alaga was a famous troyka
driver who had known Dolokhov and Anatole some six years and had given
them good service with his troykas. More than once when Anatole's
regiment was stationed at Tver he had taken him from Tver in the
evening, brought him to Moscow by daybreak, and driven him back again
the next night. More than once he had enabled Dolokhov to escape when
pursued. More than once he had driven them through the town with gypsies
and "ladykins" as he called the cocottes. More than once in their
service he had run over pedestrians and upset vehicles in the streets
of Moscow and had always been protected from the consequences by "my
gentlemen" as he called them. He had ruined more than one horse in their
service. More than once they had beaten him, and more than once they
had made him drunk on champagne and Madeira, which he loved; and he knew
more than one thing about each of them which would long ago have sent an
ordinary man to Siberia. They often called Balaga into their orgies and
made him drink and dance at the gypsies', and more than one thousand
rubles of their money had passed through his hands. In their service he
risked his skin and his life twenty times a year, and in their service
had lost more horses than the money he had from them would buy. But
he liked them; liked that mad driving at twelve miles an hour, liked
upsetting a driver or running down a pedestrian, and flying at full
gallop through the Moscow streets. He liked to hear those wild, tipsy
shouts behind him: "Get on! Get on!" when it was impossible to go any
faster. He liked giving a painful lash on the neck to some peasant
who, more dead than alive, was already hurrying out of his way. "Real
gentlemen!" he considered them.

Anatole and Dolokhov liked Balaga too for his masterly driving and
because he liked the things they liked. With others Balaga bargained,
charging twenty-five rubles for a two hours' drive, and rarely drove
himself, generally letting his young men do so. But with "his gentlemen"
he always drove himself and never demanded anything for his work. Only
a couple of times a year--when he knew from their valets that they had
money in hand--he would turn up of a morning quite sober and with a deep
bow would ask them to help him. The gentlemen always made him sit down.

"Do help me out, Theodore Ivanych, sir," or "your excellency," he would
say. "I am quite out of horses. Let me have what you can to go to the
fair."

And Anatol