War And Peace

‘No, nothing has changed. I’ve just dropped in for a little chat, Katishe, about business,’ said the prince, sinking wearily into the low chair from which she had just got up. ‘Oh, it’s quite warm in here,’ he said. ‘Come and sit down. Let’s talk.’

‘I was just wondering whether anything had happened,’ said the princess, and with that perpetually stony look on her prim face she sat down opposite the prince, ready to listen. ‘I have been trying to get some sleep, Cousin, but I can’t.’

‘Well now, my dear,’ said Prince Vasily, taking the princess’s hand, and pressing it downwards as he often did. This little phrase clearly touched on things that both of them knew but neither spoke of.

The princess, with her spare, rigid body, too long for her legs, looked straight at the prince with no sign of emotion in her prominent grey eyes. She shook her head and looked round at the icons with a sigh. This movement might have been interpreted as an expression of sorrow and devotion, or perhaps one of weariness and the hope for a speedy release. Prince Vasily opted for weariness.

‘Do you imagine it’s any easier for me?’ he said. ‘I’m as worn out as a post-horse. But I must speak to you, Katishe. It’s something serious.’

Prince Vasily broke off, and his cheeks began to twitch nervously, first on one side, then on the other, giving his face an unpleasant look the like of which was never seen when he was in a drawing-room. His eyes, too, were different; they either stared out with a kind of crude humour in them or they darted about furtively.

The princess held her lap dog with her thin, dry hands, staring closely at Prince Vasily, and it was soon obvious that she was not going break the silence, if she had to sit there till morning.

‘Well, it’s like this, my dear princess and cousin, Katerina Semyonovna,’ said Prince Vasily, clearly struggling to continue. ‘At times like this, one must think of everything. We must think about the future – about you. I love all of you as I love my own children. You know that.’ The princess looked at him with the same fixed, inscrutable gaze.

‘But when all’s said and done, we have to think of my family too,’ continued Prince Vasily, petulantly shoving away a little table while avoiding her eyes. ‘You know, Katishe, that you three Mamontov sisters and my wife are the only direct heirs of the count. I know, I know, it is distressing for you to speak and think about such things. I don’t find it any easier. But, my dear, I’m over fifty now and I must be ready for anything. Did you know I had sent for Pierre, and that the count pointed to his portrait and asked to see him?’

Prince Vasily looked inquiringly at the princess, but he couldn’t work out whether she was absorbing what he had said, or just looking at him.

‘Cousin, I pray constantly for one thing only . . .’ she replied, ‘that God may have mercy on his noble soul as he departs this . . .’

‘Yes, yes,’ Prince Vasily went on impatiently, wiping his bald head and angrily pulling back the table he had just shoved away, ‘but as things stand . . . er, well, the point is this – I’m sure you know that last winter the count made a will which bypassed his direct heirs including us and left all his estate to Pierre.’

‘He must have made lots of wills,’ the princess said placidly, ‘but he couldn’t leave everything to Pierre. Pierre is illegitimate.’

‘My dear cousin,’ he snapped, clutching the table in his growing excitement and hurrying his words, ‘what if a letter had been written by the count to the Emperor asking for permission to adopt Pierre as his legitimate son? You must realize that the count’s service would mean that his request would be granted.’

The princess smiled, as people do when they think they know more than the person they are talking to.

‘I’ll go further,’ said Prince Vasily, taking her hand. ‘That letter has been written, and although it was never sent, the Emperor knows of its existence. The only question is – has it been destroyed or not? If not, when it’s . . . all over,’ Prince Vasily sighed, giving her a chance to see what he meant by the words ‘all over’, ‘and they go through the count’s papers, the will and the letter will be given to the Emperor together, and his request will probably be granted. As the legitimate son, Pierre will get everything.’

‘What about our share?’ asked the princess with a twisted smile, as if anything could happen, only not that.

‘Why, my poor Katishe, it’s as clear as daylight. He will then be the sole legal heir to everything, and you won’t get a thing. You must surely know, my dear, whether the will and the letter were written, and whether or not they were destroyed. And if by any chance they have been mislaid, then you ought to know where they are and be able to find them, because . . .’