War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [27]
“Empty!”
He tossed the bottle to the Englishman, who deftly caught it. Dolokhov jumped down from the window. He smelled strongly of rum.
“Excellent! Good boy! There’s a bet for you! Devil take you all!” they cried on all sides.
The Englishman, having produced his purse, counted out the money. Dolokhov frowned and said nothing. Pierre climbed into the window.
“Gentlemen! Who wants to make a bet with me? I’ll do the same thing,” he suddenly shouted. “And there’s no need for a bet, that’s what. Tell them to bring a bottle. I’ll do it…tell them.”
“Let him, let him!” said Dolokhov, smiling.
“What, have you lost your mind? Who’d let you? You get dizzy on the stairs,” came from various sides.
“I’ll drink it, give me a bottle of rum!” Pierre cried, pounding the table with a determined and drunken gesture, and he climbed into the window.
They seized him by the arms; but he was so strong that he pushed those who came near him far away.
“No, you won’t get anywhere with him that way,” said Anatole. “Wait, I’ll trick him. Listen, I’ll make a bet with you, but tomorrow, and now let’s all go to the * * *.”
“Let’s go,” cried Pierre, “let’s go!…And we’ll take Bruin with us…”
And he seized the bear and, hugging him and lifting him up, began waltzing around the room with him.
VII
Prince Vassily fulfilled the promise he had given at Anna Pavlovna’s soirée to Princess Drubetskoy, who had solicited him for her only son Boris. A report on him was made to the sovereign, and, unlike others, he was transferred to the Semyonovsky guards regiment as an ensign. But Boris was not to be appointed adjutant or attaché to Kutuzov, despite all Anna Mikhailovna’s soliciting and scheming. Soon after Anna Pavlovna’s soirée, Anna Mikhailovna returned to Moscow, straight to her rich relations, the Rostovs, with whom she stayed in Moscow, and with whom her adored Borenka, just made an ensign in the army and transferred to the guards, had been brought up and had lived for years. The guards had already left Petersburg on the tenth of August, and her son, who had remained in Moscow to equip himself, was to catch up with them on the way to Radzivilov.
At the Rostovs’ it was the name day of the Natalyas, mother and younger daughter.24 Since morning, coach and sixes had constantly been driving up and leaving, bringing people with congratulations to the big house of the countess Rostov on Povarskaya Street, which was known to all Moscow. The countess with her beautiful older daughter and the guests, who constantly replaced each other, were sitting in the drawing room.
The countess was a woman with a thin, Oriental type of face, forty-five years old, evidently worn out by children, of whom she had had twelve. The slowness of her movements and speech, caused by weakness, gave her an air of importance that inspired respect. Princess Anna Mikhailovna Drubetskoy, as a member of the household, sat right there, helping with the business of receiving the guests and occupying them with conversation. The young people were in the back rooms, finding it unnecessary to take part in receiving visits. The count met the guests and saw them off, inviting them all to dinner.
“Much obliged to you, ma chère or mon cher” (he said ma chère or mon cher to everyone without exception and without the slightest nuance, whether they were of higher or lower standing than himself), “for myself and the dear name-day ladies. See that you come for dinner. You’ll offend me if you don’t, mon cher. I cordially invite you on behalf of the whole family, ma chère.” These words he said with the same expression on his full, cheerful, and clean-shaven face, with the same strong handshake and repeated short bows, to everyone without exception or variation. Having seen off a guest, the count would return to the gentleman or lady who was still in the drawing room; moving up an armchair, and with the look of a man who loves life and knows how to live it, spreading his legs dashingly and putting his hands