Chapter Summaries: Dole: Pierre breaks his promise and goes once more. The scene at the Horseguard Barracks. The wager between Stevens and Dolokhof. Character of Dolokhof. Dolokhof drains the bottle, and wins fifty rubles. Pierre's frolic with the bear.
Maude (chapter 9): Pierre at Anatole Kuragin's. Dolokhov's bet.
Translation:
It was now the second hour of the night when Pierre left his friend. The night was a June, mad Petersburg, night. Pierre sat down in the carriage seat with the intention to go home. Yet the nearer he drove, the more he felt the impossibility to fall asleep on this night that was more like the evening or the morning. From far away it was seen how empty the street was. Dear Pierre remembered that Anatole Kuragin this night was gathering the ordinary gambling society, with whom he usually went drinking, ending with one of the loved amusements of Pierre.
“It would be okay to go to Kuragin’s,” he thought. Yet immediately he remembered his word of honor to Prince Andrey not to visit Kuragin.
But immediately again, as with people that are called characterless, he so passionately wanted more time to test this, so familiar to him, dissolute life, that he decided to go. And immediately again in his head came the idea that this word meant nothing because that still before telling Prince Andrey, he also gave Prince Anatole his word; finally, he thought, that all of these were honest words — such conditional things, not having a certain sense, especially should you realize that, maybe, tomorrow he will die or something extraordinary will happen that will not make it either honest or dishonorable. Such familiar reasoning, destroying all his decisions and assumptions, often came to Pierre. He went to Kuragin’s.
He drove to the porch to the big home in the barracks of the horse guards in which Anatole lived, rose to the lighted porch, onto the stairs, and entered into an open door. At the front was nobody; empty bottles, raincoats, galoshes were lying about; it smelled like wine, and further shouting was heard.
The game and dinner was now finished, but the visitors still had not parted. Pierre threw off his cloak and entered into the first room, where there were leftovers from dinner and one lackey, thinking that no one would see, secretly drank unfinished glasses. Out of the third room was heard fussing, laughter, the shouting of acquaintances and the roar of a bear. Eight young people crowded with concern about an open window. Three fussed with a young bear, whom one dragged in chains, scaring one another.
— Hold for Stevens’ one hundred! — shouted one.
— Look, no support! — shouted another.
— I’m for Dolohov! — shouted a third. — Differentiate, Kuragin.
— Well, throw in Mishka, here is a bet.
— By one soul, otherwise a loss, — shouted a fourth.
— Yakov! Come on, a bottle, Yakov! — shouted the master, a tall beauty, standing in the middle of the crowd in a single fine shirt, open at the middle of the breast. — stop, gentleman. Here is Petrusha, my sweet friend, — turning to Pierre.
Another voice of a man, with clear blue eyes, especially striking among all these drunk voices for its sober expression, shouted from the window: — Go here — catch up on the bet! — this was Dolohov, the Semenovsky officer, known as a player and scrapper, living together with Anatole. Pierre, smiling, funnily looked around himself.
— I don’t understand. What is this business? — he asked.
— Stop, he’s not drunk. Give a bottle, — said Anatole and, taking from the desk a glass, came up to Pierre.
— Just drink.
Pierre had begun drinking glass after glass, sneakily looking around the drunken guests, which crowded more at the window, and listened to their talk. Anatole poured him wine and said that Dolohov held a bet with the Englishman Stevens, a former sailor here, and that he, Dolohov, will drink a bottle of rum, sitting on the window of the third floor off of his feet.
— Well, drink again! — said Anatole, giving the last glass to Pierre, — and I will release you!
— No, I don’t want to, — said Pierre, pushing away Anatole, and went up to the window.
Dolohov held the arm of the Englishman and was clearly pronouncing the conditions of the bet, turning predominantly to Anatole and Pierre.
Dolohov was a person of middle stature, curly with bright, blue eyes. He was twenty five years-old. He didn’t wear a mustache, as all infantry officers, and his mouth, itself the astounding feature of his face, was all visible. The lines of this mouth were wonderfully thin and curved. In the middle of his top lip energetically descended a strong sharp wedge, and in the corners formed constantly into some kind of double smile, one for every party; and everything together, but especially in the connection with the solid, insolent, and smart look, formed an impression such as that this could not be noticed in this face. Dolohov was not a rich person, without all connections. And despite this, and that Anatole lived with tens of thousands, Dolohov lived with him and spent so much time with him that Anatole and all who knew them respected Dolohov more than Anatole. Dolohov played in every game and almost always won. No matter how much he drank, he never lost the clarity of his head. Kuragin and Dolohov in that time were minorities in the world of hanging and drinking in Petersburg.
A bottle of rum was brought to the frame, not letting it sit on the external slope of the window, broke out by two lackeys, apparently in a hurry and timidly from the advice and screams of the surrounding gentleman.
Anatole, with a victorious look, came up to the window. He wanted to break something. He pushed back the lackeys and pulled the frame, but the frame didn’t give. He broke the glass.
— Well now you’re the strongman, — he turned to Pierre.
Pierre grabbed behind the crossbars, pulled and with a bang broke the inverted oak frame.
— It’s all out, but so you don’t think I am holding on, — said Dolohov.
— The Englishman boasts... but?... okay?... — said Anatole.
— Okay, — said Pierre, looking at Dolohov, who, taking in his hand a bottle of rum, approached the window, out of which the light sky was seen and merged into him the morning and evening dawn.
Dolohov with a bottle of rum in hand jumped up onto the window.
— Listen! — he shouted, standing up on the windowsill and turning towards the room. All fell silent.
— I hold a bet (he spoke in French for the Englishman, and spoke not too well in this language). — hold a bet for fifty imperials, want to make it one hundred? — he added, turned to the Englishman.
— No, fifty, — said the Englishman.
— Okay, for fifty imperials, — I will drink the whole bottle of rum, not taking it from my mouth, I will drink, while sitting on the window, here in this location (he bent down and showed the sloping ledge of the wall behind the window) and not holding or anything... so?...
— Very well, — said the Englishman.
Anatole turned to the Englishman and, taking him from behind the button coat and from above looking at him (the Englishman was small in height), started in English to repeat the conditions of the bet.
— Wait! — shouted Dolohov, banging the bottle on the window, to turn all the attention to himself. — wait, Kuragin; listen. If anyone will do the same I will pay one hundred imperials. Understand?
The Englishman nodded his head, not giving a way to understand whether he accepted this new bet. Anatole did not let the Englishman go and, despite that nod giving an understanding that he got everything, Anatole translated to him the words of Dolohov in English. A young thin boy, a court-hussar, a loser in this evening, climbed up to the window, leaned out and looked downwards.
— Oooo!... — he said, looking beyond the window into the rock walkway.
— Still! — shouted Dolohov and pulled away from the window the officer, who, entangled in spurs, awkwardly jumped around the room.
Putting the bottle on the windowsill, so that it was convenient to get it, Dolohov carefully and quietly climbed onto the window. Placing his legs down and spreading both hands on the edges of the window, he tried, sitting down, letting go with his hand, moving to the right, left and taking out the bottle. Anatole brought two candles and put them on the windowsill although it was already really light. The back of Dolohov in his white shirt and curly head were lighted for the entire party. All crowded at the window. The Englishman stood ahead. Pierre smiled and said nothing. One of those present, older than the others, with a scared and angry face, suddenly advanced forward and wanted to grab Dolohov by his shirt.
— Gentleman, this is nonsense; he will be killed, — said this more reasonable person.
Anatole stopped him.
— Don’t touch, you’ll scare him, and he will be killed. Ah?... What then?... Ah?...
Dolohov turned around, recovering and again stretching out his hands.
— If anyone else butts in, — he said, seldom skipping words through squeezed and subtle lips, — I’ll let him go here. Well!...
After he said “well”!, he turned again, let his hand go, took the bottle and brought it to his mouth, threw backwards his head and threw up his free hand for balance. One of the lackeys that had begun picking up glasses stopped in a bent position, not lowering his eye from the window and the back of Dolohov. Anatole stood with his eyes agape. The Englishman, pushing forward his lips, watched from the side. The one that tried to stop it ran to the corner of the room and lied down on the sofa with his face to the wall. Pierre covered his face, and a weak smile, forgotten, was left on his face, though to him it expressed horror and fear. All was silent. Pierre took away from his eye his hand. Dolohov sat in this same position, only bending his backwards, so that the curly hair from his nape touched his shirt collar, and the hand with the bottle rose higher and higher, trembling and with effort. The bottle apparently emptied and with that he rose, bending his head. “What is taking so long?” thought Pierre. It seemed to him that more than half an hour had passed. Suddenly Dolohov did move backwards, and his hand nervously trembled; this shudder was enough as to move his entire body as if sitting on a downhill slope. He moved entirely, and strongly started shaking more, and made an effort with his hand and head. Once his hand went up, as if to grasp for the windowsill, but again he lowered it. Pierre again closed his eyes and said to himself that he would never really open them. He suddenly felt that everything around him stirred. He looked: Dolohov stood in the windowsill, his face was pale and funny.
— Empty!
He threw the bottle to the Englishman, who cleverly caught it. Dolohov jumped down from the window. From him came the strong smell of rum.
— Fine! Well done! That’s the bet! Damn you really did it! — shouted different parties.
The Englishman, getting his purse, counted out the money. Dolohov frowned and kept silent. Pierre jumped up on the window.
— Gentlemen! Who wants to bet with me? I will do the same, — he suddenly shouted. — and a bet is not needed, here. Give me a bottle. I’ll do it... give me one.
— Let him, let him! — said Dolohov, smiling.
— What, you? Have you lost your mind? Who will let you? The stairs make your head spin, — began the talk from different parties.
— I will drink, come on a bottle of rum! — shouted Pierre, decisively and drunkenly gesturing and hitting the chair, climbing on the window.
They grabbed his hand; but he was so strong, that he pushed those who approached him far away from himself.
— No, this is not for you, — spoke Anatole, — wait, I’ll deceive him. Listen, I will bet with you, but tomorrow, but now let’s all go to ***.
— Go, — shouted Pierre, — Go!... and Mishka I will take with me...
And he grabbed the bear, and, hugging and holding him up, spinned with him from the room.
Time: June (1805) (midsummer in Bell. summer in Maude.)
Locations: St. Petersburg, starting from Andrei's to Kuragin's house.
Pevear and Volkhonsky Notes: end of chapter 6 is end of chapter 7 for Dole.
Maude (chapter 9): Pierre at Anatole Kuragin's. Dolokhov's bet.
Translation:
It was now the second hour of the night when Pierre left his friend. The night was a June, mad Petersburg, night. Pierre sat down in the carriage seat with the intention to go home. Yet the nearer he drove, the more he felt the impossibility to fall asleep on this night that was more like the evening or the morning. From far away it was seen how empty the street was. Dear Pierre remembered that Anatole Kuragin this night was gathering the ordinary gambling society, with whom he usually went drinking, ending with one of the loved amusements of Pierre.
“It would be okay to go to Kuragin’s,” he thought. Yet immediately he remembered his word of honor to Prince Andrey not to visit Kuragin.
But immediately again, as with people that are called characterless, he so passionately wanted more time to test this, so familiar to him, dissolute life, that he decided to go. And immediately again in his head came the idea that this word meant nothing because that still before telling Prince Andrey, he also gave Prince Anatole his word; finally, he thought, that all of these were honest words — such conditional things, not having a certain sense, especially should you realize that, maybe, tomorrow he will die or something extraordinary will happen that will not make it either honest or dishonorable. Such familiar reasoning, destroying all his decisions and assumptions, often came to Pierre. He went to Kuragin’s.
He drove to the porch to the big home in the barracks of the horse guards in which Anatole lived, rose to the lighted porch, onto the stairs, and entered into an open door. At the front was nobody; empty bottles, raincoats, galoshes were lying about; it smelled like wine, and further shouting was heard.
The game and dinner was now finished, but the visitors still had not parted. Pierre threw off his cloak and entered into the first room, where there were leftovers from dinner and one lackey, thinking that no one would see, secretly drank unfinished glasses. Out of the third room was heard fussing, laughter, the shouting of acquaintances and the roar of a bear. Eight young people crowded with concern about an open window. Three fussed with a young bear, whom one dragged in chains, scaring one another.
— Hold for Stevens’ one hundred! — shouted one.
— Look, no support! — shouted another.
— I’m for Dolohov! — shouted a third. — Differentiate, Kuragin.
— Well, throw in Mishka, here is a bet.
— By one soul, otherwise a loss, — shouted a fourth.
— Yakov! Come on, a bottle, Yakov! — shouted the master, a tall beauty, standing in the middle of the crowd in a single fine shirt, open at the middle of the breast. — stop, gentleman. Here is Petrusha, my sweet friend, — turning to Pierre.
Another voice of a man, with clear blue eyes, especially striking among all these drunk voices for its sober expression, shouted from the window: — Go here — catch up on the bet! — this was Dolohov, the Semenovsky officer, known as a player and scrapper, living together with Anatole. Pierre, smiling, funnily looked around himself.
— I don’t understand. What is this business? — he asked.
— Stop, he’s not drunk. Give a bottle, — said Anatole and, taking from the desk a glass, came up to Pierre.
— Just drink.
Pierre had begun drinking glass after glass, sneakily looking around the drunken guests, which crowded more at the window, and listened to their talk. Anatole poured him wine and said that Dolohov held a bet with the Englishman Stevens, a former sailor here, and that he, Dolohov, will drink a bottle of rum, sitting on the window of the third floor off of his feet.
— Well, drink again! — said Anatole, giving the last glass to Pierre, — and I will release you!
— No, I don’t want to, — said Pierre, pushing away Anatole, and went up to the window.
Dolohov held the arm of the Englishman and was clearly pronouncing the conditions of the bet, turning predominantly to Anatole and Pierre.
Dolohov was a person of middle stature, curly with bright, blue eyes. He was twenty five years-old. He didn’t wear a mustache, as all infantry officers, and his mouth, itself the astounding feature of his face, was all visible. The lines of this mouth were wonderfully thin and curved. In the middle of his top lip energetically descended a strong sharp wedge, and in the corners formed constantly into some kind of double smile, one for every party; and everything together, but especially in the connection with the solid, insolent, and smart look, formed an impression such as that this could not be noticed in this face. Dolohov was not a rich person, without all connections. And despite this, and that Anatole lived with tens of thousands, Dolohov lived with him and spent so much time with him that Anatole and all who knew them respected Dolohov more than Anatole. Dolohov played in every game and almost always won. No matter how much he drank, he never lost the clarity of his head. Kuragin and Dolohov in that time were minorities in the world of hanging and drinking in Petersburg.
A bottle of rum was brought to the frame, not letting it sit on the external slope of the window, broke out by two lackeys, apparently in a hurry and timidly from the advice and screams of the surrounding gentleman.
Anatole, with a victorious look, came up to the window. He wanted to break something. He pushed back the lackeys and pulled the frame, but the frame didn’t give. He broke the glass.
— Well now you’re the strongman, — he turned to Pierre.
Pierre grabbed behind the crossbars, pulled and with a bang broke the inverted oak frame.
— It’s all out, but so you don’t think I am holding on, — said Dolohov.
— The Englishman boasts... but?... okay?... — said Anatole.
— Okay, — said Pierre, looking at Dolohov, who, taking in his hand a bottle of rum, approached the window, out of which the light sky was seen and merged into him the morning and evening dawn.
Dolohov with a bottle of rum in hand jumped up onto the window.
— Listen! — he shouted, standing up on the windowsill and turning towards the room. All fell silent.
— I hold a bet (he spoke in French for the Englishman, and spoke not too well in this language). — hold a bet for fifty imperials, want to make it one hundred? — he added, turned to the Englishman.
— No, fifty, — said the Englishman.
— Okay, for fifty imperials, — I will drink the whole bottle of rum, not taking it from my mouth, I will drink, while sitting on the window, here in this location (he bent down and showed the sloping ledge of the wall behind the window) and not holding or anything... so?...
— Very well, — said the Englishman.
Anatole turned to the Englishman and, taking him from behind the button coat and from above looking at him (the Englishman was small in height), started in English to repeat the conditions of the bet.
— Wait! — shouted Dolohov, banging the bottle on the window, to turn all the attention to himself. — wait, Kuragin; listen. If anyone will do the same I will pay one hundred imperials. Understand?
The Englishman nodded his head, not giving a way to understand whether he accepted this new bet. Anatole did not let the Englishman go and, despite that nod giving an understanding that he got everything, Anatole translated to him the words of Dolohov in English. A young thin boy, a court-hussar, a loser in this evening, climbed up to the window, leaned out and looked downwards.
— Oooo!... — he said, looking beyond the window into the rock walkway.
— Still! — shouted Dolohov and pulled away from the window the officer, who, entangled in spurs, awkwardly jumped around the room.
Putting the bottle on the windowsill, so that it was convenient to get it, Dolohov carefully and quietly climbed onto the window. Placing his legs down and spreading both hands on the edges of the window, he tried, sitting down, letting go with his hand, moving to the right, left and taking out the bottle. Anatole brought two candles and put them on the windowsill although it was already really light. The back of Dolohov in his white shirt and curly head were lighted for the entire party. All crowded at the window. The Englishman stood ahead. Pierre smiled and said nothing. One of those present, older than the others, with a scared and angry face, suddenly advanced forward and wanted to grab Dolohov by his shirt.
— Gentleman, this is nonsense; he will be killed, — said this more reasonable person.
Anatole stopped him.
— Don’t touch, you’ll scare him, and he will be killed. Ah?... What then?... Ah?...
Dolohov turned around, recovering and again stretching out his hands.
— If anyone else butts in, — he said, seldom skipping words through squeezed and subtle lips, — I’ll let him go here. Well!...
After he said “well”!, he turned again, let his hand go, took the bottle and brought it to his mouth, threw backwards his head and threw up his free hand for balance. One of the lackeys that had begun picking up glasses stopped in a bent position, not lowering his eye from the window and the back of Dolohov. Anatole stood with his eyes agape. The Englishman, pushing forward his lips, watched from the side. The one that tried to stop it ran to the corner of the room and lied down on the sofa with his face to the wall. Pierre covered his face, and a weak smile, forgotten, was left on his face, though to him it expressed horror and fear. All was silent. Pierre took away from his eye his hand. Dolohov sat in this same position, only bending his backwards, so that the curly hair from his nape touched his shirt collar, and the hand with the bottle rose higher and higher, trembling and with effort. The bottle apparently emptied and with that he rose, bending his head. “What is taking so long?” thought Pierre. It seemed to him that more than half an hour had passed. Suddenly Dolohov did move backwards, and his hand nervously trembled; this shudder was enough as to move his entire body as if sitting on a downhill slope. He moved entirely, and strongly started shaking more, and made an effort with his hand and head. Once his hand went up, as if to grasp for the windowsill, but again he lowered it. Pierre again closed his eyes and said to himself that he would never really open them. He suddenly felt that everything around him stirred. He looked: Dolohov stood in the windowsill, his face was pale and funny.
— Empty!
He threw the bottle to the Englishman, who cleverly caught it. Dolohov jumped down from the window. From him came the strong smell of rum.
— Fine! Well done! That’s the bet! Damn you really did it! — shouted different parties.
The Englishman, getting his purse, counted out the money. Dolohov frowned and kept silent. Pierre jumped up on the window.
— Gentlemen! Who wants to bet with me? I will do the same, — he suddenly shouted. — and a bet is not needed, here. Give me a bottle. I’ll do it... give me one.
— Let him, let him! — said Dolohov, smiling.
— What, you? Have you lost your mind? Who will let you? The stairs make your head spin, — began the talk from different parties.
— I will drink, come on a bottle of rum! — shouted Pierre, decisively and drunkenly gesturing and hitting the chair, climbing on the window.
They grabbed his hand; but he was so strong, that he pushed those who approached him far away from himself.
— No, this is not for you, — spoke Anatole, — wait, I’ll deceive him. Listen, I will bet with you, but tomorrow, but now let’s all go to ***.
— Go, — shouted Pierre, — Go!... and Mishka I will take with me...
And he grabbed the bear, and, hugging and holding him up, spinned with him from the room.
Time: June (1805) (midsummer in Bell. summer in Maude.)
Locations: St. Petersburg, starting from Andrei's to Kuragin's house.
Pevear and Volkhonsky Notes: end of chapter 6 is end of chapter 7 for Dole.
Pierre breaks his promise to his friend and decides that such oaths are meaningless. A night you can see clearly in, he couldn’t imagine going to sleep in such a day-like night.
“So called characterless people”
We should see the difference in lack of entrance, contrasting with the lavish and formal entrances of Pavlovna’s party.
The ridiculousness of the bear compares to the bear-like Princess Bolkonsky in previous chapter or Pierre at Pavlovna’s house.
Kuragin and Dolokhov as celebrities of scapegraces and carousers, with Dolokhov earning respect despite not having connections or money.
The breaking apart of the house.
Language barriers, Dolokhov speaks Russian mainly, Anatole serves as the translator (probably having more of a command of languages than his brother has demonstrated).
The hanging out of the window dare. Nothing to lose, 25 and no tomorrow (20 for Pierre I believe).
Pierre wants the masculine self-destructiveness, but he isn’t cut out for it and the others know this.
“Let’s all go to the ***.”
No war, no Napoleon, just soldiers playing with a bear and making bets in one of the great episodes of the novel.
Characters (characters who do not appear, but are mentioned are placed in italics. First appearances are in Bold. First mentions are underlined. Final appearance denoted by *):
Pierre (referred to as “Petrushka” as in Dole and Weiner, by Anatole. “Petrouchka” by Bell, “Petya” by Mandelker and Maude, Briggs just keeps “Pierre” there.)
Prince Andrei Bolkonsky (“his friend” and “Prince Andrei”)
Anatole Kuragin
Mishka (as in Dole (which later says “cub”) and Dunnigan, the bear or “bear-cub” in Bell and Edmonds with no hyphen. “Young bear” in Garnett. молодым медведем means “young bear”
Мишку could be translated “Bruin” as in Pevear and Volkhonsky and Maude. Briggs also opts for Bruin when Pierre says it but only uses “bear” in initial dialogue)
Stevens (an Englishman)
Dolokhov (as in Weiner, Mandelker, and Dunnigan, “Dolokhof” in Dole, “Dolohov” in Edmonds and Garnett)
Yakof (as in Dole, “Jacob” in Maude and Edmonds, “Yakov” in Briggs and Weiner, “Jacques” in Bell)
(Semyenovsky regiment doesn’t count as a character)
(there are at least 12 to 13 “men” in the room when Pierre gets in there, counting himself, it is unclear whether the lackeys count, and the nameless ones are hard to differentiate. The notable ones are the young “leib-hussar”
as in Dole, who leans over and gazes down the window and another man “older” according to Dole, who tries to stop Dolokhov from taking the bet)
as in Dole, who leans over and gazes down the window and another man “older” according to Dole, who tries to stop Dolokhov from taking the bet)
(there are a few unnamed lackeys, as in Weiner, “servants”, as in Briggs, or “waiters”, as in Dole, the most significant one being the one Pierre sees drinking wine secretly and the one who watches while cleaning broken
glass)
glass)
Abridged Versions: Where Dole ends chapter 7, Mandelker, Pevear and Volkhonsky, Garnett, Dunnigan, Edmonds, Weiner, and Briggs end chapter 6. Maude ends chapter 9 and Bell ends chapter 4 at the same point.
Gibian: Chapter 3.
Gibian: Chapter 3.
Fuller: leaves chapter intact
Komroff: Pierre doesn’t speak to himself about wanting to go to the Kuragin’s. Dolokov’s description is shortened. Otherwise leaves the chapter intact.
Kropotkin: Chapter 6: Keeps chapter intact.
Bromfield: Chapter 12: a little bit more of information about Pierre thinking about his conversation with Andrei, explicitly said he doesnt care about what he said about the wife, but is thinking about what Andrei said about the war,
explicit hero worship of Andrei. Pierre uses the idea that he owes Kuragin money (“a small gambling debt”) to justify going. Chaplin instead of Stevens. Pierre is called Peter the Great. Slightly different description of Anatole,
longer argument over drinking the whole bottle between Pierre and Anatole. Little bit more explanation of rituals of the party and the bet. Slightly different description of Dolokhov, the big thing being his belief about women.
Dolokhov passes out drunk afterward and there is no mention of a bear.
Simmons: Chapter 3. Summary in italics as entire chapter is cut: "Pierre goes to Kuragin's, gets drunk, watches Dolokhov--Kuragin's roommate, officer of the Semenov regiment, a gambler and duelist--win a wager by drinking a
bottle of rum while sitting on the outside ledge of a three-story window without holding on."
explicit hero worship of Andrei. Pierre uses the idea that he owes Kuragin money (“a small gambling debt”) to justify going. Chaplin instead of Stevens. Pierre is called Peter the Great. Slightly different description of Anatole,
longer argument over drinking the whole bottle between Pierre and Anatole. Little bit more explanation of rituals of the party and the bet. Slightly different description of Dolokhov, the big thing being his belief about women.
Dolokhov passes out drunk afterward and there is no mention of a bear.
Simmons: Chapter 3. Summary in italics as entire chapter is cut: "Pierre goes to Kuragin's, gets drunk, watches Dolokhov--Kuragin's roommate, officer of the Semenov regiment, a gambler and duelist--win a wager by drinking a
bottle of rum while sitting on the outside ledge of a three-story window without holding on."
Additional Notes: Garnett: Imperial coins are Napoleonic gold coins
Mandelker: "The cast of characters of War and Peace almost exceeds 600, including roughly 160 historical figures...As the instalments appeared, critics erred in their efforts to identify the main characters: one guessed that Dolokhov and Anatole Kuragin were the heroes, while another complained that he could not figure out which characters were important until 'the second half of the third volume'."
Mandelker: "The cast of characters of War and Peace almost exceeds 600, including roughly 160 historical figures...As the instalments appeared, critics erred in their efforts to identify the main characters: one guessed that Dolokhov and Anatole Kuragin were the heroes, while another complained that he could not figure out which characters were important until 'the second half of the third volume'."
Speirs: Page 25: “Anatole and Dolokhov, the man who lives off him, represent a side of high society - the brutality hidden in Prince Vasili’s smooth face at the soiree earlier that evening."
Schopenhauer Page 37 (which can relate very well to Pierre's decision early on in the chapter and lack of resolution): “The ability to deliberate, which arises from this relative freedom, yields in reality nothing but the very frequently distressing conflict of motives, which is dominated by indecision and has the whole soul and consciousness of man as its battlefield. This conflict makes the motives try out repeatedly, against one another, their effectiveness on the will. This puts the will in the same situation as that of the body on which different forces act in opposite directions, until finally the decidedly strongest motive drives the others from the field and determines the will. This outcome is called resolve, and it takes place with complete necessity as the result of the struggle.”
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