I
At length I returned from two weeks leave of absence to find that my
patrons had arrived three days ago in Roulettenberg. I received from
them a welcome quite different to that which I had expected. The
General eyed me coldly, greeted me in rather haughty fashion, and
dismissed me to pay my respects to his sister. It was clear that from
_somewhere_ money had been acquired. I thought I could even detect a
certain shamefacedness in the General’s glance. Maria Philipovna, too,
seemed distraught, and conversed with me with an air of detachment.
Nevertheless, she took the money which I handed to her, counted it, and
listened to what I had to tell. To luncheon there were expected that
day a Monsieur Mezentsov, a French lady, and an Englishman; for,
whenever money was in hand, a banquet in Muscovite style was always
given. Polina Alexandrovna, on seeing me, inquired why I had been so
long away. Then, without waiting for an answer, she departed. Evidently
this was not mere accident, and I felt that I must throw some light
upon matters. It was high time that I did so.
I was assigned a small room on the fourth floor of the hotel (for you
must know that I belonged to the General’s suite). So far as I could
see, the party had already gained some notoriety in the place, which
had come to look upon the General as a Russian nobleman of great
wealth. Indeed, even before luncheon he charged me, among other things,
to get two thousand-franc notes changed for him at the hotel counter,
which put us in a position to be thought millionaires at all events for
a week! Later, I was about to take Mischa and Nadia for a walk when a
summons reached me from the staircase that I must attend the General.
He began by deigning to inquire of me where I was going to take the
children; and as he did so, I could see that he failed to look me in
the eyes. He _wanted_ to do so, but each time was met by me with such a
fixed, disrespectful stare that he desisted in confusion. In pompous
language, however, which jumbled one sentence into another, and at
length grew disconnected, he gave me to understand that I was to lead
the children altogether away from the Casino, and out into the park.
Finally his anger exploded, and he added sharply:
“I suppose you would like to take them to the Casino to play roulette?
Well, excuse my speaking so plainly, but I know how addicted you are to
gambling. Though I am not your mentor, nor wish to be, at least I have
a right to require that you shall not actually _compromise_ me.”
“I have no money for gambling,” I quietly replied.
“But you will soon be in receipt of some,” retorted the General,
reddening a little as he dived into his writing desk and applied
himself to a memorandum book. From it he saw that he had 120 roubles of
mine in his keeping.
“Let us calculate,” he went on. “We must translate these roubles into
thalers. Here—take 100 thalers, as a round sum. The rest will be safe
in my hands.”
In silence I took the money.
“You must not be offended at what I say,” he continued. “You are too
touchy about these things. What I have said I have said merely as a
warning. To do so is no more than my right.”
When returning home with the children before luncheon, I met a
cavalcade of our party riding to view some ruins. Two splendid
carriages, magnificently horsed, with Mlle. Blanche, Maria Philipovna,
and Polina Alexandrovna in one of them, and the Frenchman, the
Englishman, and the General in attendance on horseback! The passers-by
stopped to stare at them, for the effect was splendid—the General could
not have improved upon it. I calculated that, with the 4000 francs
which I had brought with me, added to what my patrons seemed already to
have acquired, the party must be in possession of at least 7000 or 8000
francs—though that would be none too much for Mlle. Blanche, who, with
her mother and the Frenchman, was also lodging in our hotel. The latter
gentleman was called by the lacqueys “Monsieur le Comte,” and Mlle.
Blanche’s mother was dubbed “Madame la Comtesse.” Perhaps in very truth
they _were_ “Comte et Comtesse.”
I knew that “Monsieur le Comte” would take no notice of me when we met
at dinner, as also that the General would not dream of introducing us,
nor of recommending me to the “Comte.” However, the latter had lived
awhile in Russia, and knew that the person referred to as an “uchitel”
is never looked upon as a bird of fine feather. Of course, strictly
speaking, he _knew_ me; but I was an uninvited guest at the
luncheon—the General had forgotten to arrange otherwise, or I should
have been dispatched to dine at the table d’hôte. Nevertheless, I
presented myself in such guise that the General looked at me with a
touch of approval; and, though the good Maria Philipovna was for
showing me my place, the fact of my having previously met the
Englishman, Mr. Astley, saved me, and thenceforward I figured as one of
the company.
This strange Englishman I had met first in Prussia, where we had
happened to sit _vis-à-vis_ in a railway train in which I was
travelling to overtake our party; while, later, I had run across him in
France, and again in Switzerland—twice within the space of two weeks!
To think, therefore, that I should suddenly encounter him again here,
in Roulettenberg! Never in my life had I known a more retiring man, for
he was shy to the pitch of imbecility, yet well aware of the fact (for
he was no fool). At the same time, he was a gentle, amiable sort of an
individual, and, even on our first encounter in Prussia I had contrived
to draw him out, and he had told me that he had just been to the North
Cape, and was now anxious to visit the fair at Nizhni Novgorod. How he
had come to make the General’s acquaintance I do not know, but,
apparently, he was much struck with Polina. Also, he was delighted that
I should sit next him at table, for he appeared to look upon me as his
bosom friend.
During the meal the Frenchman was in great feather: he was discursive
and pompous to every one. In Moscow too, I remembered, he had blown a
great many bubbles. Interminably he discoursed on finance and Russian
politics, and though, at times, the General made feints to contradict
him, he did so humbly, and as though wishing not wholly to lose sight
of his own dignity.
For myself, I was in a curious frame of mind. Even before luncheon was
half finished I had asked myself the old, eternal question: “_Why_ do I
continue to dance attendance upon the General, instead of having left
him and his family long ago?” Every now and then I would glance at
Polina Alexandrovna, but she paid me no attention; until eventually I
became so irritated that I decided to play the boor.
First of all I suddenly, and for no reason whatever, plunged loudly and
gratuitously into the general conversation. Above everything I wanted
to pick a quarrel with the Frenchman; and, with that end in view I
turned to the General, and exclaimed in an overbearing sort of
way—indeed, I think that I actually interrupted him—that that summer it
had been almost impossible for a Russian to dine anywhere at tables
d’hôte. The General bent upon me a glance of astonishment.
“If one is a man of self-respect,” I went on, “one risks abuse by so
doing, and is forced to put up with insults of every kind. Both at
Paris and on the Rhine, and even in Switzerland—there are so many
Poles, with their sympathisers, the French, at these tables d’hôte that
one cannot get a word in edgeways if one happens only to be a Russian.”
This I said in French. The General eyed me doubtfully, for he did not
know whether to be angry or merely to feel surprised that I should so
far forget myself.
“Of course, one always learns _something everywhere_,” said the
Frenchman in a careless, contemptuous sort of tone.
“In Paris, too, I had a dispute with a Pole,” I continued, “and then
with a French officer who supported him. After that a section of the
Frenchmen present took my part. They did so as soon as I told them the
story of how once I threatened to spit into Monsignor’s coffee.”
“To spit into it?” the General inquired with grave disapproval in his
tone, and a stare, of astonishment, while the Frenchman looked at me
unbelievingly.
“Just so,” I replied. “You must know that, on one occasion, when, for
two days, I had felt certain that at any moment I might have to depart
for Rome on business, I repaired to the Embassy of the Holy See in
Paris, to have my passport visaed. There I encountered a sacristan of
about fifty, and a man dry and cold of mien. After listening politely,
but with great reserve, to my account of myself, this sacristan asked
me to wait a little. I was in a great hurry to depart, but of course I
sat down, pulled out a copy of _L’Opinion Nationale_, and fell to
reading an extraordinary piece of invective against Russia which it
happened to contain. As I was thus engaged I heard some one enter an
adjoining room and ask for Monsignor; after which I saw the sacristan
make a low bow to the visitor, and then another bow as the visitor took
his leave. I ventured to remind the good man of my own business also;
whereupon, with an expression of, if anything, increased dryness, he
again asked me to wait. Soon a third visitor arrived who, like myself,
had come on business (he was an Austrian of some sort); and as soon as
ever he had stated his errand he was conducted upstairs! This made me
very angry. I rose, approached the sacristan, and told him that, since
Monsignor was receiving callers, his lordship might just as well finish
off my affair as well. Upon this the sacristan shrunk back in
astonishment. It simply passed his understanding that any insignificant
Russian should dare to compare himself with other visitors of
Monsignor’s! In a tone of the utmost effrontery, as though he were
delighted to have a chance of insulting me, he looked me up and down,
and then said: “Do you suppose that Monsignor is going to put aside his
coffee for _you?_” But I only cried the louder: “Let me tell you that I
am going to _spit_ into that coffee! Yes, and if you do not get me my
passport visaed this very minute, I shall take it to Monsignor myself.”
“What? While he is engaged with a Cardinal?” screeched the sacristan,
again shrinking back in horror. Then, rushing to the door, he spread
out his arms as though he would rather die than let me enter.
Thereupon I declared that I was a heretic and a barbarian—“Je suis
hérétique et barbare,” I said, “and that these archbishops and
cardinals and monsignors, and the rest of them, meant nothing at all to
me. In a word, I showed him that I was not going to give way. He looked
at me with an air of infinite resentment. Then he snatched up my
passport, and departed with it upstairs. A minute later the passport
had been visaed! Here it is now, if you care to see it,”—and I pulled
out the document, and exhibited the Roman visa.
“But—” the General began.
“What really saved you was the fact that you proclaimed yourself a
heretic and a barbarian,” remarked the Frenchman with a smile. “Cela
n’était pas si bête.”
“But is _that_ how Russian subjects ought to be treated? Why, when they
settle here they dare not utter even a word—they are ready even to deny
the fact that they are Russians! At all events, at my hotel in Paris I
received far more attention from the company after I had told them
about the fracas with the sacristan. A fat Polish nobleman, who had
been the most offensive of all who were present at the table d’hôte, at
once went upstairs, while some of the Frenchmen were simply disgusted
when I told them that two years ago I had encountered a man at whom, in
1812, a French ‘hero’ fired for the mere fun of discharging his musket.
That man was then a boy of ten and his family are still residing in
Moscow.”
“Impossible!” the Frenchman spluttered. “No French soldier would fire
at a child!”
“Nevertheless the incident was as I say,” I replied. “A very respected
ex-captain told me the story, and I myself could see the scar left on
his cheek.”
The Frenchman then began chattering volubly, and the General supported
him; but I recommended the former to read, for example, extracts from
the memoirs of General Perovski, who, in 1812, was a prisoner in the
hands of the French. Finally Maria Philipovna said something to
interrupt the conversation. The General was furious with me for having
started the altercation with the Frenchman. On the other hand, Mr.
Astley seemed to take great pleasure in my brush with Monsieur, and,
rising from the table, proposed that we should go and have a drink
together. The same afternoon, at four o’clock, I went to have my
customary talk with Polina Alexandrovna; and, the talk soon extended to
a stroll. We entered the Park, and approached the Casino, where Polina
seated herself upon a bench near the fountain, and sent Nadia away to a
little distance to play with some other children. Mischa also I
dispatched to play by the fountain, and in this fashion we—that is to
say, Polina and myself—contrived to find ourselves alone.
Of course, we began by talking on business matters. Polina seemed
furious when I handed her only 700 gülden, for she had thought to
receive from Paris, as the proceeds of the pledging of her diamonds, at
least 2000 gülden, or even more.
“Come what may, I _must_ have money,” she said. “And get it somehow I
will—otherwise I shall be ruined.”
I asked her what had happened during my absence.
“Nothing; except that two pieces of news have reached us from St.
Petersburg. In the first place, my grandmother is very ill, and
unlikely to last another couple of days. We had this from Timothy
Petrovitch himself, and he is a reliable person. Every moment we are
expecting to receive news of the end.”
“All of you are on the tiptoe of expectation?” I queried.
“Of course—all of us, and every minute of the day. For a
year-and-a-half now we have been looking for this.”
“Looking for it?”
“Yes, looking for it. I am not her blood relation, you know—I am merely
the General’s step-daughter. Yet I am certain that the old lady has
remembered me in her will.”
“Yes, I believe that you _will_ come in for a good deal,” I said with
some assurance.
“Yes, for she is fond of me. But how come you to think so?”
I answered this question with another one. “That Marquis of yours,” I
said, “—is _he_ also familiar with your family secrets?”
“And why are you yourself so interested in them?” was her retort as she
eyed me with dry grimness.
“Never mind. If I am not mistaken, the General has succeeded in
borrowing money of the Marquis.”
“It may be so.”
“Is it likely that the Marquis would have lent the money if he had not
known something or other about your grandmother? Did you notice, too,
that three times during luncheon, when speaking of her, he called her
‘La Baboulenka’?[1]. What loving, friendly behaviour, to be sure!”
[1] Dear little Grandmother.
“Yes, that is true. As soon as ever he learnt that I was likely to
inherit something from her he began to pay me his addresses. I thought
you ought to know that.”
“Then he has only just begun his courting? Why, I thought he had been
doing so a long while!”
“You _know_ he has not,” retorted Polina angrily. “But where on earth
did you pick up this Englishman?” She said this after a pause.
“I _knew_ you would ask about him!” Whereupon I told her of my previous
encounters with Astley while travelling.
“He is very shy,” I said, “and susceptible. Also, he is in love with
you.”
“Yes, he _is_ in love with me,” she replied.
“And he is ten times richer than the Frenchman. In fact, what does the
Frenchman possess? To me it seems at least doubtful that he possesses
anything at all.”
“Oh, no, there is no doubt about it. He does possess some château or
other. Last night the General told me that for certain. _Now_ are you
satisfied?”
“Nevertheless, in your place I should marry the Englishman.”
“And why?” asked Polina.
“Because, though the Frenchman is the handsomer of the two, he is also
the baser; whereas the Englishman is not only a man of honour, but ten
times the wealthier of the pair.”
“Yes? But then the Frenchman is a marquis, and the cleverer of the
two,” remarked Polina imperturbably.
“Is that so?” I repeated.
“Yes; absolutely.”
Polina was not at all pleased at my questions; I could see that she was
doing her best to irritate me with the brusquerie of her answers. But I
took no notice of this.
“It amuses me to see you grow angry,” she continued. “However, inasmuch
as I allow you to indulge in these questions and conjectures, you ought
to pay me something for the privilege.”
“I consider that I have a perfect right to put these questions to you,”
was my calm retort; “for the reason that I am ready to pay for them,
and also care little what becomes of me.”
Polina giggled.
“Last time you told me—when on the Shlangenberg—that at a word from me
you would be ready to jump down a thousand feet into the abyss. Some
day I may remind you of that saying, in order to see if you will be as
good as your word. Yes, you may depend upon it that I shall do so. I
hate you because I have allowed you to go to such lengths, and I also
hate you and still more—because you are so necessary to me. For the
time being I want you, so I must keep you.”
Then she made a movement to rise. Her tone had sounded very angry.
Indeed, of late her talks with me had invariably ended on a note of
temper and irritation—yes, of real temper.
“May I ask you who is this Mlle. Blanche?” I inquired (since I did not
wish Polina to depart without an explanation).
“You _know_ who she is—just Mlle. Blanche. Nothing further has
transpired. Probably she will soon be Madame General—that is to say, if
the rumours that Grandmamma is nearing her end should prove true. Mlle.
Blanche, with her mother and her cousin, the Marquis, know very well
that, as things now stand, we are ruined.”
“And is the General at last in love?”
“That has nothing to do with it. Listen to me. Take these 700 florins,
and go and play roulette with them. Win as much for me as you can, for
I am badly in need of money.”
So saying, she called Nadia back to her side, and entered the Casino,
where she joined the rest of our party. For myself, I took, in musing
astonishment, the first path to the left. Something had seemed to
strike my brain when she told me to go and play roulette. Strangely
enough, that something had also seemed to make me hesitate, and to set
me analysing my feelings with regard to her. In fact, during the two
weeks of my absence I had felt far more at my ease than I did now, on
the day of my return; although, while travelling, I had moped like an
imbecile, rushed about like a man in a fever, and actually beheld her
in my dreams. Indeed, on one occasion (this happened in Switzerland,
when I was asleep in the train) I had spoken aloud to her, and set all
my fellow-travellers laughing. Again, therefore, I put to myself the
question: “Do I, or do I not love her?” and again I could return myself
no answer or, rather, for the hundredth time I told myself that I
detested her. Yes, I detested her; there were moments (more especially
at the close of our talks together) when I would gladly have given half
my life to have strangled her! I swear that, had there, at such
moments, been a sharp knife ready to my hand, I would have seized that
knife with pleasure, and plunged it into her breast. Yet I also swear
that if, on the Shlangenberg, she had _really_ said to me, “Leap into
that abyss,” I should have leapt into it, and with equal pleasure. Yes,
this I knew well. One way or the other, the thing must soon be ended.
She, too, knew it in some curious way; the thought that I was fully
conscious of her inaccessibility, and of the impossibility of my ever
realising my dreams, afforded her, I am certain, the keenest possible
pleasure. Otherwise, is it likely that she, the cautious and clever
woman that she was, would have indulged in this familiarity and
openness with me? Hitherto (I concluded) she had looked upon me in the
same light that the old Empress did upon her servant—the Empress who
hesitated not to unrobe herself before her slave, since she did not
account a slave a man. Yes, often Polina must have taken me for
something less than a man!”
Still, she had charged me with a commission—to win what I could at
roulette. Yet all the time I could not help wondering _why_ it was so
necessary for her to win something, and what new schemes could have
sprung to birth in her ever-fertile brain. A host of new and unknown
factors seemed to have arisen during the last two weeks. Well, it
behoved me to divine them, and to probe them, and that as soon as
possible. Yet not now: at the present moment I must repair to the
roulette-table.
II
I confess I did not like it. Although I had made up my mind to play, I
felt averse to doing so on behalf of some one else. In fact, it almost
upset my balance, and I entered the gaming rooms with an angry feeling
at my heart. At first glance the scene irritated me. Never at any time
have I been able to bear the flunkeyishness which one meets in the
Press of the world at large, but more especially in that of Russia,
where, almost every evening, journalists write on two subjects in
particular—namely, on the splendour and luxury of the casinos to be
found in the Rhenish towns, and on the heaps of gold which are daily to
be seen lying on their tables. Those journalists are not paid for doing
so: they write thus merely out of a spirit of disinterested
complaisance. For there is nothing splendid about the establishments in
question; and, not only are there no heaps of gold to be seen lying on
their tables, but also there is very little money to be seen at all. Of
course, during the season, _some_ madman or another may make his
appearance—generally an Englishman, or an Asiatic, or a Turk—and (as
had happened during the summer of which I write) win or lose a great
deal; but, as regards the rest of the crowd, it plays only for petty
gülden, and seldom does much wealth figure on the board.
When, on the present occasion, I entered the gaming-rooms (for the
first time in my life), it was several moments before I could even make
up my mind to play. For one thing, the crowd oppressed me. Had I been
playing for myself, I think I should have left at once, and never have
embarked upon gambling at all, for I could feel my heart beginning to
beat, and my heart was anything but cold-blooded. Also, I knew, I had
long ago made up my mind, that never should I depart from Roulettenberg
until some radical, some final, change had taken place in my fortunes.
Thus, it must and would be. However ridiculous it may seem to you that
I was expecting to win at roulette, I look upon the generally accepted
opinion concerning the folly and the grossness of hoping to win at
gambling as a thing even more absurd. For why is gambling a whit worse
than any other method of acquiring money? How, for instance, is it
worse than trade? True, out of a hundred persons, only one can win; yet
what business is that of yours or of mine?
At all events, I confined myself at first simply to looking on, and
decided to attempt nothing serious. Indeed, I felt that, if I began to
do anything at all, I should do it in an absent-minded, haphazard sort
of way—of that I felt certain. Also, it behoved me to learn the game
itself; since, despite a thousand descriptions of roulette which I had
read with ceaseless avidity, I knew nothing of its rules, and had never
even seen it played.
In the first place, everything about it seemed to me so foul—so morally
mean and foul. Yet I am not speaking of the hungry, restless folk who,
by scores nay, even by hundreds—could be seen crowded around the
gaming-tables. For in a desire to win quickly and to win much I can see
nothing sordid; I have always applauded the opinion of a certain dead
and gone, but cocksure, moralist who replied to the excuse that “one
may always gamble moderately”, by saying that to do so makes things
worse, since, in that case, the profits too will always be moderate.
Insignificant profits and sumptuous profits do not stand on the same
footing. No, it is all a matter of proportion. What may seem a small
sum to a Rothschild may seem a large sum to me, and it is not the fault
of stakes or of winnings that everywhere men can be found winning, can
be found depriving their fellows of something, just as they do at
roulette. As to the question whether stakes and winnings are, in
themselves, immoral is another question altogether, and I wish to
express no opinion upon it. Yet the very fact that I was full of a
strong desire to win caused this gambling for gain, in spite of its
attendant squalor, to contain, if you will, something intimate,
something sympathetic, to my eyes: for it is always pleasant to see men
dispensing with ceremony, and acting naturally, and in an unbuttoned
mood....
Yet why should I so deceive myself? I could see that the whole thing
was a vain and unreasoning pursuit; and what, at the first glance,
seemed to me the ugliest feature in this mob of roulette players was
their respect for their occupation—the seriousness, and even the
humility, with which they stood around the gaming tables. Moreover, I
had always drawn sharp distinctions between a game which is _de mauvais
genre_ and a game which is permissible to a decent man. In fact, there
are two sorts of gaming—namely, the game of the gentleman and the game
of the plebs—the game for gain, and the game of the herd. Herein, as
said, I draw sharp distinctions. Yet how essentially base are the
distinctions! For instance, a gentleman may stake, say, five or ten
louis d’or—seldom more, unless he is a very rich man, when he may
stake, say, a thousand francs; but, he must do this simply for the love
of the game itself—simply for sport, simply in order to observe the
process of winning or of losing, and, above all things, as a man who
remains quite uninterested in the possibility of his issuing a winner.
If he wins, he will be at liberty, perhaps, to give vent to a laugh, or
to pass a remark on the circumstance to a bystander, or to stake again,
or to double his stake; but, even this he must do solely out of
curiosity, and for the pleasure of watching the play of chances and of
calculations, and not because of any vulgar desire to win. In a word,
he must look upon the gaming-table, upon roulette, and upon trente et
quarante, as mere relaxations which have been arranged solely for his
amusement. Of the existence of the lures and gains upon which the bank
is founded and maintained he must profess to have not an inkling. Best
of all, he ought to imagine his fellow-gamblers and the rest of the mob
which stands trembling over a coin to be equally rich and gentlemanly
with himself, and playing solely for recreation and pleasure. This
complete ignorance of the realities, this innocent view of mankind, is
what, in my opinion, constitutes the truly aristocratic. For instance,
I have seen even fond mothers so far indulge their guileless, elegant
daughters—misses of fifteen or sixteen—as to give them a few gold coins
and teach them how to play; and though the young ladies may have won or
have lost, they have invariably laughed, and departed as though they
were well pleased. In the same way, I saw our General once approach the
table in a stolid, important manner. A lacquey darted to offer him a
chair, but the General did not even notice him. Slowly he took out his
money bags, and slowly extracted 300 francs in gold, which he staked on
the black, and won. Yet he did not take up his winnings—he left them
there on the table. Again the black turned up, and again he did not
gather in what he had won; and when, in the third round, the _red_
turned up he lost, at a stroke, 1200 francs. Yet even then he rose with
a smile, and thus preserved his reputation; yet I knew that his money
bags must be chafing his heart, as well as that, had the stake been
twice or thrice as much again, he would still have restrained himself
from venting his disappointment.
On the other hand, I saw a Frenchman first win, and then lose, 30,000
francs cheerfully, and without a murmur. Yes; even if a gentleman
should lose his whole substance, he must never give way to annoyance.
Money must be so subservient to gentility as never to be worth a
thought. Of course, the _supremely_ aristocratic thing is to be
entirely oblivious of the mire of rabble, with its setting; but
sometimes a reverse course may be aristocratic to remark, to scan, and
even to gape at, the mob (for preference, through a lorgnette), even as
though one were taking the crowd and its squalor for a sort of raree
show which had been organised specially for a gentleman’s diversion.
Though one may be squeezed by the crowd, one must look as though one
were fully assured of being the observer—of having neither part nor lot
with the observed. At the same time, to stare fixedly about one is
unbecoming; for that, again, is ungentlemanly, seeing that no spectacle
is worth an open stare—are no spectacles in the world which merit from
a gentleman too pronounced an inspection.
However, to me personally the scene _did_ seem to be worth undisguised
contemplation—more especially in view of the fact that I had come there
not only to look at, but also to number myself sincerely and
wholeheartedly with, the mob. As for my secret moral views, I had no
room for them amongst my actual, practical opinions. Let that stand as
written: I am writing only to relieve my conscience. Yet let me say
also this: that from the first I have been consistent in having an
intense aversion to any trial of my acts and thoughts by a moral
standard. Another standard altogether has directed my life....
As a matter of fact, the mob was playing in exceedingly foul fashion.
Indeed, I have an idea that sheer robbery was going on around that
gaming-table. The croupiers who sat at the two ends of it had not only
to watch the stakes, but also to calculate the game—an immense amount
of work for two men! As for the crowd itself—well, it consisted mostly
of Frenchmen. Yet I was not then taking notes merely in order to be
able to give you a description of roulette, but in order to get my
bearings as to my behaviour when I myself should begin to play. For
example, I noticed that nothing was more common than for another’s hand
to stretch out and grab one’s winnings whenever one had won. Then there
would arise a dispute, and frequently an uproar; and it would be a case
of “I beg of you to prove, and to produce witnesses to the fact, that
the stake is yours.”
At first the proceedings were pure Greek to me. I could only divine and
distinguish that stakes were hazarded on numbers, on “odd” or “even,”
and on colours. Polina’s money I decided to risk, that evening, only to
the amount of 100 gülden. The thought that I was not going to play for
myself quite unnerved me. It was an unpleasant sensation, and I tried
hard to banish it. I had a feeling that, once I had begun to play for
Polina, I should wreck my own fortunes. Also, I wonder if any one has
_ever_ approached a gaming-table without falling an immediate prey to
superstition? I began by pulling out fifty gülden, and staking them on
“even.” The wheel spun and stopped at 13. I had lost! With a feeling
like a sick qualm, as though I would like to make my way out of the
crowd and go home, I staked another fifty gülden—this time on the red.
The red turned up. Next time I staked the 100 gülden just where they
lay—and again the red turned up. Again I staked the whole sum, and
again the red turned up. Clutching my 400 gülden, I placed 200 of them
on twelve figures, to see what would come of it. The result was that
the croupier paid me out three times my total stake! Thus from 100
gülden my store had grown to 800! Upon that such a curious, such an
inexplicable, unwonted feeling overcame me that I decided to depart.
Always the thought kept recurring to me that if I had been playing for
myself alone I should never have had such luck. Once more I staked the
whole 800 gülden on the “even.” The wheel stopped at 4. I was paid out
another 800 gülden, and, snatching up my pile of 1600, departed in
search of Polina Alexandrovna.
I found the whole party walking in the park, and was able to get an
interview with her only after supper. This time the Frenchman was
absent from the meal, and the General seemed to be in a more expansive
vein. Among other things, he thought it necessary to remind me that he
would be sorry to see me playing at the gaming-tables. In his opinion,
such conduct would greatly compromise him—especially if I were to lose
much. “And even if you were to _win_ much I should be compromised,” he
added in a meaning sort of way. “Of course I have no _right_ to order
your actions, but you yourself will agree that...” As usual, he did not
finish his sentence. I answered drily that I had very little money in
my possession, and that, consequently, I was hardly in a position to
indulge in any conspicuous play, even if I did gamble. At last, when
ascending to my own room, I succeeded in handing Polina her winnings,
and told her that, next time, I should not play for her.
“Why not?” she asked excitedly.
“Because I wish to play _for myself_,” I replied with a feigned glance
of astonishment. “That is my sole reason.”
“Then are you so certain that your roulette-playing will get us out of
our difficulties?” she inquired with a quizzical smile.
I said very seriously, “Yes,” and then added: “Possibly my certainty
about winning may seem to you ridiculous; yet, pray leave me in peace.”
Nonetheless she insisted that I ought to go halves with her in the
day’s winnings, and offered me 800 gülden on condition that henceforth,
I gambled only on those terms; but I refused to do so, once and for
all—stating, as my reason, that I found myself unable to play on behalf
of any one else, “I am not unwilling so to do,” I added, “but in all
probability I should lose.”
“Well, absurd though it be, I place great hopes on your playing of
roulette,” she remarked musingly; “wherefore, you ought to play as my
partner and on equal shares; wherefore, of course, you will do as I
wish.”
Then she left me without listening to any further protests on my part.
III
On the morrow she said not a word to me about gambling. In fact, she
purposely avoided me, although her old manner to me had not changed:
the same serene coolness was hers on meeting me—a coolness that was
mingled even with a spice of contempt and dislike. In short, she was at
no pains to conceal her aversion to me. That I could see plainly. Also,
she did not trouble to conceal from me the fact that I was necessary to
her, and that she was keeping me for some end which she had in view.
Consequently there became established between us relations which, to a
large extent, were incomprehensible to me, considering her general
pride and aloofness. For example, although she knew that I was madly in
love with her, she allowed me to speak to her of my passion (though she
could not well have showed her contempt for me more than by permitting
me, unhindered and unrebuked, to mention to her my love).
“You see,” her attitude expressed, “how little I regard your feelings,
as well as how little I care for what you say to me, or for what you
feel for me.” Likewise, though she spoke as before concerning her
affairs, it was never with complete frankness. In her contempt for me
there were refinements. Although she knew well that I was aware of a
certain circumstance in her life of something which might one day cause
her trouble, she would speak to me about her affairs (whenever she had
need of me for a given end) as though I were a slave or a passing
acquaintance—yet tell them me only in so far as one would need to know
them if one were going to be made temporary use of. Had I not known the
whole chain of events, or had she not seen how much I was pained and
disturbed by her teasing insistency, she would never have thought it
worthwhile to soothe me with this frankness—even though, since she not
infrequently used me to execute commissions that were not only
troublesome, but risky, she ought, in my opinion, to have been frank in
_any_ case. But, forsooth, it was not worth her while to trouble about
_my_ feelings—about the fact that _I_ was uneasy, and, perhaps, thrice
as put about by her cares and misfortunes as she was herself!
For three weeks I had known of her intention to take to roulette. She
had even warned me that she would like me to play on her behalf, since
it was unbecoming for her to play in person; and, from the tone of her
words I had gathered that there was something on her mind besides a
mere desire to win money. As if money could matter to _her!_ No, she
had some end in view, and there were circumstances at which I could
guess, but which I did not know for certain. True, the slavery and
abasement in which she held me might have given me (such things often
do so) the power to question her with abrupt directness (seeing that,
inasmuch as I figured in her eyes as a mere slave and nonentity, she
could not very well have taken offence at any rude curiosity); but the
fact was that, though she let me question her, she never returned me a
single answer, and at times did not so much as notice me. That is how
matters stood.
Next day there was a good deal of talk about a telegram which, four
days ago, had been sent to St. Petersburg, but to which there had come
no answer. The General was visibly disturbed and moody, for the matter
concerned his mother. The Frenchman, too, was excited, and after dinner
the whole party talked long and seriously together—the Frenchman’s tone
being extraordinarily presumptuous and offhand to everybody. It almost
reminded one of the proverb, “Invite a man to your table, and soon he
will place his feet upon it.” Even to Polina he was brusque almost to
the point of rudeness. Yet still he seemed glad to join us in our walks
in the Casino, or in our rides and drives about the town. I had long
been aware of certain circumstances which bound the General to him; I
had long been aware that in Russia they had hatched some scheme
together although I did not know whether the plot had come to anything,
or whether it was still only in the stage of being talked of. Likewise
I was aware, in part, of a family secret—namely, that, last year, the
Frenchman had bailed the General out of debt, and given him 30,000
roubles wherewith to pay his Treasury dues on retiring from the
service. And now, of course, the General was in a vice—although the
chief part in the affair was being played by Mlle. Blanche. Yes, of
this last I had no doubt.
But _who_ was this Mlle. Blanche? It was said of her that she was a
Frenchwoman of good birth who, living with her mother, possessed a
colossal fortune. It was also said that she was some relation to the
Marquis, but only a distant one a cousin, or cousin-german, or
something of the sort. Likewise I knew that, up to the time of my
journey to Paris, she and the Frenchman had been more ceremonious
towards our party—they had stood on a much more precise and delicate
footing with them; but that now their acquaintanceship—their
friendship, their intimacy—had taken on a much more off-hand and
rough-and-ready air. Perhaps they thought that our means were too
modest for them, and, therefore, unworthy of politeness or reticence.
Also, for the last three days I had noticed certain looks which Astley
had kept throwing at Mlle. Blanche and her mother; and it had occurred
to me that he must have had some previous acquaintance with the pair. I
had even surmised that the Frenchman too must have met Mr. Astley
before. Astley was a man so shy, reserved, and taciturn in his manner
that one might have looked for anything from him. At all events the
Frenchman accorded him only the slightest of greetings, and scarcely
even looked at him. Certainly he did not seem to be afraid of him;
which was intelligible enough. But why did Mlle. Blanche also never
look at the Englishman?—particularly since, _à propos_ of something or
another, the Marquis had declared the Englishman to be immensely and
indubitably rich? Was not that a sufficient reason to make Mlle.
Blanche look at the Englishman? Anyway the General seemed extremely
uneasy; and, one could well understand what a telegram to announce the
death of his mother would mean for him!
Although I thought it probable that Polina was avoiding me for a
definite reason, I adopted a cold and indifferent air; for I felt
pretty certain that it would not be long before she herself approached
me. For two days, therefore, I devoted my attention to Mlle. Blanche.
The poor General was in despair! To fall in love at fifty-five, and
with such vehemence, is indeed a misfortune! And add to that his
widowerhood, his children, his ruined property, his debts, and the
woman with whom he had fallen in love! Though Mlle. Blanche was
extremely good-looking, I may or may not be understood when I say that
she had one of those faces which one is afraid of. At all events, I
myself have always feared such women. Apparently about twenty-five
years of age, she was tall and broad-shouldered, with shoulders that
sloped; yet though her neck and bosom were ample in their proportions,
her skin was dull yellow in colour, while her hair (which was extremely
abundant—sufficient to make two coiffures) was as black as Indian ink.
Add to that a pair of black eyes with yellowish whites, a proud glance,
gleaming teeth, and lips which were perennially pomaded and redolent of
musk. As for her dress, it was invariably rich, effective, and chic,
yet in good taste. Lastly, her feet and hands were astonishing, and her
voice a deep contralto. Sometimes, when she laughed, she displayed her
teeth, but at ordinary times her air was taciturn and
haughty—especially in the presence of Polina and Maria Philipovna. Yet
she seemed to me almost destitute of education, and even of wits,
though cunning and suspicious. This, apparently, was not because her
life had been lacking in incident. Perhaps, if all were known, the
Marquis was not her kinsman at all, nor her mother, her mother; but
there was evidence that, in Berlin, where we had first come across the
pair, they had possessed acquaintances of good standing. As for the
Marquis himself, I doubt to this day if he was a Marquis—although about
the fact that he had formerly belonged to high society (for instance,
in Moscow and Germany) there could be no doubt whatever. What he had
formerly been in France I had not a notion. All I knew was that he was
said to possess a château. During the last two weeks I had looked for
much to transpire, but am still ignorant whether at that time anything
decisive ever passed between Mademoiselle and the General. Everything
seemed to depend upon our means—upon whether the General would be able
to flourish sufficient money in her face. If ever the news should
arrive that the grandmother was not dead, Mlle. Blanche, I felt sure,
would disappear in a twinkling. Indeed, it surprised and amused me to
observe what a passion for intrigue I was developing. But how I loathed
it all! With what pleasure would I have given everybody and everything
the go-by! Only—I could not leave Polina. How, then, could I show
contempt for those who surrounded her? Espionage is a base thing,
but—what have I to do with that?
Mr. Astley, too, I found a curious person. I was only sure that he had
fallen in love with Polina. A remarkable and diverting circumstance is
the amount which may lie in the mien of a shy and painfully modest man
who has been touched with the divine passion—especially when he would
rather sink into the earth than betray himself by a single word or
look. Though Mr. Astley frequently met us when we were out walking, he
would merely take off his hat and pass us by, though I knew he was
dying to join us. Even when invited to do so, he would refuse. Again,
in places of amusement—in the Casino, at concerts, or near the
fountain—he was never far from the spot where we were sitting. In fact,
_wherever_ we were in the Park, in the forest, or on the
Shlangenberg—one needed but to raise one’s eyes and glance around to
catch sight of at least a _portion_ of Mr. Astley’s frame sticking
out—whether on an adjacent path or behind a bush. Yet never did he lose
any chance of speaking to myself; and, one morning when we had met, and
exchanged a couple of words, he burst out in his usual abrupt way,
without saying “Good-morning.”
“That Mlle. Blanche,” he said. “Well, I have seen a good many women
like her.”
After that he was silent as he looked me meaningly in the face. What he
meant I did not know, but to my glance of inquiry he returned only a
dry nod, and a reiterated “It is so.” Presently, however, he resumed:
“Does Mlle. Polina like flowers?”
“I really cannot say,” was my reply.
“What? You cannot say?” he cried in great astonishment.
“No; I have never noticed whether she does so or not,” I repeated with
a smile.
“Hm! Then I have an idea in my mind,” he concluded. Lastly, with a nod,
he walked away with a pleased expression on his face. The conversation
had been carried on in execrable French.
IV
Today has been a day of folly, stupidity, and ineptness. The time is
now eleven o’clock in the evening, and I am sitting in my room and
thinking. It all began, this morning, with my being forced to go and
play roulette for Polina Alexandrovna. When she handed me over her
store of six hundred gülden I exacted two conditions—namely, that I
should not go halves with her in her winnings, if any (that is to say,
I should not take anything for myself), and that she should explain to
me, that same evening, why it was so necessary for her to win, and how
much was the sum which she needed. For, I could not suppose that she
was doing all this merely for the sake of money. Yet clearly she _did_
need some money, and that as soon as possible, and for a special
purpose. Well, she promised to explain matters, and I departed. There
was a tremendous crowd in the gaming-rooms. What an arrogant, greedy
crowd it was! I pressed forward towards the middle of the room until I
had secured a seat at a croupier’s elbow. Then I began to play in timid
fashion, venturing only twenty or thirty gülden at a time. Meanwhile, I
observed and took notes. It seemed to me that calculation was
superfluous, and by no means possessed of the importance which certain
other players attached to it, even though they sat with ruled papers in
their hands, whereon they set down the coups, calculated the chances,
reckoned, staked, and—lost exactly as we more simple mortals did who
played without any reckoning at all.
However, I deduced from the scene one conclusion which seemed to me
reliable—namely, that in the flow of fortuitous chances there is, if
not a system, at all events a sort of order. This, of course, is a very
strange thing. For instance, after a dozen middle figures there would
always occur a dozen or so outer ones. Suppose the ball stopped twice
at a dozen outer figures; it would then pass to a dozen of the first
ones, and then, again, to a dozen of the middle ciphers, and fall upon
them three or four times, and then revert to a dozen outers; whence,
after another couple of rounds, the ball would again pass to the first
figures, strike upon them once, and then return thrice to the middle
series—continuing thus for an hour and a half, or two hours. One,
three, two: one, three, two. It was all very curious. Again, for the
whole of a day or a morning the red would alternate with the black, but
almost without any order, and from moment to moment, so that scarcely
two consecutive rounds would end upon either the one or the other. Yet,
next day, or, perhaps, the next evening, the red alone would turn up,
and attain a run of over two score, and continue so for quite a length
of time—say, for a whole day. Of these circumstances the majority were
pointed out to me by Mr. Astley, who stood by the gaming-table the
whole morning, yet never once staked in person.
For myself, I lost all that I had on me, and with great speed. To begin
with, I staked two hundred gülden on “even,” and won. Then I staked the
same amount again, and won: and so on some two or three times. At one
moment I must have had in my hands—gathered there within a space of
five minutes—about 4000 gülden. That, of course, was the proper moment
for me to have departed, but there arose in me a strange sensation as
of a challenge to Fate—as of a wish to deal her a blow on the cheek,
and to put out my tongue at her. Accordingly I set down the largest
stake allowed by the rules—namely, 4000 gülden—and lost. Fired by this
mishap, I pulled out all the money left to me, staked it all on the
same venture, and—again lost! Then I rose from the table, feeling as
though I were stupefied. What had happened to me I did not know; but,
before luncheon I told Polina of my losses—until which time I walked
about the Park.
At luncheon I was as excited as I had been at the meal three days ago.
Mlle. Blanche and the Frenchman were lunching with us, and it appeared
that the former had been to the Casino that morning, and had seen my
exploits there. So now she showed me more attention when talking to me;
while, for his part, the Frenchman approached me, and asked outright if
it had been my own money that I had lost. He appeared to be suspicious
as to something being on foot between Polina and myself, but I merely
fired up, and replied that the money had been all my own.
At this the General seemed extremely surprised, and asked me whence I
had procured it; whereupon I replied that, though I had begun only with
100 gülden, six or seven rounds had increased my capital to 5000 or
6000 gülden, and that subsequently I had lost the whole in two rounds.
All this, of course, was plausible enough. During my recital I glanced
at Polina, but nothing was to be discerned on her face. However, she
had allowed me to fire up without correcting me, and from that I
concluded that it was my _cue_ to fire up, and to conceal the fact that
I had been playing on her behalf. “At all events,” I thought to myself,
“she, in her turn, has promised to give me an explanation to-night, and
to reveal to me something or another.”
Although the General appeared to be taking stock of me, he said
nothing. Yet I could see uneasiness and annoyance in his face. Perhaps
his straitened circumstances made it hard for him to have to hear of
piles of gold passing through the hands of an irresponsible fool like
myself within the space of a quarter of an hour. Now, I have an idea
that, last night, he and the Frenchman had a sharp encounter with one
another. At all events they closeted themselves together, and then had
a long and vehement discussion; after which the Frenchman departed in
what appeared to be a passion, but returned, early this morning, to
renew the combat. On hearing of my losses, however, he only remarked
with a sharp, and even a malicious, air that “a man ought to go more
carefully.” Next, for some reason or another, he added that, “though a
great many Russians go in for gambling, they are no good at the game.”
“_I_ think that roulette was devised specially for Russians,” I
retorted; and when the Frenchman smiled contemptuously at my reply I
further remarked that I was sure I was right; also that, speaking of
Russians in the capacity of gamblers, I had far more blame for them
than praise—of that he could be quite sure.
“Upon what do you base your opinion?” he inquired.
“Upon the fact that to the virtues and merits of the civilised
Westerner there has become historically added—though this is not his
chief point—a capacity for acquiring capital; whereas, not only is the
Russian incapable of acquiring capital, but also he exhausts it
wantonly and of sheer folly. None the less we Russians often need
money; wherefore, we are glad of, and greatly devoted to, a method of
acquisition like roulette—whereby, in a couple of hours, one may grow
rich without doing any work. This method, I repeat, has a great
attraction for us, but since we play in wanton fashion, and without
taking any trouble, we almost invariably lose.”
“To a certain extent that is true,” assented the Frenchman with a
self-satisfied air.
“Oh no, it is not true,” put in the General sternly. “And you,” he
added to me, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself for traducing your
own country!”
“I beg pardon,” I said. “Yet it would be difficult to say which is the
worst of the two—Russian ineptitude or the German method of growing
rich through honest toil.”
“What an extraordinary idea,” cried the General.
“And what a _Russian_ idea!” added the Frenchman.
I smiled, for I was rather glad to have a quarrel with them.
“I would rather live a wandering life in tents,” I cried, “than bow the
knee to a German idol!”
“To _what_ idol?” exclaimed the General, now seriously angry.
“To the German method of heaping up riches. I have not been here very
long, but I can tell you that what I have seen and verified makes my
Tartar blood boil. Good Lord! I wish for no virtues of that kind.
Yesterday I went for a walk of about ten versts; and, everywhere I
found that things were even as we read of them in good German
picture-books—that every house has its ‘Vater,’ who is horribly
beneficent and extraordinarily honourable. So honourable is he that it
is dreadful to have anything to do with him; and I cannot bear people
of that sort. Each such ‘Vater’ has his family, and in the evenings
they read improving books aloud. Over their roof-trees there murmur
elms and chestnuts; the sun has sunk to his rest; a stork is roosting
on the gable; and all is beautifully poetic and touching. Do not be
angry, General. Let me tell you something that is even more touching
than that. I can remember how, of an evening, my own father, now dead,
used to sit under the lime trees in his little garden, and to read
books aloud to myself and my mother. Yes, I know how things ought to be
done. Yet every German family is bound to slavery and to submission to
its ‘Vater.’ They work like oxen, and amass wealth like Jews. Suppose
the ‘Vater’ has put by a certain number of gülden which he hands over
to his eldest son, in order that the said son may acquire a trade or a
small plot of land. Well, one result is to deprive the daughter of a
dowry, and so leave her among the unwedded. For the same reason, the
parents will have to sell the younger son into bondage or the ranks of
the army, in order that he may earn more towards the family capital.
Yes, such things ARE done, for I have been making inquiries on the
subject. It is all done out of sheer rectitude—out of a rectitude which
is magnified to the point of the younger son believing that he has been
_rightly_ sold, and that it is simply idyllic for the victim to rejoice
when he is made over into pledge. What more have I to tell? Well,
this—that matters bear just as hardly upon the eldest son. Perhaps he
has his Gretchen to whom his heart is bound; but he cannot marry her,
for the reason that he has not yet amassed sufficient gülden. So, the
pair wait on in a mood of sincere and virtuous expectation, and
smilingly deposit themselves in pawn the while. Gretchen’s cheeks grow
sunken, and she begins to wither; until at last, after some twenty
years, their substance has multiplied, and sufficient gülden have been
honourably and virtuously accumulated. Then the ‘Vater’ blesses his
forty-year-old heir and the thirty-five-year-old Gretchen with the
sunken bosom and the scarlet nose; after which he bursts, into tears,
reads the pair a lesson on morality, and dies. In turn the eldest son
becomes a virtuous ‘Vater,’ and the old story begins again. In fifty or
sixty years’ time the grandson of the original ‘Vater’ will have
amassed a considerable sum; and that sum he will hand over to, his son,
and the latter to _his_ son, and so on for several generations; until
at length there will issue a Baron Rothschild, or a ‘Hoppe and
Company,’ or the devil knows what! Is it not a beautiful spectacle—the
spectacle of a century or two of inherited labour, patience, intellect,
rectitude, character, perseverance, and calculation, with a stork
sitting on the roof above it all? What is more; they think there can
never be anything better than this; wherefore, from _their_ point of
view they begin to judge the rest of the world, and to censure all who
are at fault—that is to say, who are not exactly like themselves. Yes,
there you have it in a nutshell. For my own part, I would rather grow
fat after the Russian manner, or squander my whole substance at
roulette. I have no wish to be ‘Hoppe and Company’ at the end of five
generations. I want the money for _myself_, for in no way do I look
upon my personality as necessary to, or meet to be given over to,
capital. I may be wrong, but there you have it. Those are _my_ views.”
“How far you may be right in what you have said I do not know,”
remarked the General moodily; “but I _do_ know that you are becoming an
insufferable _farçeur_ whenever you are given the least chance.”
As usual, he left his sentence unfinished. Indeed, whenever he embarked
upon anything that in the least exceeded the limits of daily
small-talk, he left unfinished what he was saying. The Frenchman had
listened to me contemptuously, with a slight protruding of his eyes;
but, he could not have understood very much of my harangue. As for
Polina, she had looked on with serene indifference. She seemed to have
heard neither my voice nor any other during the progress of the meal.
V
Yes, she had been extraordinarily meditative. Yet, on leaving the
table, she immediately ordered me to accompany her for a walk. We took
the children with us, and set out for the fountain in the Park.
I was in such an irritated frame of mind that in rude and abrupt
fashion I blurted out a question as to “why our Marquis de Griers had
ceased to accompany her for strolls, or to speak to her for days
together.”
“Because he is a brute,” she replied in rather a curious way. It was
the first time that I had heard her speak so of De Griers:
consequently, I was momentarily awed into silence by this expression of
resentment.
“Have you noticed, too, that today he is by no means on good terms with
the General?” I went on.
“Yes—and I suppose you want to know why,” she replied with dry
captiousness. “You are aware, are you not, that the General is
mortgaged to the Marquis, with all his property? Consequently, if the
General’s mother does not die, the Frenchman will become the absolute
possessor of everything which he now holds only in pledge.”
“Then it is really the case that everything is mortgaged? I have heard
rumours to that effect, but was unaware how far they might be true.”
“Yes, they _are_ true. What then?”
“Why, it will be a case of ‘Farewell, Mlle. Blanche,’” I remarked; “for
in such an event she would never become Madame General. Do you know, I
believe the old man is so much in love with her that he will shoot
himself if she should throw him over. At his age it is a dangerous
thing to fall in love.”
“Yes, something, I believe, _will_ happen to him,” assented Polina
thoughtfully.
“And what a fine thing it all is!” I continued. “Could anything be more
abominable than the way in which she has agreed to marry for money
alone? Not one of the decencies has been observed; the whole affair has
taken place without the least ceremony. And as for the grandmother,
what could be more comical, yet more dastardly, than the sending of
telegram after telegram to know if she is dead? What do you think of
it, Polina Alexandrovna?”
“Yes, it is very horrible,” she interrupted with a shudder.
“Consequently, I am the more surprised that _you_ should be so
cheerful. What are _you_ so pleased about? About the fact that you have
gone and lost my money?”
“What? The money that you gave me to lose? I told you I should never
win for other people—least of all for you. I obeyed you simply because
you ordered me to; but you must not blame me for the result. I warned
you that no good would ever come of it. You seem much depressed at
having lost your money. Why do you need it so greatly?”
“Why do _you_ ask me these questions?”
“Because you promised to explain matters to me. Listen. I am certain
that, as soon as ever I ‘begin to play for myself’ (and I still have
120 gülden left), I shall win. You can then take of me what you
require.”
She made a contemptuous grimace.
“You must not be angry with me,” I continued, “for making such a
proposal. I am so conscious of being only a nonentity in your eyes that
you need not mind accepting money from me. A gift from me could not
possibly offend you. Moreover, it was I who lost your gülden.”
She glanced at me, but, seeing that I was in an irritable, sarcastic
mood, changed the subject.
“My affairs cannot possibly interest you,” she said. “Still, if you
_do_ wish to know, I am in debt. I borrowed some money, and must pay it
back again. I have a curious, senseless idea that I am bound to win at
the gaming-tables. Why I think so I cannot tell, but I do think so, and
with some assurance. Perhaps it is because of that assurance that I now
find myself without any other resource.”
“Or perhaps it is because it is so _necessary_ for you to win. It is
like a drowning man catching at a straw. You yourself will agree that,
unless he were drowning he would not mistake a straw for the trunk of a
tree.”
Polina looked surprised.
“What?” she said. “Do not you also hope something from it? Did you not
tell me again and again, two weeks ago, that you were certain of
winning at roulette if you played here? And did you not ask me not to
consider you a fool for doing so? Were you joking? You cannot have
been, for I remember that you spoke with a gravity which forbade the
idea of your jesting.”
“True,” I replied gloomily. “I always felt certain that I should win.
Indeed, what you say makes me ask myself—Why have my absurd, senseless
losses of today raised a doubt in my mind? Yet I am _still_ positive
that, so soon as ever I begin to play for myself, I shall infallibly
win.”
“And why are you so certain?”
“To tell the truth, I do not know. I only know that I _must_ win—that
it is the one resource I have left. Yes, why do I feel so assured on
the point?”
“Perhaps because one cannot help winning if one is fanatically certain
of doing so.”
“Yet I dare wager that you do not think me capable of serious feeling
in the matter?”
“I do not care whether you are so or not,” answered Polina with calm
indifference. “Well, since you ask me, I _do_ doubt your ability to
take anything seriously. You are capable of worrying, but not deeply.
You are too ill-regulated and unsettled a person for that. But why do
you want money? Not a single one of the reasons which you have given
can be looked upon as serious.”
“By the way,” I interrupted, “you say you want to pay off a debt. It
must be a large one. Is it to the Frenchman?”
“What do you mean by asking all these questions? You are very clever
today. Surely you are not drunk?”
“You know that you and I stand on no ceremony, and that sometimes I put
to you very plain questions. I repeat that I am your slave—and slaves
cannot be shamed or offended.”
“You talk like a child. It is always possible to comport oneself with
dignity. If one has a quarrel it ought to elevate rather than to
degrade one.”
“A maxim straight from the copybook! Suppose I _cannot_ comport myself
with dignity. By that I mean that, though I am a man of self-respect, I
am unable to carry off a situation properly. Do you know the reason? It
is because we Russians are too richly and multifariously gifted to be
able at once to find the proper mode of expression. It is all a
question of mode. Most of us are so bounteously endowed with intellect
as to require also a spice of genius to choose the right form of
behaviour. And genius is lacking in us for the reason that so little
genius at all exists. It belongs only to the French—though a few other
Europeans have elaborated their forms so well as to be able to figure
with extreme dignity, and yet be wholly undignified persons. That is
why, with us, the mode is so all-important. The Frenchman may receive
an insult—a real, a venomous insult: yet, he will not so much as frown.
But a tweaking of the nose he cannot bear, for the reason that such an
act is an infringement of the accepted, of the time-hallowed order of
decorum. That is why our good ladies are so fond of Frenchmen—the
Frenchman’s manners, they say, are perfect! But in my opinion there is
no such thing as a Frenchman’s manners. The Frenchman is only a
bird—the _coq gaulois_. At the same time, as I am not a woman, I do not
properly understand the question. Cocks may be excellent birds. If I am
wrong you must stop me. You ought to stop and correct me more often
when I am speaking to you, for I am too apt to say everything that is
in my head.
“You see, I have lost my manners. I agree that I have none, nor yet any
dignity. I will tell you why. I set no store upon such things.
Everything in me has undergone a cheek. You know the reason. I have not
a single human thought in my head. For a long while I have been
ignorant of what is going on in the world—here or in Russia. I have
been to Dresden, yet am completely in the dark as to what Dresden is
like. You know the cause of my obsession. I have no hope now, and am a
mere cipher in your eyes; wherefore, I tell you outright that wherever
I go I see only you—all the rest is a matter of indifference.
“Why or how I have come to love you I do not know. It may be that you
are not altogether fair to look upon. Do you know, I am ignorant even
as to what your face is like. In all probability, too, your heart is
not comely, and it is possible that your mind is wholly ignoble.”
“And because you do not believe in my nobility of soul you think to
purchase me with money?” she said.
“_When_ have I thought to do so?” was my reply.
“You are losing the thread of the argument. If you do not wish to
purchase me, at all events you wish to purchase my respect.”
“Not at all. I have told you that I find it difficult to explain
myself. You are hard upon me. Do not be angry at my chattering. You
know why you ought not to be angry with me—that I am simply an
imbecile. However, I do not mind if you _are_ angry. Sitting in my
room, I need but to think of you, to imagine to myself the rustle of
your dress, and at once I fall almost to biting my hands. Why should
you be angry with me? Because I call myself your slave? Revel, I pray
you, in my slavery—revel in it. Do you know that sometimes I could kill
you?—not because I do not love you, or am jealous of you, but, because
I feel as though I could simply devour you... You are laughing!”
“No, I am not,” she retorted. “But I order you, nevertheless, to be
silent.”
She stopped, well nigh breathless with anger. God knows, she may not
have been a beautiful woman, yet I loved to see her come to a halt like
this, and was therefore, the more fond of arousing her temper. Perhaps
she divined this, and for that very reason gave way to rage. I said as
much to her.
“What rubbish!” she cried with a shudder.
“I do not care,” I continued. “Also, do you know that it is not safe
for us to take walks together? Often I have a feeling that I should
like to strike you, to disfigure you, to strangle you. Are you certain
that it will never come to that? You are driving me to frenzy. Am I
afraid of a scandal, or of your anger? Why should I fear your anger? I
love without hope, and know that hereafter I shall love you a thousand
times more. If ever I should kill you I should have to kill myself too.
But I shall put off doing so as long as possible, for I wish to
continue enjoying the unbearable pain which your coldness gives me. Do
you know a very strange thing? It is that, with every day, my love for
you increases—though that would seem to be almost an impossibility. Why
should I not become a fatalist? Remember how, on the third day that we
ascended the Shlangenberg, I was moved to whisper in your ear: ‘Say but
the word, and I will leap into the abyss.’ Had you said it, I should
have leapt. Do you not believe me?”
“What stupid rubbish!” she cried.
“I care not whether it be wise or stupid,” I cried in return. “I only
know that in your presence I must speak, speak, speak. Therefore, I am
speaking. I lose all conceit when I am with you, and everything ceases
to matter.”
“Why should I have wanted you to leap from the Shlangenberg?” she said
drily, and (I think) with wilful offensiveness. “_That_ would have been
of no use to me.”
“Splendid!” I shouted. “I know well that you must have used the words
‘of no use’ in order to crush me. _I_ can see through you. ‘Of no use,’
did you say? Why, to give pleasure is _always_ of use; and, as for
barbarous, unlimited power—even if it be only over a fly—why, it is a
kind of luxury. Man is a despot by nature, and loves to torture. You,
in particular, love to do so.”
I remember that at this moment she looked at me in a peculiar way. The
fact is that my face must have been expressing all the maze of
senseless, gross sensations which were seething within me. To this day
I can remember, word for word, the conversation as I have written it
down. My eyes were suffused with blood, and the foam had caked itself
on my lips. Also, on my honour I swear that, had she bidden me cast
myself from the summit of the Shlangenberg, I should have done it. Yes,
had she bidden me in jest, or only in contempt and with a spit in my
face, I should have cast myself down.
“Oh no! Why so? I believe you,” she said, but in such a manner—in the
manner of which, at times, she was a mistress—and with such a note of
disdain and viperish arrogance in her tone, that God knows I could have
killed her.
Yes, at that moment she stood in peril. I had not lied to her about
that.
“Surely you are not a coward?” suddenly she asked me.
“I do not know,” I replied. “Perhaps I am, but I do not know. I have
long given up thinking about such things.”
“If I said to you, ‘Kill that man,’ would you kill him?”
“Whom?”
“Whomsoever I wish?”
“The Frenchman?”
“Do not ask me questions; return me answers. I repeat, whomsoever I
wish? I desire to see if you were speaking seriously just now.”
She awaited my reply with such gravity and impatience that I found the
situation unpleasant.
“Do _you_, rather, tell me,” I said, “what is going on here? Why do you
seem half-afraid of me? I can see for myself what is wrong. You are the
step-daughter of a ruined and insensate man who is smitten with love
for this devil of a Blanche. And there is this Frenchman, too, with his
mysterious influence over you. Yet, you actually ask me such a
question! If you do not tell me how things stand, I shall have to put
in my oar and do something. Are you ashamed to be frank with me? Are
you shy of me?”
“I am not going to talk to you on that subject. I have asked you a
question, and am waiting for an answer.”
“Well, then—I will kill whomsoever you wish,” I said. “But are you
_really_ going to bid me do such deeds?”
“Why should you think that I am going to let you off? I shall bid you
do it, or else renounce me. Could you ever do the latter? No, you know
that you couldn’t. You would first kill whom I had bidden you, and then
kill _me_ for having dared to send you away!”
Something seemed to strike upon my brain as I heard these words. Of
course, at the time I took them half in jest and half as a challenge;
yet, she had spoken them with great seriousness. I felt thunderstruck
that she should so express herself, that she should assert such a right
over me, that she should assume such authority and say outright:
“Either you kill whom I bid you, or I will have nothing more to do with
you.” Indeed, in what she had said there was something so cynical and
unveiled as to pass all bounds. For how could she ever regard me as the
same after the killing was done? This was more than slavery and
abasement; it was sufficient to bring a man back to his right senses.
Yet, despite the outrageous improbability of our conversation, my heart
shook within me.
Suddenly, she burst out laughing. We were seated on a bench near the
spot where the children were playing—just opposite the point in the
alley-way before the Casino where the carriages drew up in order to set
down their occupants.
“Do you see that fat Baroness?” she cried. “It is the Baroness
Burmergelm. She arrived three days ago. Just look at her husband—that
tall, wizened Prussian there, with the stick in his hand. Do you
remember how he stared at us the other day? Well, go to the Baroness,
take off your hat to her, and say something in French.”
“Why?”
“Because you have sworn that you would leap from the Shlangenberg for
my sake, and that you would kill any one whom I might bid you kill.
Well, instead of such murders and tragedies, I wish only for a good
laugh. Go without answering me, and let me see the Baron give you a
sound thrashing with his stick.”
“Then you throw me out a challenge?—you think that I will not do it?”
“Yes, I do challenge you. Go, for such is my will.”
“Then I _will_ go, however mad be your fancy. Only, look here: shall
you not be doing the General a great disservice, as well as, through
him, a great disservice to yourself? It is not about myself I am
worrying—it is about you and the General. Why, for a mere fancy, should
I go and insult a woman?”
“Ah! Then I can see that you are only a trifler,” she said
contemptuously. “Your eyes are swimming with blood—but only because you
have drunk a little too much at luncheon. Do I not know that what I
have asked you to do is foolish and wrong, and that the General will be
angry about it? But I want to have a good laugh, all the same. I want
that, and nothing else. Why should you insult a woman, indeed? Well,
you will be given a sound thrashing for so doing.”
I turned away, and went silently to do her bidding. Of course the thing
was folly, but I could not get out of it. I remember that, as I
approached the Baroness, I felt as excited as a schoolboy. I was in a
frenzy, as though I were drunk.
VI
Two days have passed since that day of lunacy. What a noise and a fuss
and a chattering and an uproar there was! And what a welter of
unseemliness and disorder and stupidity and bad manners! And _I_ the
cause of it all! Yet part of the scene was also ridiculous—at all
events to myself it was so. I am not quite sure what was the matter
with me—whether I was merely stupefied or whether I purposely broke
loose and ran amok. At times my mind seems all confused; while at other
times I seem almost to be back in my childhood, at the school desk, and
to have done the deed simply out of mischief.
It all came of Polina—yes, of Polina. But for her, there might never
have been a fracas. Or perhaps I did the deed in a fit of despair
(though it may be foolish of me to think so)? What there is so
attractive about her I cannot think. Yet there _is_ something
attractive about her—something passing fair, it would seem. Others
besides myself she has driven to distraction. She is tall and straight,
and very slim. Her body looks as though it could be tied into a knot,
or bent double, like a cord. The imprint of her foot is long and
narrow. It is, a maddening imprint—yes, simply a maddening one! And her
hair has a reddish tint about it, and her eyes are like cat’s
eyes—though able also to glance with proud, disdainful mien. On the
evening of my first arrival, four months ago, I remember that she was
sitting and holding an animated conversation with De Griers in the
salon. And the way in which she looked at him was such that later, when
I retired to my own room upstairs, I kept fancying that she had smitten
him in the face—that she had smitten him right on the cheek, so
peculiar had been her look as she stood confronting him. Ever since
that evening I have loved her.
But to my tale.
I stepped from the path into the carriage-way, and took my stand in the
middle of it. There I awaited the Baron and the Baroness. When they
were but a few paces distant from me I took off my hat, and bowed.
I remember that the Baroness was clad in a voluminous silk dress, pale
grey in colour, and adorned with flounces and a crinoline and train.
Also, she was short and inordinately stout, while her gross, flabby
chin completely concealed her neck. Her face was purple, and the little
eyes in it had an impudent, malicious expression. Yet she walked as
though she were conferring a favour upon everybody by so doing. As for
the Baron, he was tall, wizened, bony-faced after the German fashion,
spectacled, and, apparently, about forty-five years of age. Also, he
had legs which seemed to begin almost at his chest—or, rather, at his
chin! Yet, for all his air of peacock-like conceit, his clothes sagged
a little, and his face wore a sheepish air which might have passed for
profundity.
These details I noted within a space of a few seconds.
At first my bow and the fact that I had my hat in my hand barely caught
their attention. The Baron only scowled a little, and the Baroness
swept straight on.
“Madame la Baronne,” said I, loudly and distinctly—embroidering each
word, as it were—“j’ai l’honneur d’être votre esclave.”
Then I bowed again, put on my hat, and walked past the Baron with a
rude smile on my face.
Polina had ordered me merely to take off my hat: the bow and the
general effrontery were of my own invention. God knows what instigated
me to perpetrate the outrage! In my frenzy I felt as though I were
walking on air.
“Hein!” ejaculated—or, rather, growled—the Baron as he turned towards
me in angry surprise.
I too turned round, and stood waiting in pseudo-courteous expectation.
Yet still I wore on my face an impudent smile as I gazed at him. He
seemed to hesitate, and his brows contracted to their utmost limits.
Every moment his visage was growing darker. The Baroness also turned in
my direction, and gazed at me in wrathful perplexity, while some of the
passers-by also began to stare at us, and others of them halted
outright.
“Hein!” the Baron vociferated again, with a redoubled growl and a note
of growing wrath in his voice.
“Ja wohl!” I replied, still looking him in the eyes.
“Sind Sie rasend?” he exclaimed, brandishing his stick, and,
apparently, beginning to feel nervous. Perhaps it was my costume which
intimidated him, for I was well and fashionably dressed, after the
manner of a man who belongs to indisputably good society.
“Ja wo-o-ohl!” cried I again with all my might with a longdrawn rolling
of the “ohl” sound after the fashion of the Berliners (who constantly
use the phrase “Ja wohl!” in conversation, and more or less prolong the
syllable “ohl” according as they desire to express different shades of
meaning or of mood).
At this the Baron and the Baroness faced sharply about, and almost fled
in their alarm. Some of the bystanders gave vent to excited
exclamations, and others remained staring at me in astonishment. But I
do not remember the details very well.
Wheeling quietly about, I returned in the direction of Polina
Alexandrovna. But, when I had got within a hundred paces of her seat, I
saw her rise and set out with the children towards the hotel.
At the portico I caught up to her.
“I have perpetrated the—the piece of idiocy,” I said as I came level
with her.
“Have you? Then you can take the consequences,” she replied without so
much as looking at me. Then she moved towards the staircase.
I spent the rest of the evening walking in the park. Thence I passed
into the forest, and walked on until I found myself in a neighbouring
principality. At a wayside restaurant I partook of an omelette and some
wine, and was charged for the idyllic repast a thaler and a half.
Not until eleven o’clock did I return home—to find a summons awaiting
me from the General.
Our party occupied two suites in the hotel; each of which contained two
rooms. The first (the larger suite) comprised a salon and a
smoking-room, with, adjoining the latter, the General’s study. It was
here that he was awaiting me as he stood posed in a majestic attitude
beside his writing-table. Lolling on a divan close by was De Griers.
“My good sir,” the General began, “may I ask you what this is that you
have gone and done?”
“I should be glad,” I replied, “if we could come straight to the point.
Probably you are referring to my encounter of today with a German?”
“With a German? Why, the German was the Baron Burmergelm—a most
important personage! I hear that you have been rude both to him and to
the Baroness?”
“No, I have not.”
“But I understand that you simply terrified them, my good sir?” shouted
the General.
“Not in the least,” I replied. “You must know that when I was in Berlin
I frequently used to hear the Berliners repeat, and repellently
prolong, a certain phrase—namely, ‘Ja wohl!’; and, happening to meet
this couple in the carriage-drive, I found, for some reason or another,
that this phrase suddenly recurred to my memory, and exercised a
rousing effect upon my spirits. Moreover, on the three previous
occasions that I have met the Baroness she has walked towards me as
though I were a worm which could easily be crushed with the foot. Not
unnaturally, I too possess a measure of self-respect; wherefore, on
_this_ occasion I took off my hat, and said politely (yes, I assure you
it was said politely): ‘Madame, j’ai l’honneur d’être votre esclave.’
Then the Baron turned round, and said ‘Hein!’; whereupon I felt moved
to ejaculate in answer ‘Ja wohl!’ Twice I shouted it at him—the first
time in an ordinary tone, and the second time with the greatest
prolonging of the words of which I was capable. That is all.”
I must confess that this puerile explanation gave me great pleasure. I
felt a strong desire to overlay the incident with an even added measure
of grossness; so, the further I proceeded, the more did the gusto of my
proceeding increase.
“You are only making fun of me!” vociferated the General as, turning to
the Frenchman, he declared that my bringing about of the incident had
been gratuitous. De Griers smiled contemptuously, and shrugged his
shoulders.
“Do not think _that_,” I put in. “It was not so at all. I grant you
that my behaviour was bad—I fully confess that it was so, and make no
secret of the fact. I would even go so far as to grant you that my
behaviour might well be called stupid and indecent tomfoolery; but,
_more_ than that it was not. Also, let me tell you that I am very sorry
for my conduct. Yet there is one circumstance which, in my eyes, almost
absolves me from regret in the matter. Of late—that is to say, for the
last two or three weeks—I have been feeling not at all well. That is to
say, I have been in a sick, nervous, irritable, fanciful condition, so
that I have periodically lost control over myself. For instance, on
more than one occasion I have tried to pick a quarrel even with
Monsieur le Marquise here; and, under the circumstances, he had no
choice but to answer me. In short, I have recently been showing signs
of ill-health. Whether the Baroness Burmergelm will take this
circumstance into consideration when I come to beg her pardon (for I
_do_ intend to make her amends) I do not know; but I doubt if she will,
and the less so since, so far as I know, the circumstance is one which,
of late, has begun to be abused in the legal world, in that advocates
in criminal cases have taken to justifying their clients on the ground
that, at the moment of the crime, they (the clients) were unconscious
of what they were doing—that, in short, they were out of health. ‘My
client committed the murder—that is true; but he has no recollection of
having committed it.’ And doctors actually support these advocates by
affirming that there really is such a malady—that there really _can_
arise temporary delusions which make a man remember nothing of a given
deed, or only a half or a quarter of it! But the Baron and Baroness are
members of an older generation, as well as Prussian Junkers and
landowners. To them such a process in the medico-judicial world will be
unknown, and therefore, they are the more unlikely to accept any such
explanation. What is _your_ opinion about it, General?”
“Enough, sir!” he thundered with barely restrained fury. “Enough, I
say! Once and for all I must endeavour to rid myself of you and your
impertinence. To justify yourself in the eyes of the Baron and Baroness
will be impossible. Any intercourse with you, even though it be
confined to a begging of their pardons, they would look upon as a
degradation. I may tell you that, on learning that you formed part of
my household, the Baron approached me in the Casino, and demanded of me
additional satisfaction. Do you understand, then, what it is that you
have entailed upon me—upon _me_, my good sir? You have entailed upon me
the fact of my being forced to sue humbly to the Baron, and to give him
my word of honour that this very day you shall cease to belong to my
establishment!”
“Excuse me, General,” I interrupted, “but did he make an express point
of it that I should ‘cease to belong to your establishment,’ as you
call it?”
“No; I, of my own initiative, thought that I ought to afford him that
satisfaction; and, with it he was satisfied. So we must part, good sir.
It is my duty to hand over to you forty gülden, three florins, as per
the accompanying statement. Here is the money, and here the account,
which you are at liberty to verify. Farewell. From henceforth we are
strangers. From you I have never had anything but trouble and
unpleasantness. I am about to call the landlord, and explain to him
that from tomorrow onwards I shall no longer be responsible for your
hotel expenses. Also I have the honour to remain your obedient
servant.”
I took the money and the account (which was indicted in pencil), and,
bowing low to the General, said to him very gravely:
“The matter cannot end here. I regret very much that you should have
been put to unpleasantness at the Baron’s hands; but, the fault (pardon
me) is your own. How came you to answer for me to the Baron? And what
did you mean by saying that I formed part of your household? I am
merely your family tutor—not a son of yours, nor yet your ward, nor a
person of any kind for whose acts you need be responsible. I am a
judicially competent person, a man of twenty-five years of age, a
university graduate, a gentleman, and, until I met yourself, a complete
stranger to you. Only my boundless respect for your merits restrains me
from demanding satisfaction at your hands, as well as a further
explanation as to the reasons which have led you to take it upon
yourself to answer for my conduct.”
So struck was he with my words that, spreading out his hands, he turned
to the Frenchman, and interpreted to him that I had challenged himself
(the General) to a duel. The Frenchman laughed aloud.
“Nor do I intend to let the Baron off,” I continued calmly, but with
not a little discomfiture at De Griers’ merriment. “And since you,
General, have today been so good as to listen to the Baron’s
complaints, and to enter into his concerns—since you have made yourself
a participator in the affair—I have the honour to inform you that,
tomorrow morning at the latest, I shall, in my own name, demand of the
said Baron a formal explanation as to the reasons which have led him to
disregard the fact that the matter lies between him and myself alone,
and to put a slight upon me by referring it to another person, as
though I were unworthy to answer for my own conduct.”
Then there happened what I had foreseen. The General on hearing of this
further intended outrage, showed the white feather.
“What?” he cried. “Do you intend to go on with this damned nonsense? Do
you not realise the harm that it is doing me? I beg of you not to laugh
at me, sir—not to laugh at me, for we have police authorities here who,
out of respect for my rank, and for that of the Baron... In short, sir,
I swear to you that I will have you arrested, and marched out of the
place, to prevent any further brawling on your part. Do you understand
what I say?” He was almost breathless with anger, as well as in a
terrible fright.
“General,” I replied with that calmness which he never could abide,
“one cannot arrest a man for brawling until he has brawled. I have not
so much as begun my explanations to the Baron, and you are altogether
ignorant as to the form and time which my intended procedure is likely
to assume. I wish but to disabuse the Baron of what is, to me, a
shameful supposition—namely, that I am under the guardianship of a
person who is qualified to exercise control over my free will. It is
vain for you to disturb and alarm yourself.”
“For God’s sake, Alexis Ivanovitch, do put an end to this senseless
scheme of yours!” he muttered, but with a sudden change from a
truculent tone to one of entreaty as he caught me by the hand. “Do you
know what is likely to come of it? Merely further unpleasantness. You
will agree with me, I am sure, that at present I ought to move with
especial care—yes, with very especial care. You cannot be fully aware
of how I am situated. When we leave this place I shall be ready to
receive you back into my household; but, for the time being I— Well, I
cannot tell you all my reasons.” With that he wound up in a despairing
voice: “O Alexis Ivanovitch, Alexis Ivanovitch!”
I moved towards the door—begging him to be calm, and promising that
everything should be done decently and in order; whereafter I departed.
Russians, when abroad, are over-apt to play the poltroon, to watch all
their words, and to wonder what people are thinking of their conduct,
or whether such and such a thing is _comme il faut_. In short, they are
over-apt to cosset themselves, and to lay claim to great importance.
Always they prefer the form of behaviour which has once and for all
become accepted and established. This they will follow slavishly
whether in hotels, on promenades, at meetings, or when on a journey.
But the General had avowed to me that, over and above such
considerations as these, there were circumstances which compelled him
to “move with especial care at present”, and that the fact had actually
made him poor-spirited and a coward—it had made him altogether change
his tone towards me. This fact I took into my calculations, and duly
noted it, for, of course, he _might_ apply to the authorities tomorrow,
and it behoved me to go carefully.
Yet it was not the General but Polina that I wanted to anger. She had
treated me with such cruelty, and had got me into such a hole, that I
felt a longing to force her to beseech me to stop. Of course, my
tomfoolery might compromise her; yet certain other feelings and desires
had begun to form themselves in my brain. If I was never to rank in her
eyes as anything but a nonentity, it would not greatly matter if I
figured as a draggle-tailed cockerel, and the Baron were to give me a
good thrashing; but, the fact was that I desired to have the laugh of
them all, and to come out myself unscathed. Let people see what they
_would_ see. Let Polina, for once, have a good fright, and be forced to
whistle me to heel again. But, however much she might whistle, she
should see that I was at least no draggle-tailed cockerel!
I have just received a surprising piece of news. I have just met our
chambermaid on the stairs, and been informed by her that Maria
Philipovna departed today, by the night train, to stay with a cousin at
Carlsbad. What can that mean? The maid declares that Madame packed her
trunks early in the day. Yet how is it that no one else seems to have
been aware of the circumstance? Or is it that _I_ have been the only
person to be unaware of it? Also, the maid has just told me that, three
days ago, Maria Philipovna had some high words with the General. I
understand, then! Probably the words were concerning Mlle. Blanche.
Certainly something decisive is approaching.
VII
In the morning I sent for the maître d’hôtel, and explained to him
that, in future, my bill was to be rendered to me personally. As a
matter of fact, my expenses had never been so large as to alarm me, nor
to lead me to quit the hotel; while, moreover, I still had 160 gülden
left to me, and—in them—yes, in them, perhaps, riches awaited me. It
was a curious fact, that, though I had not yet won anything at play, I
nevertheless acted, thought, and felt as though I were sure, before
long, to become wealthy—since I could not imagine myself otherwise.
Next, I bethought me, despite the earliness of the hour, of going to
see Mr. Astley, who was staying at the Hôtel de l’Angleterre (a
hostelry at no great distance from our own). But suddenly De Griers
entered my room. This had never before happened, for of late that
gentleman and I had stood on the most strained and distant of terms—he
attempting no concealment of his contempt for me (he even made an
express point of showing it), and I having no reason to desire his
company. In short, I detested him. Consequently, his entry at the
present moment the more astounded me. At once I divined that something
out of the way was on the carpet.
He entered with marked affability, and began by complimenting me on my
room. Then, perceiving that I had my hat in my hands, he inquired
whither I was going so early; and, no sooner did he hear that I was
bound for Mr. Astley’s than he stopped, looked grave, and seemed
plunged in thought.
He was a true Frenchman insofar as that, though he could be lively and
engaging when it suited him, he became insufferably dull and wearisome
as soon as ever the need for being lively and engaging had passed.
Seldom is a Frenchman _naturally_ civil: he is civil only as though to
order and of set purpose. Also, if he thinks it incumbent upon him to
be fanciful, original, and out of the way, his fancy always assumes a
foolish, unnatural vein, for the reason that it is compounded of trite,
hackneyed forms. In short, the natural Frenchman is a conglomeration of
commonplace, petty, everyday positiveness, so that he is the most
tedious person in the world. Indeed, I believe that none but greenhorns
and excessively Russian people feel an attraction towards the French;
for, to any man of sensibility, such a compendium of outworn forms—a
compendium which is built up of drawing-room manners, expansiveness,
and gaiety—becomes at once over-noticeable and unbearable.
“I have come to see you on business,” De Griers began in a very
off-hand, yet polite, tone; “nor will I seek to conceal from you the
fact that I have come in the capacity of an emissary, of an
intermediary, from the General. Having small knowledge of the Russian
tongue, I lost most of what was said last night; but, the General has
now explained matters, and I must confess that—”
“See here, Monsieur de Griers,” I interrupted. “I understand that you
have undertaken to act in this affair as an intermediary. Of course I
am only ‘un utchitel,’ a tutor, and have never claimed to be an
intimate of this household, nor to stand on at all familiar terms with
it. Consequently, I do not know the whole of its circumstances. Yet
pray explain to me this: have you yourself become one of its members,
seeing that you are beginning to take such a part in everything, and
are now present as an intermediary?”
The Frenchman seemed not over-pleased at my question. It was one which
was too outspoken for his taste—and he had no mind to be frank with me.
“I am connected with the General,” he said drily, “partly through
business affairs, and partly through special circumstances. My
principal has sent me merely to ask you to forego your intentions of
last evening. What you contemplate is, I have no doubt, very clever;
yet he has charged me to represent to you that you have not the
slightest chance of succeeding in your end, since not only will the
Baron refuse to receive you, but also he (the Baron) has at his
disposal every possible means for obviating further unpleasantness from
you. Surely you can see that yourself? What, then, would be the good of
going on with it all? On the other hand, the General promises that at
the first favourable opportunity he will receive you back into his
household, and, in the meantime, will credit you with your salary—with
‘vos appointements.’ Surely that will suit you, will it not?”
Very quietly I replied that he (the Frenchman) was labouring under a
delusion; that perhaps, after all, I should not be expelled from the
Baron’s presence, but, on the contrary, be listened to; finally, that I
should be glad if Monsieur de Griers would confess that he was now
visiting me merely in order to see how far I intended to go in the
affair.
“Good heavens!” cried de Griers. “Seeing that the General takes such an
interest in the matter, is there anything very unnatural in his
desiring also to know your plans?”
Again I began my explanations, but the Frenchman only fidgeted and
rolled his head about as he listened with an expression of manifest and
unconcealed irony on his face. In short, he adopted a supercilious
attitude. For my own part, I endeavoured to pretend that I took the
affair very seriously. I declared that, since the Baron had gone and
complained of me to the General, as though I were a mere servant of the
General’s, he had, in the first place, lost me my post, and, in the
second place, treated me like a person to whom, as to one not qualified
to answer for himself, it was not even worth while to speak. Naturally,
I said, I felt insulted at this. Yet, comprehending as I did,
differences of years, of social status, and so forth (here I could
scarcely help smiling), I was not anxious to bring about further scenes
by going personally to demand or to request satisfaction of the Baron.
All that I felt was that I had a right to go in person and beg the
Baron’s and the Baroness’s pardon—the more so since, of late, I had
been feeling unwell and unstrung, and had been in a fanciful condition.
And so forth, and so forth. Yet (I continued) the Baron’s offensive
behaviour to me of yesterday (that is to say, the fact of his referring
the matter to the General) as well as his insistence that the General
should deprive me of my post, had placed me in such a position that I
could not well express my regret to him (the Baron) and to his good
lady, for the reason that in all probability both he and the Baroness,
with the world at large, would imagine that I was doing so merely
because I hoped, by my action, to recover my post. Hence, I found
myself forced to request the Baron to express to me _his own_ regrets,
as well as to express them in the most unqualified manner—to say, in
fact, that he had never had any wish to insult me. After the Baron had
done _that_, I should, for my part, at once feel free to express to
him, whole-heartedly and without reserve, my own regrets. “In short,” I
declared in conclusion, “my one desire is that the Baron may make it
possible for me to adopt the latter course.”
“Oh fie! What refinements and subtleties!” exclaimed De Griers.
“Besides, what have you to express regret for? Confess, Monsieur,
Monsieur—pardon me, but I have forgotten your name—confess, I say, that
all this is merely a plan to annoy the General? Or perhaps, you have
some other and special end in view? Eh?”
“In return you must pardon _me_, mon cher Marquis, and tell me what
_you_ have to do with it.”
“The General—”
“But what of the General? Last night he said that, for some reason or
another, it behoved him to ‘move with especial care at present;’
wherefore, he was feeling nervous. But I did not understand the
reference.”
“Yes, there _do_ exist special reasons for his doing so,” assented De
Griers in a conciliatory tone, yet with rising anger. “You are
acquainted with Mlle. de Cominges, are you not?”
“Mlle. Blanche, you mean?”
“Yes, Mlle. Blanche de Cominges. Doubtless you know also that the
General is in love with this young lady, and may even be about to marry
her before he leaves here? Imagine, therefore, what any scene or
scandal would entail upon him!”
“I cannot see that the marriage scheme need, be affected by scenes or
scandals.”
“Mais le Baron est si irascible—un caractère prussien, vous savez!
Enfin il fera une querelle d’Allemand.”
“I do not care,” I replied, “seeing that I no longer belong to his
household” (of set purpose I was trying to talk as senselessly as
possible). “But is it quite settled that Mlle. is to marry the General?
What are they waiting for? Why should they conceal such a matter—at all
events from ourselves, the General’s own party?”
“I cannot tell you. The marriage is not yet a settled affair, for they
are awaiting news from Russia. The General has business transactions to
arrange.”
“Ah! Connected, doubtless, with madame his mother?”
De Griers shot at me a glance of hatred.
“To cut things short,” he interrupted, “I have complete confidence in
your native politeness, as well as in your tact and good sense. I feel
sure that you will do what I suggest, even if it is only for the sake
of this family which has received you as a kinsman into its bosom and
has always loved and respected you.”
“Be so good as to observe,” I remarked, “that the same family has just
_expelled_ me from its bosom. All that you are saying you are saying
but for show; but, when people have just said to you, ‘Of course we do
not wish to turn you out, yet, for the sake of appearance’s, you must
_permit_ yourself to be turned out,’ nothing can matter very much.”
“Very well, then,” he said, in a sterner and more arrogant tone.
“Seeing that my solicitations have had no effect upon you, it is my
duty to mention that other measures will be taken. There exist here
police, you must remember, and this very day they shall send you
packing. Que diable! To think of a blanc bec like yourself challenging
a person like the Baron to a duel! Do you suppose that you will be
_allowed_ to do such things? Just try doing them, and see if any one
will be afraid of you! The reason why I have asked you to desist is
that I can see that your conduct is causing the General annoyance. Do
you believe that the Baron could not tell his lacquey simply to put you
out of doors?”
“Nevertheless I should not GO out of doors,” I retorted with absolute
calm. “You are labouring under a delusion, Monsieur de Griers. The
thing will be done in far better trim than you imagine. I was just
about to start for Mr. Astley’s, to ask him to be my intermediary—in
other words, my second. He has a strong liking for me, and I do not
think that he will refuse. He will go and see the Baron on MY behalf,
and the Baron will certainly not decline to receive him. Although I am
only a tutor—a kind of subaltern, Mr. Astley is known to all men as the
nephew of a real English lord, the Lord Piebroch, as well as a lord in
his own right. Yes, you may be pretty sure that the Baron will be civil
to Mr. Astley, and listen to him. Or, should he decline to do so, Mr.
Astley will take the refusal as a personal affront to himself (for you
know how persistent the English are?) and thereupon introduce to the
Baron a friend of his own (and he has many friends in a good position).
That being so, picture to yourself the issue of the affair—an affair
which will not quite end as you think it will.”
This caused the Frenchman to bethink him of playing the coward. “Really
things may be as this fellow says,” he evidently thought. “Really he
_might_ be able to engineer another scene.”
“Once more I beg of you to let the matter drop,” he continued in a tone
that was now entirely conciliatory. “One would think that it actually
_pleased_ you to have scenes! Indeed, it is a brawl rather than genuine
satisfaction that you are seeking. I have said that the affair may
prove to be diverting, and even clever, and that possibly you may
attain something by it; yet none the less I tell you” (he said this
only because he saw me rise and reach for my hat) “that I have come
hither also to hand you these few words from a certain person. Read
them, please, for I must take her back an answer.”
So saying, he took from his pocket a small, compact, wafer-sealed note,
and handed it to me. In Polina’s handwriting I read:
“I hear that you are thinking of going on with this affair. You have
lost your temper now, and are beginning to play the fool! Certain
circumstances, however, I may explain to you later. Pray cease from
your folly, and put a check upon yourself. For folly it all is. I have
need of you, and, moreover, you have promised to obey me. Remember the
Shlangenberg. I ask you to be obedient. If necessary, I shall even
_bid_ you be obedient.—Your own
POLINA.
“_P.S._—If so be that you still bear a grudge against me for what
happened last night, pray forgive me.”
Everything, to my eyes, seemed to change as I read these words. My lips
grew pale, and I began to tremble. Meanwhile, the cursed Frenchman was
eyeing me discreetly and askance, as though he wished to avoid
witnessing my confusion. It would have been better if he had laughed
outright.
“Very well,” I said, “you can tell Mlle. not to disturb herself. But,”
I added sharply, “I would also ask you why you have been so long in
handing me this note? Instead of chattering about trifles, you ought to
have delivered me the missive at once—if you have really come
commissioned as you say.”
“Well, pardon some natural haste on my part, for the situation is so
strange. I wished first to gain some personal knowledge of your
intentions; and, moreover, I did not know the contents of the note, and
thought that it could be given you at any time.”
“I understand,” I replied. “So you were ordered to hand me the note
only in the last resort, and if you could not otherwise appease me? Is
it not so? Speak out, Monsieur de Griers.”
“Perhaps,” said he, assuming a look of great forbearance, but gazing at
me in a meaning way.
I reached for my hat; whereupon he nodded, and went out. Yet on his
lips I fancied that I could see a mocking smile. How could it have been
otherwise?
“You and I are to have a reckoning later, Master Frenchman,” I muttered
as I descended the stairs. “Yes, we will measure our strength
together.” Yet my thoughts were all in confusion, for again something
seemed to have struck me dizzy. Presently the air revived me a little,
and, a couple of minutes later, my brain had sufficiently cleared to
enable two ideas in particular to stand out in it. Firstly, I asked
myself, which of the absurd, boyish, and extravagant threats which I
had uttered at random last night had made everybody so alarmed?
Secondly, what was the influence which this Frenchman appeared to
exercise over Polina? He had but to give the word, and at once she did
as he desired—at once she wrote me a note to beg of me to forbear! Of
course, the relations between the pair had, from the first, been a
riddle to me—they had been so ever since I had first made their
acquaintance. But of late I had remarked in her a strong aversion for,
even a contempt for—him, while, for his part, he had scarcely even
looked at her, but had behaved towards her always in the most churlish
fashion. Yes, I had noted that. Also, Polina herself had mentioned to
me her dislike for him, and delivered herself of some remarkable
confessions on the subject. Hence, he must have got her into his power
somehow—somehow he must be holding her as in a vice.
VIII
All at once, on the Promenade, as it was called—that is to say, in the
Chestnut Avenue—I came face to face with my Englishman.
“I was just coming to see you,” he said; “and you appear to be out on a
similar errand. So you have parted with your employers?”
“How do you know that?” I asked in astonishment. “Is _every one_ aware
of the fact?”
“By no means. Not every one would consider such a fact to be of moment.
Indeed, I have never heard any one speak of it.”
“Then how come you to know it?”
“Because I have had occasion to do so. Whither are you bound? I like
you, and was therefore coming to pay you a visit.”
“What a splendid fellow you are, Mr. Astley!” I cried, though still
wondering how he had come by his knowledge. “And since I have not yet
had my coffee, and you have, in all probability, scarcely tasted yours,
let us adjourn to the Casino Café, where we can sit and smoke and have
a talk.”
The café in question was only a hundred paces away; so, when coffee had
been brought, we seated ourselves, and I lit a cigarette. Astley was no
smoker, but, taking a seat by my side, he prepared himself to listen.
“I do not intend to go away,” was my first remark. “I intend, on the
contrary, to remain here.”
“That I never doubted,” he answered good-humouredly.
It is a curious fact that, on my way to see him, I had never even
thought of telling him of my love for Polina. In fact, I had purposely
meant to avoid any mention of the subject. Nor, during our stay in the
place, had I ever made aught but the scantiest reference to it. You
see, not only was Astley a man of great reserve, but also from the
first I had perceived that Polina had made a great impression upon him,
although he never spoke of her. But now, strangely enough, he had no
sooner seated himself and bent his steely gaze upon me, than, for some
reason or another, I felt moved to tell him everything—to speak to him
of my love in all its phases. For an hour and a half did I discourse on
the subject, and found it a pleasure to do so, even though this was the
first occasion on which I had referred to the matter. Indeed, when, at
certain moments, I perceived that my more ardent passages confused him,
I purposely increased my ardour of narration. Yet one thing I regret:
and that is that I made references to the Frenchman which were a little
over-personal.
Mr. Astley sat without moving as he listened to me. Not a word nor a
sound of any kind did he utter as he stared into my eyes. Suddenly,
however, on my mentioning the Frenchman, he interrupted me, and
inquired sternly whether I did right to speak of an extraneous matter
(he had always been a strange man in his mode of propounding
questions).
“No, I fear not,” I replied.
“And concerning this Marquis and Mlle. Polina you know nothing beyond
surmise?”
Again I was surprised that such a categorical question should come from
such a reserved individual.
“No, I know nothing _for certain_ about them” was my reply.
“No—nothing.”
“Then you have done very wrong to speak of them to me, or even to
imagine things about them.”
“Quite so, quite so,” I interrupted in some astonishment. “I admit
that. Yet that is not the question.” Whereupon I related to him in
detail the incident of two days ago. I spoke of Polina’s outburst, of
my encounter with the Baron, of my dismissal, of the General’s
extraordinary pusillanimity, and of the call which De Griers had that
morning paid me. In conclusion, I showed Astley the note which I had
lately received.
“What do you make of it?” I asked. “When I met you I was just coming to
ask you your opinion. For myself, I could have killed this Frenchman,
and am not sure that I shall not do so even yet.”
“I feel the same about it,” said Mr. Astley. “As for Mlle. Polina—well,
you yourself know that, if necessity drives, one enters into relation
with people whom one simply detests. Even between this couple there may
be something which, though unknown to you, depends upon extraneous
circumstances. For, my own part, I think that you may reassure
yourself—or at all events partially. And as for Mlle. Polina’s
proceedings of two days ago, they were, of course, strange; not because
she can have meant to get rid of you, or to earn for you a thrashing
from the Baron’s cudgel (which for some curious reason, he did not use,
although he had it ready in his hands), but because such proceedings on
the part of such—well, of such a refined lady as Mlle. Polina are, to
say the least of it, unbecoming. But she cannot have guessed that you
would carry out her absurd wish to the letter?”
“Do you know what?” suddenly I cried as I fixed Mr. Astley with my
gaze. “I believe that you have already heard the story from some
one—very possibly from Mlle. Polina herself?”
In return he gave me an astonished stare.
“Your eyes look very fiery,” he said with a return of his former calm,
“and in them I can read suspicion. Now, you have no right whatever to
be suspicious. It is not a right which I can for a moment recognise,
and I absolutely refuse to answer your questions.”