‘First of all you must drink!’
Pierre drank one glass after another, looking from under
his brows at the tipsy guests who were again crowding round
the window, and listening to their chatter. Anatole kept on
refilling Pierre’s glass while explaining that Dolokhov was
betting with Stevens, an English naval officer, that he would
drink a bottle of rum sitting on the outer ledge of the third
floor window with his legs hanging out.
‘Go on, you must drink it all,’ said Anatole, giving Pierre
the last glass, ‘or I won’t let you go!’
‘No, I won’t,’ said Pierre, pushing Anatole aside, and he
went up to the window.
Dolokhov was holding the Englishman’s hand and clearly and distinctly repeating the terms of the bet, addressing
himself particularly to Anatole and Pierre.
Dolokhov was of medium height, with curly hair and
light-blue eyes. He was about twenty-five. Like all infantry
officers he wore no mustache, so that his mouth, the most
striking feature of his face, was clearly seen. The lines of that
mouth were remarkably finely curved. The middle of the upper lip formed a sharp wedge and closed firmly on the firm
55
lower one, and something like two distinct smiles played continually round the two corners of the mouth; this, together
with the resolute, insolent intelligence of his eyes, produced
an effect which made it impossible not to notice his face. Dolokhov was a man of small means and no connections. Yet,
though Anatole spent tens of thousands of rubles, Dolokhov
lived with him and had placed himself on such a footing that
all who knew them, including Anatole himself, respected
him more than they did Anatole. Dolokhov could play all
games and nearly always won. However much he drank, he
never lost his clearheadedness. Both Kuragin and Dolokhov
were at that time notorious among the rakes and scapegraces of Petersburg.
The bottle of rum was brought. The window frame which
prevented anyone from sitting on the outer sill was being
forced out by two footmen, who were evidently flurried and
intimidated by the directions and shouts of the gentlemen
around.
Anatole with his swaggering air strode up to the window.
He wanted to smash something. Pushing away the footmen
he tugged at the frame, but could not move it. He smashed
a pane.
‘You have a try, Hercules,’ said he, turning to Pierre.
Pierre seized the crossbeam, tugged, and wrenched the
oak frame out with a crash.
‘Take it right out, or they’ll think I’m holding on,’ said
Dolokhov.
‘Is the Englishman bragging?… Eh? Is it all right?’ said
Anatole.
56
War and Peace
‘First-rate,’ said Pierre, looking at Dolokhov, who with a
bottle of rum in his hand was approaching the window, from
which the light of the sky, the dawn merging with the afterglow of sunset, was visible.
Dolokhov, the bottle of rum still in his hand, jumped
onto the window sill. ‘Listen!’ cried he, standing there and
addressing those in the room. All were silent.
‘I bet fifty imperials’he spoke French that the Englishman
might understand him, but he did, not speak it very well‘I
bet fifty imperials… or do you wish to make it a hundred?’
added he, addressing the Englishman.
‘No, fifty,’ replied the latter.
‘All right. Fifty imperials… that I will drink a whole bottle
of rum without taking it from my mouth, sitting outside the
window on this spot’ (he stooped and pointed to the sloping
ledge outside the window) ‘and without holding on to anything. Is that right?’
‘Quite right,’ said the Englishman.
Anatole turned to the Englishman and taking him by one
of the buttons of his coat and looking down at himthe Englishman was shortbegan repeating the terms of the wager to
him in English.
‘Wait!’ cried Dolokhov, hammering with the bottle on
the window sill to attract attention. ‘Wait a bit, Kuragin. Listen! If anyone else does the same, I will pay him a hundred
imperials. Do you understand?’
The Englishman nodded, but gave no indication whether
he intended to accept this challenge or not. Anatole did not
release him, and though he kept nodding to show that he
57
understood, Anatole went on translating Dolokhov’s words
into English. A thin young lad, an hussar of the Life Guards,
who had been losing that evening, climbed on the window
sill, leaned over, and looked down.
‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’ he muttered, looking down from the window at the stones of the pavement.
‘Shut up!’ cried Dolokhov, pushing him away from the
window. The lad jumped awkwardly back into the room,
tripping over his spurs.
Placing the bottle on the window sill where he could reach
it easily, Dolokhov climbed carefully and slowly through the
window and lowered his legs. Pressing against both sides
of the window, he adjusted himself on his seat, lowered his
hands, moved a little to the right and then to the left, and
took up the bottle. Anatole brought two candles and placed
them on the window sill, though it was already quite light.
Dolokhov’s back in his white shirt, and his curly head, were
lit up from both sides. Everyone crowded to the window, the
Englishman in front. Pierre stood smiling but silent. One
man, older than the others present, suddenly pushed forward with a scared and angry look and wanted to seize hold
of Dolokhov’s shirt.
‘I say, this is folly! He’ll be killed,’ said this more sensible
man.
Anatole stopped him.
‘Don’t touch him! You’ll startle him and then he’ll be
killed. Eh?… What then?… Eh?’
Dolokhov turned round and, again holding on with both
hands, arranged himself on his seat.
58
War and Peace
‘If anyone comes meddling again,’ said he, emitting the
words separately through his thin compressed lips, ‘I will
throw him down there. Now then!’
Saying this he again turned round, dropped his hands,
took the bottle and lifted it to his lips, threw back his head,
and raised his free hand to balance himself. One of the footmen who had stooped to pick up some broken glass remained
in that position without taking his eyes from the window
and from Dolokhov’s back. Anatole stood erect with staring eyes. The Englishman looked on sideways, pursing up
his lips. The man who had wished to stop the affair ran to
a corner of the room and threw himself on a sofa with his
face to the wall. Pierre hid his face, from which a faint smile
forgot to fade though his features now expressed horror
and fear. All were still. Pierre took his hands from his eyes.
Dolokhov still sat in the same position, only his head was
thrown further back till his curly hair touched his shirt collar, and the hand holding the bottle was lifted higher and
higher and trembled with the effort. The bottle was emptying perceptibly and rising still higher and his head tilting yet
further back. ‘Why is it so long?’ thought Pierre. It seemed
to him that more than half an hour had elapsed. Suddenly
Dolokhov made a backward movement with his spine, and
his arm trembled nervously; this was sufficient to cause his
whole body to slip as he sat on the sloping ledge. As he began
slipping down, his head and arm wavered still more with
the strain. One hand moved as if to clutch the window sill,
but refrained from touching it. Pierre again covered his eyes
and thought he would never never them again. Suddenly he
59
was aware of a stir all around. He looked up: Dolokhov was
standing on the window sill, with a pale but radiant face.
‘It’s empty.’
He threw the bottle to the Englishman, who caught it
neatly. Dolokhov jumped down. He smelt strongly of rum.
‘Well done!… Fine fellow!… There’s a bet for you!… Devil
take you!’ came from different sides.
The Englishman took out his purse and began counting
out the money. Dolokhov stood frowning and did not speak.
Pierre jumped upon the window sill.
‘Gentlemen, who wishes to bet with me? I’ll do the same
thing!’ he suddenly cried. ‘Even without a bet, there! Tell
them to bring me a bottle. I’ll do it…. Bring a bottle!’
‘Let him do it, let him do it,’ said Dolokhov, smiling.
‘What next? Have you gone mad?… No one would let
you!… Why, you go giddy even on a staircase,’ exclaimed
several voices.
‘I’ll drink it! Let’s have a bottle of rum!’ shouted Pierre,
banging the table with a determined and drunken gesture
and preparing to climb out of the window.
They seized him by his arms; but he was so strong that
everyone who touched him was sent flying.
‘No, you’ll never manage him that way,’ said Anatole.
‘Wait a bit and I’ll get round him…. Listen! I’ll take your bet
tomorrow, but now we are all going to -’s.’
‘Come on then,’ cried Pierre. ‘Come on!… And we’ll take
Bruin with us.’
And he caught the bear, took it in his arms, lifted it from
the ground, and began dancing round the room with it.
60
War and Peace
Chapter X
Prince Vasili kept the promise he had given to Princess
Drubetskaya who had spoken to him on behalf of her only
son Boris on the evening of Anna Pavlovna’s soiree. The
matter was mentioned to the Emperor, an exception made,
and Boris transferred into the regiment of Semenov Guards
with the rank of cornet. He received, however, no appointment to Kutuzov’s staff despite all Anna Mikhaylovna’s
endeavors and entreaties. Soon after Anna Pavlovna’s reception Anna Mikhaylovna returned to Moscow and went
straight to her rich relations, the Rostovs, with whom she
stayed when in the town and where and where her darling
Bory, who had only just entered a regiment of the line and
was being at once transferred to the Guards as a cornet, had
been educated from childhood and lived for years at a time.
The Guards had already left Petersburg on the tenth of August, and her son, who had remained in Moscow for his
equipment, was to join them on the march to Radzivilov.
It was St. Natalia’s day and the name day of two of the
Rostovsthe mother and the youngest daughterboth named
Nataly. Ever since the morning, carriages with six horses
had been coming and going continually, bringing visitors to
the Countess Rostova’s big house on the Povarskaya, so well
known to all Moscow. The countess herself and her handsome eldest daughter were in the drawing-room with the
61
visitors who came to congratulate, and who constantly succeeded one another in relays.
The countess was a woman
