, so strongly that it was clear she had no intention of letting go again. ‘My dear princess, I beg you, I implore you, spare him. I appeal to you.’
The princess said nothing. The only sound was a scuffling over the portfolio. There could be no doubt that if she had said anything it wouldn’t have been complimentary to Anna Mikhaylovna. The latter held on grimly, but her voice still managed to retain its unctuous charm and honeyed gentleness.
‘Pierre, come over here, my dear. He is not out of place, I think, in any family council. Don’t you agree, Prince?’
‘Cousin, say something, please!’ Princess Katishe screamed suddenly, so loud that her voice was heard in the drawing-room where it caused some alarm. ‘Why don’t you say something when a nobody comes in here meddling and making a scene outside a dying man’s room? You scheming hussy!’ she muttered viciously, and heaved at the portfolio with all her strength, but Anna Mikhaylovna took a few steps forward to keep hold of it and get a better grip.
‘Oh dear,’ said Prince Vasily, amazed and full of reproach. He got up. ‘This is ridiculous. Now, come on. Let go, I tell you.’ Princess Katishe did so.
‘You too.’
Anna Mikhaylovna did not respond.
‘Let go, I tell you. I take full responsibility. I shall go and ask him. I . . . Let that be enough for you.’
‘But, Prince,’ said Anna Mikhaylovna, ‘after that solemn sacrament let him have a moment’s peace. Pierre, tell us your opinion,’ said she, turning to the young man, who had come up to her and was staring in amazement at her face, malicious beyond all decency, and at Prince Vasily with his twitching cheeks.
‘Please remember you will have to answer for the consequences,’ said Prince Vasily sternly. ‘You don’t know what you are doing.’
‘Foul woman!’ screamed Princess Katishe, suddenly pouncing on Anna Mikhaylovna and wrenching the portfolio from her hands. Prince Vasily bowed his head and spread his hands.
