War and peace ( Constance Garnett-1900)

‘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.

‘No, 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 he 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! ... 00! ... 00!’ he said, looking out of 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 retreated to the corner of the room, and lay on the sofa with his face to the wall. Pierre hid his face, and a smile strayed forgotten upon it, though it was full of terror and fear. All were silent. Pierre took his hands from his eyes; Dolohov was still sitting in the same position, only his head was so far bent back that his curls touched his shirt collar, and the hand with the bottle rose higher and higher, trembling with evident effort. Evidently the bottle was nearly empty, and so was tipped higher, throwing the head back.

‘Why is it so long?’ thought Pierre. It seemed to him that more than half an hour had passed. Suddenly Dolohov made a backward movement of the spine, and his arm trembled nervously; this was enough to displace his whole body as he sat on the sloping projection. He moved all over, and his arm and head trembled still more violently with the strain. One hand rose to clutch at the window-ledge, but it dropped again. Pierre shut his eyes once more, and said to himself that he would never open them again. Suddenly he was aware of a general stir about him. He glanced up, Dolohov was standing on the window-ledge, his face was pale and full of merriment.

‘Empty!’

He tossed the bottle to the Englishman, who caught it neatly. Dolohov jumped down from the window. He smelt very strongly of rum.

‘Capital! Bravo! That’s something like a bet. You’re a devil of a fellow! ’ came shouts from all sides.

The Englishman took out his purse and counted out the money. Dolohov frowned and did not speak. Pierre dashed up to the window.

‘Gentlemen. Who’ll take a bet with me? I’ll do the same!’ he shouted suddenly. ‘I don’t care about betting; see here, tell them to give me a bottle. I’ll do it. . . . Tell them to give it here.’

‘Let him, let him!’ said Dolohov, smiling.