Book One: 1805 - Chapter IX

by Leo Tolstoy

　　It was past one o'clock when Pierre left his friend. It was acloudless, northern, summer night. Pierre took an open cab intendingto drive straight home. But the nearer he drew to the house the morehe felt the impossibility of going to sleep on such a night. It waslight enough to see a long way in the deserted street and it seemedmore like morning or evening than night. On the way Pierreremembered that Anatole Kuragin was expecting the usual set forcards that evening, after which there was generally a drinking bout,finishing with visits of a kind Pierre was very fond of.

　　"I should like to go to Kuragin's," thought he.

　　But he immediately recalled his promise to Prince Andrew not to gothere. Then, as happens to people of weak character, he desired sopassionately once more to enjoy that dissipation he was soaccustomed to that he decided to go. The thought immediatelyoccurred to him that his promise to Prince Andrew was of no account,because before he gave it he had already promised Prince Anatole tocome to his gathering; "besides," thought he, "all such 'words ofhonor' are conventional things with no definite meaning, especially ifone considers that by tomorrow one may be dead, or something soextraordinary may happen to one that honor and dishonor will be allthe same!" Pierre often indulged in reflections of this sort,nullifying all his decisions and intentions. He went to Kuragin's.

　　Reaching the large house near the Horse Guards' barracks, in whichAnatole lived, Pierre entered the lighted porch, ascended thestairs, and went in at the open door. There was no one in theanteroom; empty bottles, cloaks, and overshoes were lying about; therewas a smell of alcohol, and sounds of voices and shouting in thedistance.

　　Cards and supper were over, but the visitors had not yetdispersed. Pierre threw off his cloak and entered the first room, inwhich were the remains of supper. A footman, thinking no one sawhim, was drinking on the sly what was left in the glasses. From thethird room came sounds of laughter, the shouting of familiar voices,the growling of a bear, and general commotion. Some eight or nineyoung men were crowding anxiously round an open window. Three otherswere romping with a young bear, one pulling him by the chain andtrying to set him at the others.

　　"I bet a hundred on Stevens!" shouted one.

　　"Mind, no holding on!" cried another.

　　"I bet on Dolokhov!" cried a third. "Kuragin, you part our hands."

　　"There, leave Bruin alone; here's a bet on."

　　"At one draught, or he loses!" shouted a fourth.

　　"Jacob, bring a bottle!" shouted the host, a tall, handsome fellowwho stood in the midst of the group, without a coat, and with his finelinen shirt unfastened in front. "Wait a bit, you fellows.... Hereis Petya! Good man!" cried he, addressing Pierre.

　　Another voice, from a man of medium height with clear blue eyes,particularly striking among all these drunken voices by its soberring, cried from the window: "Come here; part the bets!" This wasDolokhov, an officer of the Semenov regiment, a notorious gamblerand duelist, who was living with Anatole. Pierre smiled, looking abouthim merrily.

　　"I don't understand. What's it all about?"

　　"Wait a bit, he is not drunk yet! A bottle here," said Anatole,taking a glass from the table he went up to Pierre.

　　"First of all you must drink!"

　　Pierre drank one glass after another, looking from under his browsat the tipsy guests who were again crowding round the window, andlistening to their chatter. Anatole kept on refilling Pierre's glasswhile explaining that Dolokhov was betting with Stevens, an Englishnaval officer, that he would drink a bottle of rum sitting on theouter ledge of the third floor window with his legs hanging out.

　　"Go on, you must drink it all," said Anatole, giving Pierre the lastglass, "or I won't let you go!"

　　"No, I won't," said Pierre, pushing Anatole aside, and he went up tothe window.

　　Dolokhov was holding the Englishman's hand and clearly anddistinctly repeating the terms of the bet, addressing himselfparticularly to Anatole and Pierre.

　　Dolokhov was of medium height, with curly hair and light-blueeyes. He was about twenty-five. Like all infantry officers he woreno mustache, so that his mouth, the most striking feature of his face,was clearly seen. The lines of that mouth were remarkably finelycurved. The middle of the upper lip formed a sharp wedge and closedfirmly on the firm lower one, and something like two distinct smilesplayed 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, thoughAnatole spent tens of thousands of rubles, Dolokhov lived with him andhad placed himself on such a footing that all who knew them, includingAnatole himself, respected him more than they did Anatole. Dolokhovcould play all games and nearly always won. However much he drank,he never lost his clearheadedness. Both Kuragin and Dolokhov were atthat time notorious among the rakes and scapegraces of Petersburg.

　　The bottle of rum was brought. The window frame which preventedanyone from sitting on the outer sill was being forced out by twofootmen, who were evidently flurried and intimidated by the directionsand shouts of the gentlemen around.

　　Anatole with his swaggering air strode up to the window. He wantedto 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 frameout 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.

　　"First-rate," said Pierre, looking at Dolokhov, who with a bottle ofrum in his hand was approaching the window, from which the light ofthe sky, the dawn merging with the afterglow of sunset, was visible.

　　Dolokhov, the bottle of rum still in his hand, jumped onto thewindow sill. "Listen!" cried he, standing there and addressing thosein the room. All were silent.

　　"I bet fifty imperials"- he spoke French that the Englishman mightunderstand him, but he did, not speak it very well- "I bet fiftyimperials... 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 ofrum without taking it from my mouth, sitting outside the window onthis spot" (he stooped and pointed to the sloping ledge outside thewindow) "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 thebuttons of his coat and looking down at him- the Englishman was short-began repeating the terms of the wager to him in English.

　　"Wait!" cried Dolokhov, hammering with the bottle on the window sillto attract attention. "Wait a bit, Kuragin. Listen! If anyone elsedoes the same, I will pay him a hundred imperials. Do you understand?"

　　The Englishman nodded, but gave no indication whether he intended toaccept this challenge or not. Anatole did not release him, andthough he kept nodding to show that he understood, Anatole went ontranslating Dolokhov's words into English. A thin young lad, an hussarof the Life Guards, who had been losing that evening, climbed on thewindow sill, leaned over, and looked down.

　　"Oh! Oh! Oh!" he muttered, looking down from the window at thestones of the pavement.

　　"Shut up!" cried Dolokhov, pushing him away from the window. The ladjumped awkwardly back into the room, tripping over his spurs.

　　Placing the bottle on the window sill where he could reach iteasily, Dolokhov climbed carefully and slowly through the window andlowered his legs. Pressing against both sides of the window, headjusted himself on his seat, lowered his hands, moved a little to theright and then to the left, and took up the bottle. Anatole broughttwo candles and placed them on the window sill, though it wasalready quite light. Dolokhov's back in his white shirt, and his curlyhead, were lit up from both sides. Everyone crowded to the window, theEnglishman in front. Pierre stood smiling but silent. One man, olderthan the others present, suddenly pushed forward with a scared andangry look and wanted to seize hold of Dolokhov's shirt.

　　"I say, this is folly! He'll be killed," said this more sensibleman.

　　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.

　　"If anyone comes meddling again," said he, emitting the wordsseparately through his thin compressed lips, "I will throw him downthere. Now then!"

　　Saying this he again turned round, dropped his hands, took thebottle and lifted it to his lips, threw back his head, and raisedhis free hand to balance himself. One of the footmen who had stoopedto pick up some broken glass remained in that position withouttaking his eyes from the window and from Dolokhov's back. Anatolestood erect with staring eyes. The Englishman looked on sideways,pursing up his lips. The man who had wished to stop the affair ranto a corner of the room and threw himself on a sofa with his face tothe wall. Pierre hid his face, from which a faint smile forgot to fadethough his features now expressed horror and fear. All were still.Pierre took his hands from his eyes. Dolokhov still sat in the sameposition, only his head was thrown further back till his curly hairtouched his shirt collar, and the hand holding the bottle was liftedhigher and higher and trembled with the effort. The bottle wasemptying perceptibly and rising still higher and his head tiltingyet further back. "Why is it so long?" thought Pierre. It seemed tohim that more than half an hour had elapsed. Suddenly Dolokhov madea backward movement with his spine, and his arm trembled nervously;this was sufficient to cause his whole body to slip as he sat on thesloping ledge. As he began slipping down, his head and arm waveredstill more with the strain. One hand moved as if to clutch thewindow sill, but refrained from touching it. Pierre again coveredhis eyes and thought he would never never them again. Suddenly hewas aware of a stir all around. He looked up: Dolokhov was standing onthe 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!... Deviltake you!" came from different sides.

　　The Englishman took out his purse and began counting out themoney. Dolokhov stood frowning and did not speak. Pierre jumped uponthe window sill.

　　"Gentlemen, who wishes to bet with me? I'll do the same thing!" hesuddenly cried. "Even without a bet, there! Tell them to bring me abottle. 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, bangingthe table with a determined and drunken gesture and preparing to climbout of the window.

　　They seized him by his arms; but he was so strong that everyonewho touched him was sent flying.

　　"No, you'll never manage him that way," said Anatole. "Wait a bitand I'll get round him.... Listen! I'll take your bet tomorrow, butnow we are all going to -'s."

　　"Come on then," cried Pierre. "Come on!... And we'll take Bruin withus."

　　And he caught the bear, took it in his arms, lifted it from theground, and began dancing round the room with it.