战争与和平(上)-第7章

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　suddenly　flushed　crimson。　Apparently　it　was　a　great　effort　to　him　to　say　this。　“With　no　name；　no　fortune。…And　after　all；　really…”　He　did　not　finish。　“Meanwhile　I　am　free　though　and　I’m　content。　I　don’t　know　in　the　least　what　to　set　about　doing。　I　meant　to　ask　your　advice　in　earnest。”
Prince　Andrey　looked　at　him　with　kindly　eyes。　But　in　his　eyes；　friendly　and　kind　as　they　were；　there　was　yet　a　consciousness　of　his　own　superiority。
“You　are　dear　to　me　just　because　you　are　the　one　live　person　in　all　our　society。　You’re　lucky。　Choose　what　you　will；　that’s　all　the　same。　You’ll　always　be　all　right；　but　there’s　one　thing：　give　up　going　about　with　the　Kuragins　and　leading　this　sort　of　life。　It’s　not　the　right　thing　for　you　at　all；　all　this　riotous　living　and　dissipation　and　all…”
“What　would　you　have；　my　dear　fellow？”　said　Pierre；　shrugging　his　shoulders；　“women；　my　dear　fellow；　women。”
“I　can’t　understand　it；”　answered　Andrey。　“Ladies；　that’s　another　matter；　but　Kuragin’s　women；　women　and　wine；　I　can’t　understand！”
Pierre　was　living　at　Prince　Vassily　Kuragin’s；　and　sharing　in　the　dissipated　mode　of　life　of　his　son　Anatole；　the　son　whom　they　were　proposing　to　marry　to　Prince　Andrey’s　sister　to　reform　him。
“Do　you　know　what；”　said　Pierre；　as　though　a　happy　thought　had　suddenly　occurred　to　him；　“seriously；　I　have　been　thinking　so　for　a　long　while。　Leading　this　sort　of　life　I　can’t　decide　on　anything；　or　consider　anything　properly。　My　head　aches　and　my　money’s　all　gone。　He　invited　me　to…night；　but　I　won’t　go。”
“Give　me　your　word　of　honour　that　you　will　give　up　going。”
“On　my　honour！”
It　was　past　one　o’clock　when　Pierre　left　his　friend’s　house。　It　was　a　cloudless　night；　a　typical　Petersburg　summer　night。　Pierre　got　into　a　hired　coach；　intending　to　drive　home。　But　the　nearer　he　got；　the　more　he　felt　it　impossible　to　go　to　bed　on　such　a　night；　more　like　evening　or　morning。　It　was　light　enough　to　see　a　long　way　in　the　empty　streets。　On　the　way　Pierre　remembered　that　all　the　usual　gambling　set　were　to　meet　at　Anatole　Kuragin’s　that　evening；　after　which　there　usually　followed　a　drinking…bout；　winding　up　with　one　of　Pierre’s　favorite　entertainments。
“It　would　be　jolly　to　go　to　Kuragin’s；”　he　thought。　But　he　immediately　recalled　his　promise　to　Prince　Andrey　not　to　go　there　again。
But；　as　so　often　happens　with　people　of　weak　character；　as　it　is　called；　he　was　at　once　overcome　with　such　a　passionate　desire　to　enjoy　once　more　this　sort　of　dissipation　which　had　become　so　familiar　to　him；　that　he　determined　to　go。　And　the　idea　at　once　occurred　to　him　that　his　promise　was　of　no　consequence；　since　he　had　already　promised　Prince　Anatole　to　go　before　making　the　promise　to　Andrey。　Finally　he　reflected　that　all　such　promises　were　merely　relative　matters；　having　no　sort　of　precise　significance；　especially　if　one　considered　that　to…morrow　one　might　be　dead　or　something　so　extraordinary　might　happen　that　the　distinction　between　honourable　and　dishonourable　would　have　ceased　to　exist。　Such　reflections　often　occurred　to　Pierre；　completely　nullifying　all　his　resolutions　and　intentions。　He　went　to　Kuragin’s。
Driving　up　to　the　steps　of　a　big　house　in　the　Horse　Guards’　barracks；　where　Anatole　lived；　he　ran　up　the　lighted　steps　and　the　staircase　and　went　in　at　an　open　door。　There　was　no　one　in　the　ante…room；　empty　bottles；　cloaks；　and　over…shoes　were　lying　about　in　disorder：　there　was　a　strong　smell　of　spirits；　in　the　distance　he　heard　talking　and　shouting。
The　card…playing　and　the　supper　were　over；　but　the　party　had　not　broken　up。　Pierre　flung　off　his　cloak；　and　went　into　the　first　room；　where　there　were　the　remnants　of　supper；　and　a　footman　who；　thinking　himself　unobserved；　was　emptying　the　half…full　glasses　on　the　sly。　In　the　third　room　there　was　a　great　uproar　of　laughter；　familiar　voices　shouting；　and　a　bear　growling。　Eight　young　men　were　crowding　eagerly　about　the　open　window。　Three　others　were　busy　with　a　young　bear；　one　of　them　dragging　at　its　chain　and　frightening　the　others　with　it。
“I　bet　a　hundred　on　Stevens！”　cried　one。
“Mind　there’s　no　holding　him　up！”　shouted　another。
“I’m　for　Dolohov！”　shouted　a　third。　“Hold　the　stakes；　Kuragin。”
“I　say；　let　Mishka　be；　we’re　betting。”
“All　at　a　go　or　the　wager’s　lost！”　cried　a　fourth。
“Yakov；　give　us　a　bottle；　Yakov！”　shouted　Anatole　himself；　a　tall；　handsome　fellow；　standing　in　the　middle　of　the　room；　in　nothing　but　a　thin　shirt；　open　over　his　chest。　“Stop；　gentlemen。　Here　he　is；　here’s　Petrusha；　the　dear　fellow。”　He　turned　to　Pierre。
A　man　of　medium　height　with　bright　blue　eyes；　especially　remarkable　from　looking　sober　in　the　midst　of　the　drunken　uproar；　shouted　from　the　window：　“Come　here。　I’ll　explain　the　bets！”　This　was　Dolohov；　an　officer　of　the　Semenov　regiment；　a　notorious　gambler　and　duellist；　who　was　living　with　Anatole。　Pierre　smiled；　looking　good…humouredly　about　him。
“I　don’t　understand。　What’s　the　point？”
“Wait　a　minute；　he’s　not　drunk。　A　bottle　here；”　said　Anatole；　and　taking　a　glass　from　the　table　he　went　up　to　Pierre。
“First　of　all；　you　must　drink。”
Pierre　began　drinking　off　glass　after　glass；　looking　from　under　his　brows　at　the　drunken　group；　who　had　crowded　about　the　window　again；　and　listening　to　their　talk。　Anatole　kept　his　glass　filled　and　told　him　that　Dolohov　had　made　a　bet　with　an　Englishman；　Stevens；　a　sailor　who　was　staying　here；　that　he；　Dolohov；　would　drink　a　bottle　of　rum　sitting　in　the　third　story　window　with　his　legs　hanging　down　outside。
“Come；　empty　the　bottle；”　said　Anatole；　giving　Pierre　the　last　glass；　“or　I　won’t　let　you　go！”
“No；　I　don’t　want　to；”　said　Pierre；　shoving　Anatole　away；　and　he　went　up　to　the　window。
Dolohov　was　holding　the　Englishman’s　hand　and　explaining　distinctly　the　terms　of　the　bet；　addressing　himself　principally　to　Anatole　and　Pierre。
Dolohov　was　a　man　of　medium　height；　with　curly　hair　and　clear　blue　eyes。　He　was　five…and…twenty。　Like　all　infantry　officers　he　wore　no　moustache；　so　that　his　mouth；　the　most　striking　feature　in　his　face；　was　not　concealed。　The　lines　of　that　mouth　were　extremely　delicately　chiselled。　The　upper　lip　closed　vigorously　in　a　sharp　wedge…shape　on　the　firm　lower　one；　and　at　the　corners　the　mouth　always　formed　something　like　two　smiles；　one　at　each　side；　and　altogether；　especially　in　conjunction　with　the　resolute；　insolent；　shrewd　look　of　his　eyes；　made　such　an　impression　that　it　was　impossible　to　overlook　his　face。　Dolohov　was　a　man　of　small　means　and　no　connections。　And　yet　though　Anatole　was　spending　ten　thousand　a　year；　Dolohov　lived　with　him　and　succeeded　in　so　regulating　the　position　that　Anatole　and　all　who　knew　them　respected　Dolohov　more　than　Anatole。　Dolohov　played　at　every　sort　of　game；　and　almost　always　won。　However　much　he　drank；　his　brain　never　lost　its　clearness。　Both　Kuragin　and　Dolohov　were　at　that　time　notorious　figures　in　the　fast　and　dissipated　world　in　Petersburg。
The　bottle　of　rum　was　brought：　the　window…frame；　which　hindered　any　one　sitting　on　the　outside　sill　of　the　window；　was　being　broken　out　by　two　footmen；　obviously　flurried　and　intimidated　by　the　shouts　and　directions　given　by　the　gentlemen　around　them。
Anatole　with　his　swaggering　air　came　up　to　the　window。　He　was　longing　to　break　something。　He　shoved　the　footmen　aside　and　pulled　at　the　frame；　but　the　frame　did　not　give。　He　smashed　a　pane。
“Now　then；　you’re　the　strong　man；”　he　turned　to　Pierre。　Pierre　took　hold　of　the　cross　beam；　tugged；　and　with　a　crash　wrenched　the　oak　frame　out。
“All　out；　or　they’ll　think　I’m　holding　on；”　said　Dolohov。
“The　Englishman’s　bragging…it’s　a　fine　feat…eh？”　said　Anatole。
“Fine；”　said　Pierre；　looking　at　Dolohov；　who　with　the　bottle　in　his　hand　had　gone　up　to　the　window；　from　which　the　light　of　the　sky　could　be　seen　and　the　glow　of　morning　and　of　evening　melting　into　it。　Dolohov　jumped　up　on　to　the　window；　holding　the　bottle　of　rum　in　his　hand。　“Listen！”　he　shouted；　standing　on　the　sill　and　facing　the　room。　Every　one　was　silent。
“I　take　a　bet”　（he　spoke　in　French　that　the　Englishman　might　hear　him；　and　spoke　it　none　too　well）…“I　take　a　bet　for　fifty　imperials—like　to　make　it　a　hundred？”　he　added；　turning　to　the　Englishman。
“Nó；　fifty；”　said　the　Englishman。
“Good；　for　fifty　imperials；　that　I’ll　drink　off　a　whole　bottle　of　rum　without　taking　it　from　my　lips。　I’ll　drink　it　sitting　outside　the　window；　here　on　this　place”　（he　bent　down　and　pointed　to　the　sloping　projection　of　the　wall　outside　the　window）…　“and　without　holding　on　to　anything。…That　right？”
“All　right；”　said　the　Englishman。
Anatole　turned　to　the　Englishman　and　taking　him　by　the　button　of　his　coat；　and　looking　down　at　him　（the　Englishman　was　a　short　man）；　he　began　repeating　the　terms　of　the　wager　in　English。
“Wait　a　minute！”　shouted　Dolohov；　striking　the　bottle　on　the　window　to　call　attention。　“Wait　a　minute；　Kuragin；　listen：　if　any　one　does　the　same　thing；　I’ll　pay　him　a　hundred　imperials。　Do　you　understand？”
The　Englishman　nodded　without　making　it　plain　whether　be　intended　to　take　this　new　bet　or　not。
Anatole　persisted　in　keeping　hold　of　the　Englishman；　and　although　the　latter；　nodding；　gave　him　to　understand　that　he　comprehended　fully；　Anatole　translated　Dolohov’s　words　into　English。　A　thin；　youthful　hussar；　who　had　been　losing　at　cards　that　evening；　slipped　up　to　the　window；　poked　his　head　out　and　looked　down。
“Oo！…oo！…oo！”　he　said　looking　out　of　the　window　at　the　pavement　below。
“Shut　up！”　cried　Dolohov；　and　he　pushed　the　officer　away；　so　that；　tripping　over　his　spurs；　he　went　skipping　awkwardly　into　the　room。
Setting　the　bottle　on　the　window…sill；　so　as　to　have　it　within　reach；　Dolohov　climbed　slowly　and　carefully　into　the　window。　Lowering　his　legs　over；　with　both　hands　spread　open　on　the　window…ledge；　he　tried　the　position；　seated　himself；　let　his　hands　go；　moved　a　little　to　the　right；　and　then　to　the　left；　and　took　the　bottle。　Anatole　brought　two　candles；　and　set　them　on　the　window…ledge；　so　that　it　was　quite　light。　Dolohov’s　back　in　his　white　shirt　and　his　curly　head　were　lighted　up　on　both　sides。　All　crowded　round　the　window。　The　Englishman　stood　in　front。　Pierre　smiled；　and　said　nothing。　One　of　the　party；　rather　older　than　the　rest；　suddenly　came　forward　with　a　scared　and　angry　face；　and　tried　to　clutch　Dolohov　by　his　shirt。
“Gentlemen；　this　is　idiocy；　he’ll　be　killed；”　said　this　more　sensible　man。
Anatole　stopped　him。
“Don’t　touch　him；　you’ll　startle　him　and　he’ll　be　killed。　Eh？…What　then；　eh？”
Dolohov　turned；　balancing　himself；　and　again　spreading　his　hands　out。
“If　any　one　takes　hold　of　me　again；”　he　said；　letting　his　words　drop　one　by　one　through　his　thin；　tightly　compressed　lips；　“I’ll　throw　him　down　from　here。　Now…”
Saying　“now；”　he　turned　again；　let　his　hands　drop；　took　the　bottle　and　put　it　to　his　lips；　bent　his　head　back　and　held　his　disengaged　hand　upwards　to　keep　his　balance。　One　of　the　footmen　who　had　begun　clearing　away　the　broken　glass；　stopped　still　in　a　stooping　posture；　his　eyes　fixed　on　the　window　and　Dolohov’s　back。　Anatole　stood　upright；　with　wide…open　eyes。　The　Englishman　stared　from　one　side；　pursing　up　his　lips。　The　man　who　had　tried　to　stop　it；　had　retre