Book One: 1805 - Chapter XXIII

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Pierre well knew this large room divided by columns and an arch, itswalls hung round with Persian carpets. The part of the room behind thecolumns, with a high silk-curtained mahogany bedstead on one sideand on the other an immense case containing icons, was brightlyilluminated with red light like a Russian church during eveningservice. Under the gleaming icons stood a long invalid chair, and inthat chair on snowy-white smooth pillows, evidently freshly changed,Pierre saw- covered to the waist by a bright green quilt- thefamiliar, majestic figure of his father, Count Bezukhov, with thatgray mane of hair above his broad forehead which reminded one of alion, and the deep characteristically noble wrinkles of hishandsome, ruddy face. He lay just under the icons; his large thickhands outside the quilt. Into the right hand, which was lying palmdownwards, a wax taper had been thrust between forefinger and thumb,and an old servant, bending over from behind the chair, held it inposition. By the chair stood the priests, their long hair falling overtheir magnificent glittering vestments, with lighted tapers in theirhands, slowly and solemnly conducting the service. A little behindthem stood the two younger princesses holding handkerchiefs to theireyes, and just in front of them their eldest sister, Catiche, with avicious and determined look steadily fixed on the icons, as thoughdeclaring to all that she could not answer for herself should sheglance round. Anna Mikhaylovna, with a meek, sorrowful, andall-forgiving expression on her face, stood by the door near thestrange lady. Prince Vasili in front of the door, near the invalidchair, a wax taper in his left hand, was leaning his left arm on thecarved back of a velvet chair he had turned round for the purpose, andwas crossing himself with his right hand, turning his eyes upward eachtime he touched his forehead. His face wore a calm look of piety andresignation to the will of God. "If you do not understand thesesentiments," he seemed to be saying, "so much the worse for you!"

　　Behind him stood the aide-de-camp, the doctors, and the menservants;the men and women had separated as in church. All were silentlycrossing themselves, and the reading of the church service, thesubdued chanting of deep bass voices, and in the intervals sighs andthe shuffling of feet were the only sounds that could be heard. AnnaMikhaylovna, with an air of importance that showed that she felt shequite knew what she was about, went across the room to where Pierrewas standing and gave him a taper. He lit it and, distracted byobserving those around him, began crossing himself with the handthat held the taper.

　　Sophie, the rosy, laughter-loving, youngest princess with themole, watched him. She smiled, hid her face in her handkerchief, andremained with it hidden for awhile; then looking up and seeingPierre she again began to laugh. She evidently felt unable to lookat him without laughing, but could not resist looking at him: so to beout of temptation she slipped quietly behind one of the columns. Inthe midst of the service the voices of the priests suddenly ceased,they whispered to one another, and the old servant who was holding thecount's hand got up and said something to the ladies. Anna Mikhaylovnastepped forward and, stooping over the dying man, beckoned toLorrain from behind her back. The French doctor held no taper; hewas leaning against one of the columns in a respectful attitudeimplying that he, a foreigner, in spite of all differences of faith,understood the full importance of the rite now being performed andeven approved of it. He now approached the sick man with the noiselessstep of one in full vigor of life, with his delicate white fingersraised from the green quilt the hand that was free, and turningsideways felt the pulse and reflected a moment. The sick man was givensomething to drink, there was a stir around him, then the peopleresumed their places and the service continued. During this intervalPierre noticed that Prince Vasili left the chair on which he hadbeen leaning, and- with air which intimated that he knew what he wasabout and if others did not understand him it was so much the worsefor them- did not go up to the dying man, but passed by him, joinedthe eldest princess, and moved with her to the side of the roomwhere stood the high bedstead with its silken hangings. On leaving thebed both Prince Vasili and the princess passed out by a back door, butreturned to their places one after the other before the service wasconcluded. Pierre paid no more attention to this occurrence than tothe rest of what went on, having made up his mind once for all thatwhat he saw happening around him that evening was in some wayessential.

　　The chanting of the service ceased, and the voice of the priestwas heard respectfully congratulating the dying man on having receivedthe sacrament. The dying man lay as lifeless and immovable asbefore. Around him everyone began to stir: steps were audible andwhispers, among which Anna Mikhaylovna's was the most distinct.

　　Pierre heard her say:

　　"Certainly he must be moved onto the bed; here it will beimpossible..."

　　The sick man was so surrounded by doctors, princesses, andservants that Pierre could no longer see the reddish-yellow facewith its gray mane- which, though he saw other faces as well, he hadnot lost sight of for a single moment during the whole service. Hejudged by the cautious movements of those who crowded round theinvalid chair that they had lifted the dying man and were moving him.

　　"Catch hold of my arm or you'll drop him!" he heard one of theservants say in a frightened whisper. "Catch hold from underneath.Here!" exclaimed different voices; and the heavy breathing of thebearers and the shuffling of their feet grew more hurried, as if theweight they were carrying were too much for them.

　　As the bearers, among whom was Anna Mikhaylovna, passed the youngman he caught a momentary glimpse between their heads and backs of thedying man's high, stout, uncovered chest and powerful shoulders,raised by those who were holding him under the armpits, and of hisgray, curly, leonine head. This head, with its remarkably broad browand cheekbones, its handsome, sensual mouth, and its cold, majesticexpression, was not disfigured by the approach of death. It was thesame as Pierre remembered it three months before, when the count hadsent him to Petersburg. But now this head was swaying helplesslywith the uneven movements of the bearers, and the cold listless gazefixed itself upon nothing.

　　After a few minutes' bustle beside the high bedstead, those whohad carried the sick man dispersed. Anna Mikhaylovna touchedPierre's hand and said, "Come." Pierre went with her to the bed onwhich the sick man had been laid in a stately pose in keeping with theceremony just completed. He lay with his head propped high on thepillows. His hands were symmetrically placed on the green silkquilt, the palms downward. When Pierre came up the count was gazingstraight at him, but with a look the significance of which could notbe understood by mortal man. Either this look meant nothing but thatas long as one has eyes they must look somewhere, or it meant toomuch. Pierre hesitated, not knowing what to do, and glancedinquiringly at his guide. Anna Mikhaylovna made a hurried sign withher eyes, glancing at the sick man's hand and moving her lips as if tosend it a kiss. Pierre, carefully stretching his neck so as not totouch the quilt, followed her suggestion and pressed his lips to thelarge boned, fleshy hand. Neither the hand nor a single muscle ofthe count's face stirred. Once more Pierre looked questioningly atAnna Mikhaylovna to see what he was to do next. Anna Mikhaylovnawith her eyes indicated a chair that stood beside the bed. Pierreobediently sat down, his eyes asking if he were doing right. AnnaMikhaylovna nodded approvingly. Again Pierre fell into the naivelysymmetrical pose of an Egyptian statue, evidently distressed thathis stout and clumsy body took up so much room and doing his utmost tolook as small as possible. He looked at the count, who still gazedat the spot where Pierre's face had been before he sat down. AnnaMikhaylovna indicated by her attitude her consciousness of thepathetic importance of these last moments of meeting between thefather and son. This lasted about two minutes, which to Pierreseemed an hour. Suddenly the broad muscles and lines of the count'sface began to twitch. The twitching increased, the handsome mouthwas drawn to one side (only now did Pierre realize how near deathhis father was), and from that distorted mouth issued an indistinct,hoarse sound. Anna Mikhaylovna looked attentively at the sick man'seyes, trying to guess what he wanted; she pointed first to Pierre,then to some drink, then named Prince Vasili in an inquiringwhisper, then pointed to the quilt. The eyes and face of the sickman showed impatience. He made an effort to look at the servant whostood constantly at the head of the bed.

　　"Wants to turn on the other side," whispered the servant, and got upto turn the count's heavy body toward the wall.

　　Pierre rose to help him.

　　While the count was being turned over, one of his arms fell backhelplessly and he made a fruitless effort to pull it forward.Whether he noticed the look of terror with which Pierre regardedthat lifeless arm, or whether some other thought flitted across hisdying brain, at any rate he glanced at the refractory arm, at Pierre'sterror-stricken face, and again at the arm, and on his face afeeble, piteous smile appeared, quite out of keeping with hisfeatures, that seemed to deride his own helplessness. At sight of thissmile Pierre felt an unexpected quivering in his breast and a ticklingin his nose, and tears dimmed his eyes. The sick man was turned onto his side with his face to the wall. He sighed.

　　"He is dozing," said Anna Mikhaylovna, observing that one of theprincesses was coming to take her turn at watching. "Let us go."

　　Pierre went out.