“With your leave, Madame,” I said, “I will not go with you.”

“And why not? What do you mean? Is every one here a stupid

good-for-nothing?”

“Pardon me, but I have nothing to reproach myself with. I merely will

not go. I merely intend neither to witness nor to join in your play. I

also beg to return you your five hundred gülden. Farewell.”

Laying the money upon a little table which the Grandmother’s chair

happened to be passing, I bowed and withdrew.

“What folly!” the Grandmother shouted after me. “Very well, then. Do

not come, and I will find my way alone. Potapitch, you must come with

me. Lift up the chair, and carry me along.”

I failed to find Mr. Astley, and returned home. It was now growing

late—it was past midnight, but I subsequently learnt from Potapitch how

the Grandmother’s day had ended. She had lost all the money which,

earlier in the day, I had got for her paper securities—a sum amounting

to about ten thousand roubles. This she did under the direction of the

Pole whom, that afternoon, she had dowered with two ten-gülden pieces.

But before his arrival on the scene, she had commanded Potapitch to

stake for her; until at length she had told him also to go about his

business. Upon that the Pole had leapt into the breach. Not only did it

happen that he knew the Russian language, but also he could speak a

mixture of three different dialects, so that the pair were able to

understand one another. Yet the old lady never ceased to abuse him,

despite his deferential manner, and to compare him unfavourably with

myself (so, at all events, Potapitch declared). “_You_,” the old

chamberlain said to me, “treated her as a gentleman should, but he—he

robbed her right and left, as I could see with my own eyes. Twice she

caught him at it, and rated him soundly. On one occasion she even

pulled his hair, so that the bystanders burst out laughing. Yet she

lost everything, sir—that is to say, she lost all that you had changed

for her. Then we brought her home, and, after asking for some water and

saying her prayers, she went to bed. So worn out was she that she fell

asleep at once. May God send her dreams of angels! And _this_ is all

that foreign travel has done for us! Oh, my own Moscow! For what have

we not at home there, in Moscow? Such a garden and flowers as you could

never see here, and fresh air and apple-trees coming into blossom,—and

a beautiful view to look upon. Ah, but what must she do but go

travelling abroad? Alack, alack!”

XIII

Almost a month has passed since I last touched these notes—notes which

I began under the influence of impressions at once poignant and

disordered. The crisis which I then felt to be approaching has now

arrived, but in a form a hundred times more extensive and unexpected

than I had looked for. To me it all seems strange, uncouth, and tragic.

Certain occurrences have befallen me which border upon the marvellous.

At all events, that is how I view them. I view them so in one regard at

least. I refer to the whirlpool of events in which, at the time, I was

revolving. But the most curious feature of all is my relation to those

events, for hitherto I had never clearly understood myself. Yet now the

actual crisis has passed away like a dream. Even my passion for Polina

is dead. _Was_ it ever so strong and genuine as I thought? If so, what

has become of it now? At times I fancy that I must be mad; that

somewhere I am sitting in a madhouse; that these events have merely

_seemed_ to happen; that still they merely _seem_ to be happening.

I have been arranging and re-perusing my notes (perhaps for the purpose

of convincing myself that I am not in a madhouse). At present I am

lonely and alone. Autumn is coming—already it is mellowing the leaves;

and, as I sit brooding in this melancholy little town (and how

melancholy the little towns of Germany can be!), I find myself taking

no thought for the future, but living under the influence of passing

moods, and of my recollections of the tempest which recently drew me

into its vortex, and then cast me out again. At times I seem still to

be caught within that vortex. At times, the tempest seems once more to

be gathering, and, as it passes overhead, to be wrapping me in its

folds, until I have lost my sense of order and reality, and continue

whirling and whirling and whirling around.

Yet, it may be that I shall be able to stop myself from revolving if

once I can succeed in rendering myself an exact account of what has

happened within the month just past. Somehow I feel drawn towards the

pen; on many and many an evening I have had nothing else in the world

to do. But, curiously enough, of late I have taken to amusing myself

with the works of M. Paul de Kock, which I read in German translations

obtained from a wretched local library. These works I cannot abide, yet

I read them, and find myself marvelling that I should be doing so.

Somehow I seem to be afraid of any _serious_ book—afraid of permitting

any _serious_ preoccupation to break the spell of the passing moment.

So dear to me is the formless dream of which I have spoken, so dear to

me are the impressions which it has left behind it, that I fear to

touch the vision with anything new, lest it should dissolve in smoke.

But is it so dear to me? Yes, it _is_ dear to me, and will ever be

fresh in my recollections—even forty years hence....

So let me write of it, but only partially, and in a more abridged form

than my full impressions might warrant.

First of all, let me conclude the history of the Grandmother. Next day

she lost every gülden that she possessed. Things were bound to happen

so, for persons of her type who have once entered upon that road

descend it with ever-increasing rapidity, even as a sledge descends a

toboggan-slide. All day until eight o’clock that evening did she play;

and, though I personally did not witness her exploits, I learnt of them

later through report.

All that day Potapitch remained in attendance upon her; but the Poles

who directed her play she changed more than once. As a beginning she

dismissed her Pole of the previous day—the Pole whose hair she had

pulled—and took to herself another one; but the latter proved worse

even than the former, and incurred dismissal in favour of the first

Pole, who, during the time of his unemployment, had nevertheless

hovered around the Grandmother’s chair, and from time to time obtruded

his head over her shoulder. At length the old lady became desperate,

for the second Pole, when dismissed, imitated his predecessor by

declining to go away; with the result that one Pole remained standing

on the right of the victim, and the other on her left; from which

vantage points the pair quarrelled, abused each other concerning the

stakes and rounds, and exchanged the epithet “laidak”[4] and other

Polish terms of endearment. Finally, they effected a mutual

reconciliation, and, tossing the money about anyhow, played simply at

random. Once more quarrelling, each of them staked money on his own

side of the Grandmother’s chair (for instance, the one Pole staked upon

the red, and the other one upon the black), until they had so confused

and browbeaten the old lady that, nearly weeping, she was forced to

appeal to the head croupier for protection, and to have the two Poles

expelled. No time was lost in this being done, despite the rascals’

cries and protestations that the old lady was in their debt, that she

had cheated them, and that her general behaviour had been mean and

dishonourable. The same evening the unfortunate Potapitch related the

story to me with tears complaining that the two men had filled their

pockets with money (he himself had seen them do it) which had been

shamelessly pilfered from his mistress. For instance, one Pole demanded

of the Grandmother fifty gülden for his trouble, and then staked the

money by the side of her stake. She happened to win; whereupon he cried

out that the winning stake was his, and hers the loser. As soon as the

two Poles had been expelled, Potapitch left the room, and reported to

the authorities that the men’s pockets were full of gold; and, on the

Grandmother also requesting the head croupier to look into the affair,

the police made their appearance, and, despite the protests of the

Poles (who, indeed, had been caught redhanded), their pockets were

turned inside out, and the contents handed over to the Grandmother. In

fact, in, view of the circumstance that she lost all day, the croupiers

and other authorities of the Casino showed her every attention; and on

her fame spreading through the town, visitors of every nationality—even

the most knowing of them, the most distinguished—crowded to get a

glimpse of “la vieille comtesse russe, tombée en enfance,” who had lost

“so many millions.”

[4] Rascal

Yet with the money which the authorities restored to her from the

pockets of the Poles the Grandmother effected very, very little, for

there soon arrived to take his countrymen’s place, a third Pole—a man

who could speak Russian fluently, was dressed like a gentleman (albeit

in lacqueyish fashion), and sported a huge moustache. Though polite

enough to the old lady, he took a high hand with the bystanders. In

short, he offered himself less as a servant than as an _entertainer_.

After each round he would turn to the old lady, and swear terrible

oaths to the effect that he was a “Polish gentleman of honour” who

would scorn to take a kopeck of her money; and, though he repeated

these oaths so often that at length she grew alarmed, he had her play

in hand, and began to win on her behalf; wherefore, she felt that she

could not well get rid of him. An hour later the two Poles who, earlier

in the day, had been expelled from the Casino, made a reappearance

behind the old lady’s chair, and renewed their offers of service—even

if it were only to be sent on messages; but from Potapitch I

subsequently had it that between these rascals and the said “gentleman

of honour” there passed a wink, as well as that the latter put

something into their hands. Next, since the Grandmother had not yet

lunched—she had scarcely for a moment left her chair—one of the two

Poles ran to the restaurant of the Casino, and brought her thence a cup

of soup, and afterwards some tea. In fact, _both_ the Poles hastened to

perform this office. Finally, towards the close of the day, when it was

clear that the Grandmother was about to play her last bank-note, there

could be seen standing behind her chair no fewer than six natives of

Poland—persons who, as yet, had been neither audible nor visible; and

as soon as ever the old lady played the note in question, they took no

further notice of her, but pushed their way past her chair to the

table; seized the money, and staked it—shouting and disputing the

while, and arguing with the “gentleman of honour” (who also had

forgotten the Grandmother’s existence), as though he were their equal.

Even when the Grandmother had lost her all, and was returning (about

eight o’clock) to the hotel, some three or four Poles could not bring

themselves to leave her, but went on running beside her chair and

volubly protesting that the Grandmother had cheated them, and that she

ought to be made to surrender what was not her own. Thus the party

arrived at the hotel; whence, presently, the gang of rascals was

ejected neck and crop.

According to Potapitch’s calculations, the Grandmother lost, that day,

a total of ninety thousand roubles, in addition to the money which she

had lost the day before. Every paper security which she had brought

with her—five percent bonds, internal loan scrip, and what not—she had

changed into cash. Also, I could not but marvel at the way in which,

for seven or eight hours at a stretch, she sat in that chair of hers,

almost never leaving the table. Again, Potapitch told me that there

were three occasions on which she really began to win; but that, led on

by false hopes, she was unable to tear herself away at the right

moment. Every gambler knows how a person may sit a day and a night at

cards without ever casting a glance to right or to left.

Meanwhile, that day some other very important events were passing in

our hotel. As early as eleven o’clock—that is to say, before the

Grandmother had quitted her rooms—the General and De Griers decided

upon their last stroke. In other words, on learning that the old lady

had changed her mind about departing, and was bent on setting out for

the Casino again, the whole of our gang (Polina only excepted)

proceeded en masse to her rooms, for the purpose of finally and frankly

treating with her. But the General, quaking and greatly apprehensive as

to his possible future, overdid things. After half an hour’s prayers

and entreaties, coupled with a full confession of his debts, and even

of his passion for Mlle. Blanche (yes, he had quite lost his head), he

suddenly adopted a tone of menace, and started to rage at the old

lady—exclaiming that she was sullying the family honour, that she was

making a public scandal of herself, and that she was smirching the fair

name of Russia. The upshot was that the Grandmother turned him out of

the room with her stick (it was a real stick, too!). Later in the

morning he held several consultations with De Griers—the question which

occupied him being: Is it in any way possible to make use of the

police—to tell them that “this respected, but unfortunate, old lady has

gone out of her mind, and is squandering her last kopeck,” or something

of the kind? In short, is it in any way possible to engineer a species

of supervision over, or of restraint upon, the old lady? De Griers,

however, shrugged his shoulders at this, and laughed in the General’s

face, while the old warrior went on chattering volubly, and running up

and down his study. Finally De Griers waved his hand, and disappeared

from view; and by evening it became known that he had left the hotel,

after holding a very secret and important conference with Mlle.

Blanche. As for the latter, from early morning she had taken decisive

measures, by completely excluding the General from her presence, and

bestowing upon him not a glance. Indeed, even when the General pursued

her to the Casino, and met her walking arm in arm with the Prince, he

(the General) received from her and her mother not the slightest

recognition. Nor did the Prince himself bow. The rest of the day Mlle.

spent in probing the Prince, and trying to make him declare himself;

but in this she made a woeful mistake. The little incident occurred in

the evening. Suddenly Mlle. Blanche realised that the Prince had not

even a copper to his name, but, on the contrary, was minded to borrow

of her money wherewith to play at roulette. In high displeasure she

drove him from her presence, and shut herself up in her room.

The same morning I went to see—or, rather, to look for—Mr. Astley, but

was unsuccessful in my quest. Neither in his rooms nor in the Casino

nor in the Park was he to be found; nor did he, that day, lunch at his

hotel as usual. However, at about five o’clock I caught sight of him

walking from the railway station to the Hôtel d’Angleterre. He seemed

to be in a great hurry and much preoccupied, though in his face I could

discern no actual traces of worry or perturbation. He held out to me a

friendly hand, with his usual ejaculation of “Ah!” but did not check

his stride. I turned and walked beside him, but found, somehow, that

his answers forbade any putting of definite questions. Moreover, I felt

reluctant to speak to him of Polina; nor, for his part, did he ask me

any questions concerning her, although, on my telling him of the

Grandmother’s exploits, he listened attentively and gravely, and then

shrugged his shoulders.

“She is gambling away everything that she has,” I remarked.

“Indeed? She arrived at the Casino even before I had taken my departure

by train, so I knew she had been playing. If I should have time I will

go to the Casino to-night, and take a look at her. The thing interests

me.”

“Where have you been today?” I asked—surprised at myself for having, as

yet, omitted to put to him that question.

“To Frankfort.”

“On business?”

“On business.”

What more was there to be asked after that? I accompanied him until, as

we drew level with the Hotel des Quatre Saisons, he suddenly nodded to

me and disappeared. For myself, I returned home, and came to the

conclusion that, even had I met him at two o’clock in the afternoon, I

should have learnt no more from him than I had done at five o’clock,

for the reason that I had no definite question to ask. It was bound to

have been so. For me to formulate the query which I really wished to

put was a simple impossibility.

Polina spent the whole of that day either in walking about the park

with the nurse and children or in sitting in her own room. For a long

while past she had avoided the General and had scarcely had a word to

say to him (scarcely a word, I mean, on any _serious_ topic). Yes, that

I had noticed. Still, even though I was aware of the position in which

the General was placed, it had never occurred to me that he would have

any reason to avoid _her_, or to trouble her with family explanations.

Indeed, when I was returning to the hotel after my conversation with

Astley, and chanced to meet Polina and the children, I could see that

her face was as calm as though the family disturbances had never

touched her. To my salute she responded with a slight bow, and I

retired to my room in a very bad humour.

Of course, since the affair with the Burmergelms I had exchanged not a

word with Polina, nor had with her any kind of intercourse. Yet I had

been at my wits’ end, for, as time went on, there was arising in me an

ever-seething dissatisfaction. Even if she did not love me she ought

not to have trampled upon my feelings, nor to have accepted my

confessions with such contempt, seeing that she must have been aware

that I loved her (of her own accord she had allowed me to tell her as

much). Of course the situation between us had arisen in a curious

manner. About two months ago, I had noticed that she had a desire to

make me her friend, her confidant—that she was making trial of me for

the purpose; but, for some reason or another, the desired result had

never come about, and we had fallen into the present strange relations,

which had led me to address her as I had done. At the same time, if my

love was distasteful to her, why had she not _forbidden_ me to speak of

it to her?

But she had not so forbidden me. On the contrary, there had been

occasions when she had even _invited_ me to speak. Of course, this

might have been done out of sheer wantonness, for I well knew—I had

remarked it only too often—that, after listening to what I had to say,

and angering me almost beyond endurance, she loved suddenly to torture

me with some fresh outburst of contempt and aloofness! Yet she must

have known that I could not live without her. Three days had elapsed

since the affair with the Baron, and I could bear the severance no

longer. When, that afternoon, I met her near the Casino, my heart

almost made me faint, it beat so violently. She too could not live

without me, for had she not said that she had _need_ of me? Or had that

too been spoken in jest?

That she had a secret of some kind there could be no doubt. What she

had said to the Grandmother had stabbed me to the heart. On a thousand

occasions I had challenged her to be open with me, nor could she have

been ignorant that I was ready to give my very life for her. Yet always

she had kept me at a distance with that contemptuous air of hers; or

else she had demanded of me, in lieu of the life which I offered to lay

at her feet, such escapades as I had perpetrated with the Baron. Ah,

was it not torture to me, all this? For could it be that her whole

world was bound up with the Frenchman? What, too, about Mr. Astley? The

affair was inexplicable throughout. My God, what distress it caused me!

Arrived home, I, in a fit of frenzy, indited the following:

“Polina Alexandrovna, I can see that there is approaching us an

exposure which will involve you too. For the last time I ask of

you—have you, or have you not, any need of my life? If you have, then

make such dispositions as you wish, and I shall always be discoverable

in my room if required. If you have need of my life, write or send for

me.”

I sealed the letter, and dispatched it by the hand of a corridor

lacquey, with orders to hand it to the addressee in person. Though I

expected no answer, scarcely three minutes had elapsed before the

lacquey returned with “the compliments of a certain person.”

Next, about seven o’clock, I was sent for by the General. I found him

in his study, apparently preparing to go out again, for his hat and

stick were lying on the sofa. When I entered he was standing in the

middle of the room—his feet wide apart, and his head bent down. Also,

he appeared to be talking to himself. But as soon as ever he saw me at

the door he came towards me in such a curious manner that involuntarily

I retreated a step, and was for leaving the room; whereupon he seized

me by both hands, and, drawing me towards the sofa, and seating himself

thereon, he forced me to sit down on a chair opposite him. Then,

without letting go of my hands, he exclaimed with quivering lips and a

sparkle of tears on his eyelashes:

“Oh, Alexis Ivanovitch! Save me, save me! Have some mercy upon me!”

For a long time I could not make out what he meant, although he kept

talking and talking, and constantly repeating to himself, “Have mercy,

mercy!” At length, however, I divined that he was expecting me to give

him something in the nature of advice—or, rather, that, deserted by

every one, and overwhelmed with grief and apprehension, he had

bethought himself of my existence, and sent for me to relieve his

feelings by talking and talking and talking.

In fact, he was in such a confused and despondent state of mind that,

clasping his hands together, he actually went down upon his knees and

begged me to go to Mlle. Blanche, and beseech and advise her to return

to him, and to accept him in marriage.

“But, General,” I exclaimed, “possibly Mlle. Blanche has scarcely even

remarked my existence? What could _I_ do with her?”

It was in vain that I protested, for he could understand nothing that

was said to him, Next he started talking about the Grandmother, but

always in a disconnected sort of fashion—his one thought being to send

for the police.

“In Russia,” said he, suddenly boiling over with indignation, “or in

any well-ordered State where there exists a government, old women like

my mother are placed under proper guardianship. Yes, my good sir,” he

went on, relapsing into a scolding tone as he leapt to his feet and

started to pace the room, “do you not know this” (he seemed to be

addressing some imaginary auditor in the corner) “—do you not know

this, that in Russia old women like her are subjected to restraint, the

devil take them?” Again he threw himself down upon the sofa.

A minute later, though sobbing and almost breathless, he managed to

gasp out that Mlle. Blanche had refused to marry him, for the reason

that the Grandmother had turned up in place of a telegram, and it was

therefore clear that he had no inheritance to look for. Evidently, he

supposed that I had hitherto been in entire ignorance of all this.

Again, when I referred to De Griers, the General made a gesture of

despair. “He has gone away,” he said, “and everything which I possess

is mortgaged to him. I stand stripped to my skin. Even of the money

which you brought me from Paris, I know not if seven hundred francs be

left. Of course that sum will do to go on with, but, as regards the

future, I know nothing, I know nothing.”

“Then how will you pay your hotel bill?” I cried in consternation. “And

what shall you do afterwards?”

He looked at me vaguely, but it was clear that he had not

understood—perhaps had not even heard—my questions. Then I tried to get

him to speak of Polina and the children, but he only returned brief

answers of “Yes, yes,” and again started to maunder about the Prince,

and the likelihood of the latter marrying Mlle. Blanche. “What on earth

am I to do?” he concluded. “What on earth am I to do? Is this not

ingratitude? Is it not sheer ingratitude?” And he burst into tears.

Nothing could be done with such a man. Yet to leave him alone was

dangerous, for something might happen to him. I withdrew from his rooms

for a little while, but warned the nursemaid to keep an eye upon him,

as well as exchanged a word with the corridor lacquey (a very talkative

fellow), who likewise promised to remain on the look-out.

Hardly had I left the General, when Potapitch approached me with a

summons from the Grandmother. It was now eight o’clock, and she had

returned from the Casino after finally losing all that she possessed. I

found her sitting in her chair—much distressed and evidently fatigued.

Presently Martha brought her up a cup of tea and forced her to drink

it; yet, even then I could detect in the old lady’s tone and manner a

great change.

“Good evening, Alexis Ivanovitch,” she said slowly, with her head

drooping. “Pardon me for disturbing you again. Yes, you must pardon an

old, old woman like myself, for I have left behind me all that I

possess—nearly a hundred thousand roubles! You did quite right in

declining to come with me this evening. Now I am without money—without

a single groat. But I must not delay a moment; I must leave by the 9:30

train. I have sent for that English friend of yours, and am going to

beg of him three thousand francs for a week. Please try and persuade

him to think nothing of it, nor yet to refuse me, for I am still a rich

woman who possesses three villages and a couple of mansions. Yes, the

money shall be found, for I have not yet squandered _everything_. I

tell you this in order that he may have no doubts about—Ah, but here he

is! Clearly he is a good fellow.”

True enough, Astley had come hot-foot on receiving the Grandmother’s

appeal. Scarcely stopping even to reflect, and with scarcely a word, he

counted out the three thousand francs under a note of hand which she

duly signed. Then, his business done, he bowed, and lost no time in

taking his departure.

“You too leave me, Alexis Ivanovitch,” said the Grandmother. “All my

bones are aching, and I still have an hour in which to rest. Do not be

hard upon me, old fool that I am. Never again shall I blame young

people for being frivolous. I should think it wrong even to blame that

unhappy General of yours. Nevertheless, I do not mean to let him have

any of my money (which is all that he desires), for the reason that I

look upon him as a perfect blockhead, and consider myself, simpleton

though I be, at least wiser than _he_ is. How surely does God visit old

age, and punish it for its presumption! Well, good-bye. Martha, come

and lift me up.”

However, I had a mind to see the old lady off; and, moreover, I was in

an expectant frame of mind—somehow I kept thinking that _something_ was

going to happen; wherefore, I could not rest quietly in my room, but

stepped out into the corridor, and then into the Chestnut Avenue for a

few minutes’ stroll. My letter to Polina had been clear and firm, and

in the present crisis, I felt sure, would prove final. I had heard of

De Griers’ departure, and, however much Polina might reject me as a

_friend_, she might not reject me altogether as a _servant_. She would

need me to fetch and carry for her, and I was ready to do so. How could

it have been otherwise?

Towards the hour of the train’s departure I hastened to the station,

and put the Grandmother into her compartment—she and her party

occupying a reserved family saloon.

“Thanks for your disinterested assistance,” she said at parting. “Oh,

and please remind Prascovia of what I said to her last night. I expect

soon to see her.”

Then I returned home. As I was passing the door of the General’s suite,

I met the nursemaid, and inquired after her master. “There is nothing

new to report, sir,” she replied quietly. Nevertheless I decided to

enter, and was just doing so when I halted thunderstruck on the

threshold. For before me I beheld the General and Mlle.

Blanche—laughing gaily at one another!—while beside them, on the sofa,

there was seated her mother. Clearly the General was almost out of his

mind with joy, for he was talking all sorts of nonsense, and bubbling

over with a long-drawn, nervous laugh—a laugh which twisted his face

into innumerable wrinkles, and caused his eyes almost to disappear.

Afterwards I learnt from Mlle. Blanche herself that, after dismissing

the Prince and hearing of the General’s tears, she bethought her of

going to comfort the old man, and had just arrived for the purpose when

I entered. Fortunately, the poor General did not know that his fate had

been decided—that Mlle. had long ago packed her trunks in readiness for

the first morning train to Paris!

Hesitating a moment on the threshold I changed my mind as to entering,

and departed unnoticed. Ascending to my own room, and opening the door,

I perceived in the semi-darkness a figure seated on a chair in the

corner by the window. The figure did not rise when I entered, so I

approached it swiftly, peered at it closely, and felt my heart almost

stop beating. The figure was Polina!

XIV

The shock made me utter an exclamation.

“What is the matter? What is the matter?” she asked in a strange voice.

She was looking pale, and her eyes were dim.

“What is the matter?” I re-echoed. “Why, the fact that you are _here!_”

“If I am here, I have come with all that I have to bring,” she said.

“Such has always been my way, as you shall presently see. Please light

a candle.”

I did so; whereupon she rose, approached the table, and laid upon it an

open letter.

“Read it,” she added.

“It is De Griers’ handwriting!” I cried as I seized the document. My

hands were so tremulous that the lines on the pages danced before my

eyes. Although, at this distance of time, I have forgotten the exact

phraseology of the missive, I append, if not the precise words, at all

events the general sense.

“Mademoiselle,” the document ran, “certain untoward circumstances

compel me to depart in haste. Of course, you have of yourself remarked

that hitherto I have always refrained from having any final explanation

with you, for the reason that I could not well state the whole

circumstances; and now to my difficulties the advent of the aged

Grandmother, coupled with her subsequent proceedings, has put the final

touch. Also, the involved state of my affairs forbids me to write with

any finality concerning those hopes of ultimate bliss upon which, for a

long while past, I have permitted myself to feed. I regret the past,

but at the same time hope that in my conduct you have never been able

to detect anything that was unworthy of a gentleman and a man of

honour. Having lost, however, almost the whole of my money in debts

incurred by your stepfather, I find myself driven to the necessity of

saving the remainder; wherefore, I have instructed certain friends of

mine in St. Petersburg to arrange for the sale of all the property

which has been mortgaged to myself. At the same time, knowing that, in

addition, your frivolous stepfather has squandered money which is

exclusively yours, I have decided to absolve him from a certain moiety

of the mortgages on his property, in order that you may be in a

position to recover of him what you have lost, by suing him in legal

fashion. I trust, therefore, that, as matters now stand, this action of

mine may bring you some advantage. I trust also that this same action

leaves me in the position of having fulfilled every obligation which is

incumbent upon a man of honour and refinement. Rest assured that your

memory will for ever remain graven in my heart.”

“All this is clear enough,” I commented. “Surely you did not expect

aught else from him?” Somehow I was feeling annoyed.

“I expected nothing at all from him,” she replied—quietly enough, to

all outward seeming, yet with a note of irritation in her tone. “Long

ago I made up my mind on the subject, for I could read his thoughts,

and knew what he was thinking. He thought that possibly I should sue

him—that one day I might become a nuisance.” Here Polina halted for a

moment, and stood biting her lips. “So of set purpose I redoubled my

contemptuous treatment of him, and waited to see what he would do. If a

telegram to say that we had become legatees had arrived from, St.

Petersburg, I should have flung at him a quittance for my foolish

stepfather’s debts, and then dismissed him. For a long time I have

hated him. Even in earlier days he was not a man; and now!—Oh, how

gladly I could throw those fifty thousand roubles in his face, and spit

in it, and then rub the spittle in!”

“But the document returning the fifty-thousand rouble mortgage—has the

General got it? If so, possess yourself of it, and send it to De

Griers.”

“No, no; the General has not got it.”

“Just as I expected! Well, what is the General going to do?” Then an

idea suddenly occurred to me. “What about the Grandmother?” I asked.

Polina looked at me with impatience and bewilderment.

“What makes you speak of _her?_” was her irritable inquiry. “I cannot

go and live with her. Nor,” she added hotly, “will I go down upon my

knees to _any one_.”

“Why should you?” I cried. “Yet to think that you should have loved De

Griers! The villain, the villain! But I will kill him in a duel. Where

is he now?”

“In Frankfort, where he will be staying for the next three days.”

“Well, bid me do so, and I will go to him by the first train tomorrow,”

I exclaimed with enthusiasm.

She smiled.

“If you were to do that,” she said, “he would merely tell you to be so

good as first to return him the fifty thousand francs. What, then,

would be the use of having a quarrel with him? You talk sheer

nonsense.”

I ground my teeth.

“The question,” I went on, “is how to raise the fifty thousand francs.

We cannot expect to find them lying about on the floor. Listen. What of

Mr. Astley?” Even as I spoke a new and strange idea formed itself in my

brain.

Her eyes flashed fire.

“What? _you yourself_ wish me to leave you for him?” she cried with a

scornful look and a proud smile. Never before had she addressed me

thus.

Then her head must have turned dizzy with emotion, for suddenly she

seated herself upon the sofa, as though she were powerless any longer

to stand.

A flash of lightning seemed to strike me as I stood there. I could

scarcely believe my eyes or my ears. She _did_ love me, then! It _was_

to me, and not to Mr. Astley, that she had turned! Although she, an

unprotected girl, had come to me in my room—in an hotel room—and had

probably compromised herself thereby, I had not understood!

Then a second mad idea flashed into my brain.

“Polina,” I said, “give me but an hour. Wait here just one hour until I

return. Yes, you MUST do so. Do you not see what I mean? Just stay here

for that time.”

And I rushed from the room without so much as answering her look of

inquiry. She called something after me, but I did not return.

Sometimes it happens that the most insane thought, the most impossible

conception, will become so fixed in one’s head that at length one

believes the thought or the conception to be reality. Moreover, if with

the thought or the conception there is combined a strong, a passionate,

desire, one will come to look upon the said thought or conception as

something fated, inevitable, and foreordained—something bound to

happen. Whether by this there is connoted something in the nature of a

combination of presentiments, or a great effort of will, or a

self-annulment of one’s true expectations, and so on, I do not know;

but, at all events that night saw happen to me (a night which I shall

never forget) something in the nature of the miraculous. Although the

occurrence can easily be explained by arithmetic, I still believe it to

have been a miracle. Yet why did this conviction take such a hold upon

me at the time, and remain with me ever since? Previously, I had

thought of the idea, not as an occurrence which was ever likely to come

about, but as something which _never_ could come about.

The time was a quarter past eleven o’clock when I entered the Casino in

such a state of hope (though, at the same time, of agitation) as I had

never before experienced. In the gaming-rooms there were still a large

number of people, but not half as many as had been present in the

morning.

At eleven o’clock there usually remained behind only the real, the

desperate gamblers—persons for whom, at spas, there existed nothing

beyond roulette, and who went thither for that alone. These gamesters

took little note of what was going on around them, and were interested

in none of the appurtenances of the season, but played from morning

till night, and would have been ready to play through the night until

dawn had that been possible. As it was, they used to disperse

unwillingly when, at midnight, roulette came to an end. Likewise, as

soon as ever roulette was drawing to a close and the head croupier had

called “Les trois derniers coups,” most of them were ready to stake on

the last three rounds all that they had in their pockets—and, for the

most part, lost it. For my own part I proceeded towards the table at

which the Grandmother had lately sat; and, since the crowd around it

was not very large, I soon obtained standing room among the ring of

gamblers, while directly in front of me, on the green cloth, I saw

marked the word “Passe.”

“Passe” was a row of numbers from 19 to 36 inclusive; while a row of

numbers from 1 to 18 inclusive was known as “Manque.” But what had that

to do with me? I had not noticed—I had not so much as heard the numbers

upon which the previous coup had fallen, and so took no bearings when I

began to play, as, in my place, any _systematic_ gambler would have

done. No, I merely extended my stock of twenty ten-gülden pieces, and

threw them down upon the space “Passe” which happened to be confronting

me.

“Vingt-deux!” called the croupier.

I had won! I staked upon the same again—both my original stake and my

winnings.

“Trente-et-un!” called the croupier.

Again I had won, and was now in possession of eighty ten-gülden pieces.

Next, I moved the whole eighty on to twelve middle numbers (a stake

which, if successful, would bring me in a triple profit, but also

involved a risk of two chances to one). The wheel revolved, and stopped

at twenty-four. Upon this I was paid out notes and gold until I had by

my side a total sum of two thousand gülden.

It was as in a fever that I moved the pile, en bloc, on to the red.

Then suddenly I came to myself (though that was the only time during

the evening’s play when fear cast its cold spell over me, and showed

itself in a trembling of the hands and knees). For with horror I had

realised that I _must_ win, and that upon that stake there depended all

my life.

“Rouge!” called the croupier. I drew a long breath, and hot shivers

went coursing over my body. I was paid out my winnings in

bank-notes—amounting, of course, to a total of four thousand florins,

eight hundred gülden (I could still calculate the amounts).

After that, I remember, I again staked two thousand florins upon twelve

middle numbers, and lost. Again I staked the whole of my gold, with

eight hundred gülden, in notes, and lost. Then madness seemed to come

upon me, and seizing my last two thousand florins, I staked them upon

twelve of the first numbers—wholly by chance, and at random, and

without any sort of reckoning. Upon my doing so there followed a moment

of suspense only comparable to that which Madame Blanchard must have

experienced when, in Paris, she was descending earthwards from a

balloon.

“Quatre!” called the croupier.

Once more, with the addition of my original stake, I was in possession

of six thousand florins! Once more I looked around me like a

conqueror—once more I feared nothing as I threw down four thousand of

these florins upon the black. The croupiers glanced around them, and

exchanged a few words; the bystanders murmured expectantly.

The black turned up. After that I do not exactly remember either my

calculations or the order of my stakings. I only remember that, as in a

dream, I won in one round sixteen thousand florins; that in the three

following rounds, I lost twelve thousand; that I moved the remainder

(four thousand) on to “Passe” (though quite unconscious of what I was

doing—I was merely waiting, as it were, mechanically, and without

reflection, for something) and won; and that, finally, four times in

succession I lost. Yes, I can remember raking in money by thousands—but

most frequently on the twelve, middle numbers, to which I constantly

adhered, and which kept appearing in a sort of regular order—first,

three or four times running, and then, after an interval of a couple of

rounds, in another break of three or four appearances. Sometimes, this

astonishing regularity manifested itself in patches; a thing to upset

all the calculations of note—taking gamblers who play with a pencil and

a memorandum-book in their hands Fortune perpetrates some terrible

jests at roulette!

Since my entry not more than half an hour could have elapsed. Suddenly

a croupier informed me that I had, won thirty thousand florins, as well

as that, since the latter was the limit for which, at any one time, the

bank could make itself responsible, roulette at that table must close

for the night. Accordingly, I caught up my pile of gold, stuffed it

into my pocket, and, grasping my sheaf of bank-notes, moved to the

table in an adjoining salon where a second game of roulette was in

progress. The crowd followed me in a body, and cleared a place for me

at the table; after which, I proceeded to stake as before—that is to

say, at random and without calculating. What saved me from ruin I do

not know.

Of course there were times when fragmentary reckonings _did_ come

flashing into my brain. For instance, there were times when I attached

myself for a while to certain figures and coups—though always leaving

them, again before long, without knowing what I was doing.

In fact, I cannot have been in possession of all my faculties, for I

can remember the croupiers correcting my play more than once, owing to

my having made mistakes of the gravest order. My brows were damp with

sweat, and my hands were shaking. Also, Poles came around me to proffer

their services, but I heeded none of them. Nor did my luck fail me now.

Suddenly, there arose around me a loud din of talking and laughter.

“Bravo, bravo!” was the general shout, and some people even clapped

their hands. I had raked in thirty thousand florins, and again the bank

had had to close for the night!

“Go away now, go away now,” a voice whispered to me on my right. The

person who had spoken to me was a certain Jew of Frankfurt—a man who

had been standing beside me the whole while, and occasionally helping

me in my play.

“Yes, for God’s sake go,” whispered a second voice in my left ear.

Glancing around, I perceived that the second voice had come from a

modestly, plainly dressed lady of rather less than thirty—a woman whose

face, though pale and sickly-looking, bore also very evident traces of

former beauty. At the moment, I was stuffing the crumpled bank-notes

into my pockets and collecting all the gold that was left on the table.

Seizing up my last note for five hundred gülden, I contrived to

insinuate it, unperceived, into the hand of the pale lady. An

overpowering impulse had made me do so, and I remember how her thin

little fingers pressed mine in token of her lively gratitude. The whole

affair was the work of a moment.

Then, collecting my belongings, I crossed to where trente et quarante

was being played—a game which could boast of a more aristocratic

public, and was played with cards instead of with a wheel. At this

diversion the bank made itself responsible for a hundred thousand

thalers as the limit, but the highest stake allowable was, as in

roulette, four thousand florins. Although I knew nothing of the

game—and I scarcely knew the stakes, except those on black and red—I

joined the ring of players, while the rest of the crowd massed itself

around me. At this distance of time I cannot remember whether I ever

gave a thought to Polina; I seemed only to be conscious of a vague

pleasure in seizing and raking in the bank-notes which kept massing

themselves in a pile before me.

But, as ever, fortune seemed to be at my back. As though of set

purpose, there came to my aid a circumstance which not infrequently

repeats itself in gaming. The circumstance is that not infrequently

luck attaches itself to, say, the red, and does not leave it for a

space of say, ten, or even fifteen, rounds in succession. Three days

ago I had heard that, during the previous week there had been a run of

twenty-two coups on the red—an occurrence never before known at

roulette—so that men spoke of it with astonishment. Naturally enough,

many deserted the red after a dozen rounds, and practically no one

could now be found to stake upon it. Yet upon the black also—the

antithesis of the red—no experienced gambler would stake anything, for

the reason that every practised player knows the meaning of “capricious

fortune.” That is to say, after the sixteenth (or so) success of the

red, one would think that the seventeenth coup would inevitably fall

upon the black; wherefore, novices would be apt to back the latter in

the seventeenth round, and even to double or treble their stakes upon

it—only, in the end, to lose.

Yet some whim or other led me, on remarking that the red had come up

consecutively for seven times, to attach myself to that colour.

Probably this was mostly due to self-conceit, for I wanted to astonish

the bystanders with the riskiness of my play. Also, I remember that—oh,

strange sensation!—I suddenly, and without any challenge from my own

presumption, became obsessed with a _desire_ to take risks. If the

spirit has passed through a great many sensations, possibly it can no

longer be sated with them, but grows more excited, and demands more

sensations, and stronger and stronger ones, until at length it falls

exhausted. Certainly, if the rules of the game had permitted even of my

staking fifty thousand florins at a time, I should have staked them.

All of a sudden I heard exclamations arising that the whole thing was a

marvel, since the red was turning up for the fourteenth time!

“Monsieur a gagné cent mille florins,” a voice exclaimed beside me.

I awoke to my senses. What? I had won a hundred thousand florins? If

so, what more did I need to win? I grasped the banknotes, stuffed them

into my pockets, raked in the gold without counting it, and started to

leave the Casino. As I passed through the salons people smiled to see

my bulging pockets and unsteady gait, for the weight which I was

carrying must have amounted to half a pood! Several hands I saw

stretched out in my direction, and as I passed I filled them with all

the money that I could grasp in my own. At length two Jews stopped me

near the exit.

“You are a bold young fellow,” one said, “but mind you depart early

tomorrow—as early as you can—for if you do not you will lose everything

that you have won.”

But I did not heed them. The Avenue was so dark that it was barely

possible to distinguish one’s hand before one’s face, while the

distance to the hotel was half a verst or so; but I feared neither

pickpockets nor highwaymen. Indeed, never since my boyhood have I done

that. Also, I cannot remember what I thought about on the way. I only

felt a sort of fearful pleasure—the pleasure of success, of conquest,

of power (how can I best express it?). Likewise, before me there

flitted the image of Polina; and I kept remembering, and reminding

myself, that it was to _her_ I was going, that it was in _her_ presence

I should soon be standing, that it was _she_ to whom I should soon be

able to relate and show everything. Scarcely once did I recall what she

had lately said to me, or the reason why I had left her, or all those

varied sensations which I had been experiencing a bare hour and a half

ago. No, those sensations seemed to be things of the past, to be things

which had righted themselves and grown old, to be things concerning

which we needed to trouble ourselves no longer, since, for us, life was

about to begin anew. Yet I had just reached the end of the Avenue when

there _did_ come upon me a fear of being robbed or murdered. With each

step the fear increased until, in my terror, I almost started to run.

Suddenly, as I issued from the Avenue, there burst upon me the lights

of the hotel, sparkling with a myriad lamps! Yes, thanks be to God, I

had reached home!

Running up to my room, I flung open the door of it. Polina was still on

the sofa, with a lighted candle in front of her, and her hands clasped.

As I entered she stared at me in astonishment (for, at the moment, I

must have presented a strange spectacle). All I did, however, was to

halt before her, and fling upon the table my burden of wealth.

XV

I remember, too, how, without moving from her place, or changing her

attitude, she gazed into my face.

“I have won two hundred thousand francs!” cried I as I pulled out my

last sheaf of bank-notes. The pile of paper currency occupied the whole

table. I could not withdraw my eyes from it. Consequently, for a moment

or two Polina escaped my mind. Then I set myself to arrange the pile in

order, and to sort the notes, and to mass the gold in a separate heap.

That done, I left everything where it lay, and proceeded to pace the

room with rapid strides as I lost myself in thought. Then I darted to

the table once more, and began to recount the money; until all of a

sudden, as though I had remembered something, I rushed to the door, and

closed and double-locked it. Finally I came to a meditative halt before

my little trunk.

“Shall I put the money there until tomorrow?” I asked, turning sharply

round to Polina as the recollection of her returned to me.

She was still in her old place—still making not a sound. Yet her eyes

had followed every one of my movements. Somehow in her face there was a

strange expression—an expression which I did not like. I think that I

shall not be wrong if I say that it indicated sheer hatred.

Impulsively I approached her.

“Polina,” I said, “here are twenty-five thousand florins—fifty thousand

francs, or more. Take them, and tomorrow throw them in De Griers’

face.”

She returned no answer.

“Or, if you should prefer,” I continued, “let me take them to him

myself tomorrow—yes, early tomorrow morning. Shall I?”

Then all at once she burst out laughing, and laughed for a long while.

With astonishment and a feeling of offence I gazed at her. Her laughter

was too like the derisive merriment which she had so often indulged in

of late—merriment which had broken forth always at the time of my most

passionate explanations. At length she ceased, and frowned at me from

under her eyebrows.

“I am _not_ going to take your money,” she said contemptuously.

“Why not?” I cried. “Why not, Polina?”

“Because I am not in the habit of receiving money for nothing.”

“But I am offering it to you as a _friend_. In the same way I would

offer you my very life.”

Upon this she threw me a long, questioning glance, as though she were

seeking to probe me to the depths.

“You are giving too much for me,” she remarked with a smile. “The

beloved of De Griers is not worth fifty thousand francs.”

“Oh Polina, how can you speak so?” I exclaimed reproachfully. “Am _I_

De Griers?”

“You?” she cried with her eyes suddenly flashing. “Why, I _hate_ you!

Yes, yes, I _hate_ you! I love you no more than I do De Griers.”

Then she buried her face in her hands, and relapsed into hysterics. I

darted to her side. Somehow I had an intuition of something having

happened to her which had nothing to do with myself. She was like a

person temporarily insane.

“Buy me, would you, would you? Would you buy me for fifty thousand

francs as De Griers did?” she gasped between her convulsive sobs.

I clasped her in my arms, kissed her hands and feet, and fell upon my

knees before her.

Presently the hysterical fit passed away, and, laying her hands upon my

shoulders, she gazed for a while into my face, as though trying to read

it—something I said to her, but it was clear that she did not hear it.

Her face looked so dark and despondent that I began to fear for her

reason. At length she drew me towards herself—a trustful smile playing

over her features; and then, as suddenly, she pushed me away again as

she eyed me dimly.

Finally she threw herself upon me in an embrace.

“You love me?” she said. “_Do_ you?—you who were willing even to

quarrel with the Baron at my bidding?”

Then she laughed—laughed as though something dear, but laughable, had

recurred to her memory. Yes, she laughed and wept at the same time.

What was I to do? I was like a man in a fever. I remember that she

began to say something to me—though _what_ I do not know, since she

spoke with a feverish lisp, as though she were trying to tell me

something very quickly. At intervals, too, she would break off into the

smile which I was beginning to dread. “No, no!” she kept repeating.

“_You_ are my dear one; _you_ are the man I trust.” Again she laid her

hands upon my shoulders, and again she gazed at me as she reiterated:

“You love me, you love me? Will you _always_ love me?” I could not take

my eyes off her. Never before had I seen her in this mood of humility

and affection. True, the mood was the outcome of hysteria; but—! All of

a sudden she noticed my ardent gaze, and smiled slightly. The next

moment, for no apparent reason, she began to talk of Astley.

She continued talking and talking about him, but I could not make out

all she said—more particularly when she was endeavouring to tell me of

something or other which had happened recently. On the whole, she

appeared to be laughing at Astley, for she kept repeating that he was

waiting for her, and did I know whether, even at that moment, he was

not standing beneath the window? “Yes, yes, he is there,” she said.

“Open the window, and see if he is not.” She pushed me in that

direction; yet, no sooner did I make a movement to obey her behest than

she burst into laughter, and I remained beside her, and she embraced

me.

“Shall we go away tomorrow?” presently she asked, as though some

disturbing thought had recurred to her recollection. “How would it be

if we were to try and overtake Grandmamma? I think we should do so at

Berlin. And what think you she would have to say to us when we caught

her up, and her eyes first lit upon us? What, too, about Mr. Astley?

_He_ would not leap from the Shlangenberg for my sake! No! Of that I am

very sure!”—and she laughed. “Do you know where he is going next year?

He says he intends to go to the North Pole for scientific

investigations, and has invited me to go with him! Ha, ha, ha! He also

says that we Russians know nothing, can do nothing, without European

help. But he is a good fellow all the same. For instance, he does not

blame the General in the matter, but declares that Mlle. Blanche—that

love—But no; I do not know, I do not know.” She stopped suddenly, as

though she had said her say, and was feeling bewildered. “What poor

creatures these people are. How sorry I am for them, and for

Grandmamma! But when are you going to kill De Griers? Surely you do not

intend actually to murder him? You fool! Do you suppose that I should

_allow_ you to fight De Griers? Nor shall you kill the Baron.” Here she

burst out laughing. “How absurd you looked when you were talking to the

Burmergelms! I was watching you all the time—watching you from where I

was sitting. And how unwilling you were to go when I sent you! Oh, how

I laughed and laughed!”

Then she kissed and embraced me again; again she pressed her face to

mine with tender passion. Yet I neither saw nor heard her, for my head

was in a whirl....

It must have been about seven o’clock in the morning when I awoke.

Daylight had come, and Polina was sitting by my side—a strange

expression on her face, as though she had seen a vision and was unable

to collect her thoughts. She too had just awoken, and was now staring

at the money on the table. My head ached; it felt heavy. I attempted to

take Polina’s hand, but she pushed me from her, and leapt from the

sofa. The dawn was full of mist, for rain had fallen, yet she moved to

the window, opened it, and, leaning her elbows upon the window-sill,

thrust out her head and shoulders to take the air. In this position did

she remain for several minutes, without ever looking round at me, or

listening to what I was saying. Into my head there came the uneasy

thought: What is to happen now? How is it all to end? Suddenly Polina

rose from the window, approached the table, and, looking at me with an

expression of infinite aversion, said with lips which quivered with

anger:

“Well? Are you going to hand me over my fifty thousand francs?”

“Polina, you say that _again, again?_” I exclaimed.

“You have changed your mind, then? Ha, ha, ha! You are sorry you ever

promised them?”

On the table where, the previous night, I had counted the money there

still was lying the packet of twenty five thousand florins. I handed it

to her.

“The francs are mine, then, are they? They are mine?” she inquired

viciously as she balanced the money in her hands.

“Yes; they have _always_ been yours,” I said.

“Then _take_ your fifty thousand francs!” and she hurled them full in

my face. The packet burst as she did so, and the floor became strewed

with bank-notes. The instant that the deed was done she rushed from the

room.

At that moment she cannot have been in her right mind; yet, what was

the cause of her temporary aberration I cannot say. For a month past

she had been unwell. Yet what had brought about this _present_

condition of mind, above all things, this outburst? Had it come of

wounded pride? Had it come of despair over her decision to come to me?

Had it come of the fact that, presuming too much on my good fortune, I

had seemed to be intending to desert her (even as De Griers had done)

when once I had given her the fifty thousand francs? But, on my honour,

I had never cherished any such intention. What was at fault, I think,

was her own pride, which kept urging her not to trust me, but, rather,

to insult me—even though she had not realised the fact. In her eyes I

corresponded to De Griers, and therefore had been condemned for a fault

not wholly my own. Her mood of late had been a sort of delirium, a sort

of light-headedness—that I knew full well; yet, never had I

sufficiently taken it into consideration. Perhaps she would not pardon

me now? Ah, but this was _the present_. What about the future? Her

delirium and sickness were not likely to make her forget what she had

done in bringing me De Griers’ letter. No, she must have known what she

was doing when she brought it.

Somehow I contrived to stuff the pile of notes and gold under the bed,

to cover them over, and then to leave the room some ten minutes after

Polina. I felt sure that she had returned to her own room; wherefore, I

intended quietly to follow her, and to ask the nursemaid aid who opened

the door how her mistress was. Judge, therefore, of my surprise when,

meeting the domestic on the stairs, she informed me that Polina had not

yet returned, and that she (the domestic) was at that moment on her way

to my room in quest of her!

“Mlle. left me but ten minutes ago,” I said. “What can have become of

her?” The nursemaid looked at me reproachfully.

Already sundry rumours were flying about the hotel. Both in the office

of the commissionaire and in that of the landlord it was whispered

that, at seven o’clock that morning, the Fräulein had left the hotel,

and set off, despite the rain, in the direction of the Hôtel

d’Angleterre. From words and hints let fall I could see that the fact

of Polina having spent the night in my room was now public property.

Also, sundry rumours were circulating concerning the General’s family

affairs. It was known that last night he had gone out of his mind, and

paraded the hotel in tears; also, that the old lady who had arrived was

his mother, and that she had come from Russia on purpose to forbid her

son’s marriage with Mlle. de Cominges, as well as to cut him out of her

will if he should disobey her; also that, because he had disobeyed her,

she had squandered all her money at roulette, in order to have nothing

more to leave to him. “Oh, these Russians!” exclaimed the landlord,

with an angry toss of the head, while the bystanders laughed and the

clerk betook himself to his accounts. Also, every one had learnt about

my winnings; Karl, the corridor lacquey, was the first to congratulate

me. But with these folk I had nothing to do. My business was to set off

at full speed to the Hôtel d’Angleterre.

As yet it was early for Mr. Astley to receive visitors; but, as soon as

he learnt that it was _I_ who had arrived, he came out into the

corridor to meet me, and stood looking at me in silence with his

steel-grey eyes as he waited to hear what I had to say. I inquired

after Polina.

“She is ill,” he replied, still looking at me with his direct,

unwavering glance.

“And she is in your rooms.”

“Yes, she is in my rooms.”

“Then you are minded to keep her there?”

“Yes, I am minded to keep her there.”

“But, Mr. Astley, that will raise a scandal. It ought not to be

allowed. Besides, she is very ill. Perhaps you had not remarked that?”

“Yes, I have. It was I who told you about it. Had she not been ill, she

would not have gone and spent the night with you.”

“Then you know all about it?”

“Yes; for last night she was to have accompanied me to the house of a

relative of mine. Unfortunately, being ill, she made a mistake, and

went to your rooms instead.”

“Indeed? Then I wish you joy, Mr. Astley. Apropos, you have reminded me

of something. Were you beneath my window last night? Every moment Mlle.

Polina kept telling me to open the window and see if you were there;

after which she always smiled.”

“Indeed? No, I was not there; but I was waiting in the corridor, and

walking about the hotel.”

“She ought to see a doctor, you know, Mr. Astley.”

“Yes, she ought. I have sent for one, and, if she dies, I shall hold

you responsible.”

This surprised me.

“Pardon me,” I replied, “but what do you mean?”

“Never mind. Tell me if it is true that, last night, you won two

hundred thousand thalers?”

“No; I won a hundred thousand florins.”

“Good heavens! Then I suppose you will be off to Paris this morning?”

“Why?”

“Because all Russians who have grown rich go to Paris,” explained

Astley, as though he had read the fact in a book.

“But what could I do in Paris in summer time?—I _love_ her, Mr. Astley!

Surely you know that?”

“Indeed? I am sure that you do _not_. Moreover, if you were to stay

here, you would lose everything that you possess, and have nothing left

with which to pay your expenses in Paris. Well, good-bye now. I feel

sure that today will see you gone from here.”

“Good-bye. But I am _not_ going to Paris. Likewise—pardon me—what is to

become of this family? I mean that the affair of the General and Mlle.

Polina will soon be all over the town.”

“I daresay; yet, I hardly suppose that that will break the General’s

heart. Moreover, Mlle. Polina has a perfect right to live where she

chooses. In short, we may say that, as a family, this family has ceased

to exist.”

I departed, and found myself smiling at the Englishman’s strange

assurance that I should soon be leaving for Paris. “I suppose he means

to shoot me in a duel, should Polina die. Yes, that is what he intends

to do.” Now, although I was honestly sorry for Polina, it is a fact

that, from the moment when, the previous night, I had approached the

gaming-table, and begun to rake in the packets of bank-notes, my love

for her had entered upon a new plane. Yes, I can say that now;

although, at the time, I was barely conscious of it. Was I, then, at

heart a gambler? Did I, after all, love Polina not so _very_ much? No,

no! As God is my witness, I loved her! Even when I was returning home

from Mr. Astley’s my suffering was genuine, and my self-reproach

sincere. But presently I was to go through an exceedingly strange and

ugly experience.

I was proceeding to the General’s rooms when I heard a door near me

open, and a voice call me by name. It was Mlle.’s mother, the Widow de

Cominges who was inviting me, in her daughter’s name, to enter.

I did so; whereupon, I heard a laugh and a little cry proceed from the

bedroom (the pair occupied a suite of two apartments), where Mlle.

Blanche was just arising.

“Ah, c’est lui! Viens, donc, bête! Is it true that you have won a

mountain of gold and silver? J’aimerais mieux l’or.”

“Yes,” I replied with a smile.

“How much?”

“A hundred thousand florins.”

“Bibi, comme tu es bête! Come in here, for I can’t hear you where you

are now. Nous ferons bombance, n’est-ce pas?”

Entering her room, I found her lolling under a pink satin coverlet, and

revealing a pair of swarthy, wonderfully healthy shoulders—shoulders

such as one sees in dreams—shoulders covered over with a white cambric

nightgown which, trimmed with lace, stood out, in striking relief,

against the darkness of her skin.

“Mon fils, as-tu du cœur?” she cried when she saw me, and then giggled.

Her laugh had always been a very cheerful one, and at times it even

sounded sincere.

“Tout autre—” I began, paraphrasing Corneille.

“See here,” she prattled on. “Please search for my stockings, and help

me to dress. Aussi, si tu n’es pas trop bête je te prends à Paris. I am

just off, let me tell you.”

“This moment?”

“In half an hour.”

True enough, everything stood ready-packed—trunks, portmanteaux, and

all. Coffee had long been served.

“Eh bien, tu verras Paris. Dis donc, qu’est-ce que c’est qu’un

‘utchitel’? Tu étais bien bête quand tu étais ‘utchitel.’ Where are my

stockings? Please help me to dress.”

And she lifted up a really ravishing foot—small, swarthy, and not

misshapen like the majority of feet which look dainty only in bottines.

I laughed, and started to draw on to the foot a silk stocking, while

Mlle. Blanche sat on the edge of the bed and chattered.

“Eh bien, que feras-tu si je te prends avec moi? First of all I must

have fifty thousand francs, and you shall give them to me at Frankfurt.

Then we will go on to Paris, where we will live together, et je te

ferai voir des étoiles en plein jour. Yes, you shall see such women as

your eyes have never lit upon.”

“Stop a moment. If I were to give you those fifty thousand francs, what

should I have left for myself?”

“Another hundred thousand francs, please to remember. Besides, I could

live with you in your rooms for a month, or even for two; or even for

longer. But it would not take us more than two months to get through

fifty thousand francs; for, look you, je suis bonne enfante, et tu

verras des étoiles, you may be sure.”

“What? You mean to say that we should spend the whole in two months?”

“Certainly. Does that surprise you very much? Ah, vil esclave! Why, one

month of that life would be better than all your previous existence.

One month—et après, le déluge! Mais tu ne peux comprendre. Va! Away,

away! You are not worth it.—Ah, que fais-tu?”

For, while drawing on the other stocking, I had felt constrained to

kiss her. Immediately she shrunk back, kicked me in the face with her

toes, and turned me neck and crop out of the room.

“Eh bien, mon ‘utchitel’,” she called after me, “je t’attends, si tu

veux. I start in a quarter of an hour’s time.”

I returned to my own room with my head in a whirl. It was not my fault

that Polina had thrown a packet in my face, and preferred Mr. Astley to

myself. A few bank-notes were still fluttering about the floor, and I

picked them up. At that moment the door opened, and the landlord

appeared—a person who, until now, had never bestowed upon me so much as

a glance. He had come to know if I would prefer to move to a lower

floor—to a suite which had just been tenanted by Count V.

For a moment I reflected.

“No!” I shouted. “My account, please, for in ten minutes I shall be

gone.”

“To Paris, to Paris!” I added to myself. “Every man of birth must make

her acquaintance.”

Within a quarter of an hour all three of us were seated in a family

compartment—Mlle. Blanche, the Widow de Cominges, and myself. Mlle.

kept laughing hysterically as she looked at me, and Madame re-echoed

her; but _I_ did not feel so cheerful. My life had broken in two, and

yesterday had infected me with a habit of staking my all upon a card.

Although it might be that I had failed to win my stake, that I had lost

my senses, that I desired nothing better, I felt that the scene was to

be changed only _for a time_. “Within a month from now,” I kept

thinking to myself, “I shall be back again in Roulettenberg; and _then_

I mean to have it out with you, Mr. Astley!” Yes, as now I look back at

things, I remember that I felt greatly depressed, despite the absurd

gigglings of the egregious Blanche.

“What is the matter with you? How dull you are!” she cried at length as

she interrupted her laughter to take me seriously to task.

“Come, come! We are going to spend your two hundred thousand francs for

you, et tu seras heureux comme un petit roi. I myself will tie your tie

for you, and introduce you to Hortense. And when we have spent your

money you shall return here, and break the bank again. What did those

two Jews tell you?—that the thing most needed is daring, and that you

possess it? Consequently, this is not the first time that you will be

hurrying to Paris with money in your pocket. Quant à moi, je veux

cinquante mille francs de rente, et alors——”

“But what about the General?” I interrupted.

“The General? You know well enough that at about this hour every day he

goes to buy me a bouquet. On this occasion, I took care to tell him

that he must hunt for the choicest of flowers; and when he returns

home, the poor fellow will find the bird flown. Possibly he may take

wing in pursuit—ha, ha, ha! And if so, I shall not be sorry, for he

could be useful to me in Paris, and Mr. Astley will pay his debts

here.”

In this manner did I depart for the Gay City.

XVI

Of Paris what am I to say? The whole proceeding was a delirium, a

madness. I spent a little over three weeks there, and, during that

time, saw my hundred thousand francs come to an end. I speak only of

the _one_ hundred thousand francs, for the other hundred thousand I

gave to Mlle. Blanche in pure cash. That is to say, I handed her fifty

thousand francs at Frankfurt, and, three days later (in Paris),

advanced her another fifty thousand on note of hand. Nevertheless, a

week had not elapsed ere she came to me for more money. “Et les cent

mille francs qui nous restent,” she added, “tu les mangeras avec moi,

mon utchitel.” Yes, she always called me her “utchitel.” A person more

economical, grasping, and mean than Mlle. Blanche one could not

imagine. But this was only as regards _her own_ money. _My_ hundred

thousand francs (as she explained to me later) she needed to set up her

establishment in Paris, “so that once and for all I may be on a decent

footing, and proof against any stones which may be thrown at me—at all

events for a long time to come.” Nevertheless, I saw nothing of those

hundred thousand francs, for my own purse (which she inspected daily)

never managed to amass in it more than a hundred francs at a time; and,

generally the sum did not reach even that figure.

“What do _you_ want with money?” she would say to me with air of

absolute simplicity; and I never disputed the point. Nevertheless,

though she fitted out her flat very badly with the money, the fact did

not prevent her from saying when, later, she was showing me over the

rooms of her new abode: “See what care and taste can do with the most

wretched of means!” However, her “wretchedness” had cost fifty thousand

francs, while with the remaining fifty thousand she purchased a

carriage and horses.

Also, we gave a couple of balls—evening parties attended by Hortense

and Lisette and Cléopatre, who were women remarkable both for the

number of their liaisons and (though only in some cases) for their good

looks. At these reunions I had to play the part of host—to meet and

entertain fat mercantile parvenus who were impossible by reason of

their rudeness and braggadocio, colonels of various kinds, hungry

authors, and journalistic hacks—all of whom disported themselves in

fashionable tailcoats and pale yellow gloves, and displayed such an

aggregate of conceit and gasconade as would be unthinkable even in St.

Petersburg—which is saying a great deal! They used to try to make fun

of me, but I would console myself by drinking champagne and then

lolling in a retiring-room. Nevertheless, I found it deadly work.

“C’est un utchitel,” Blanche would say of me, “qui a gagné deux cent

mille francs, and but for me, would have had not a notion how to spend

them. Presently he will have to return to his tutoring. Does any one

know of a vacant post? You know, one must do something for him.”

I had the more frequent recourse to champagne in that I constantly felt

depressed and bored, owing to the fact that I was living in the most

bourgeois commercial milieu imaginable—a milieu wherein every sou was

counted and grudged. Indeed, two weeks had not elapsed before I

perceived that Blanche had no real affection for me, even though she

dressed me in elegant clothes, and herself tied my tie each day. In

short, she utterly despised me. But that caused me no concern. Blasé

and inert, I spent my evenings generally at the Château des Fleurs,

where I would get fuddled and then dance the cancan (which, in that

establishment, was a very indecent performance) with éclat. At length,

the time came when Blanche had drained my purse dry. She had conceived

an idea that, during the term of our residence together, it would be

well if I were always to walk behind her with a paper and pencil, in

order to jot down exactly what she spent, what she had saved, what she

was paying out, and what she was laying by. Well, of course I could not

fail to be aware that this would entail a battle over every ten francs;

so, although for every possible objection that I might make she had

prepared a suitable answer, she soon saw that I made no objections, and

therefore, had to start disputes herself. That is to say, she would

burst out into tirades which were met only with silence as I lolled on

a sofa and stared fixedly at the ceiling. This greatly surprised her.

At first she imagined that it was due merely to the fact that I was a

fool, “un utchitel”; wherefore she would break off her harangue in the

belief that, being too stupid to understand, I was a hopeless case.

Then she would leave the room, but return ten minutes later to resume

the contest. This continued throughout her squandering of my money—a

squandering altogether out of proportion to our means. An example is

the way in which she changed her first pair of horses for a pair which

cost sixteen thousand francs.

“Bibi,” she said on the latter occasion as she approached me, “surely

you are not angry?”

“No-o-o: I am merely tired,” was my reply as I pushed her from me. This

seemed to her so curious that straightway she seated herself by my

side.

“You see,” she went on, “I decided to spend so much upon these horses

only because I can easily sell them again. They would go at any time

for _twenty_ thousand francs.”

“Yes, yes. They are splendid horses, and you have got a splendid

turn-out. I am quite content. Let me hear no more of the matter.”

“Then you are not angry?”

“No. Why should I be? You are wise to provide yourself with what you

need, for it will all come in handy in the future. Yes, I quite see the

necessity of your establishing yourself on a good basis, for without it

you will never earn your million. My hundred thousand francs I look

upon merely as a beginning—as a mere drop in the bucket.”

Blanche, who had by no means expected such declarations from me, but,

rather, an uproar and protests, was rather taken aback.

“Well, well, what a man you are!” she exclaimed. “Mais tu as l’esprit

pour comprendre. Sais-tu, mon garçon, although you are a tutor, you

ought to have been born a prince. Are you not sorry that your money

should be going so quickly?”

“No. The quicker it goes the better.”

“Mais—sais-tu—mais dis donc, are you _really_ rich? Mais sais-tu, you

have too much contempt for money. Qu’est-ce que tu feras après, dis

donc?”

“Après I shall go to Homburg, and win another hundred thousand francs.”

“Oui, oui, c’est ça, c’est magnifique! Ah, I know you will win them,

and bring them to me when you have done so. Dis donc—you will end by

making me love you. Since you are what you are, I mean to love you all

the time, and never to be unfaithful to you. You see, I have not loved

you before parce que je croyais que tu n’es qu’un utchitel (quelque

chose comme un lacquais, n’est-ce pas?) Yet all the time I have been

true to you, parce que je suis bonne fille.”

“You lie!” I interrupted. “Did I not see you, the other day, with

Albert—with that black-jowled officer?”

“Oh, oh! Mais tu es—”

“Yes, you are lying right enough. But what makes you suppose that I

should be angry? Rubbish! Il faut que jeunesse se passe. Even if that

officer were here now, I should refrain from putting him out of the

room if I thought you really cared for him. Only, mind you, do not give

him any of my money. You hear?”

“You say, do you, that you would not be angry? Mais tu es un vrai

philosophe, sais-tu? Oui, un vrai philosophe! Eh bien, je t’aimerai, je

t’aimerai. Tu verras-tu seras content.”

True enough, from that time onward she seemed to attach herself only to

me, and in this manner we spent our last ten days together. The

promised “étoiles” I did not see, but in other respects she, to a

certain extent, kept her word. Moreover, she introduced me to Hortense,

who was a remarkable woman in her way, and known among us as Thérèse

Philosophe.

But I need not enlarge further, for to do so would require a story to

itself, and entail a colouring which I am loth to impart to the present

narrative. The point is that with all my faculties I desired the

episode to come to an end as speedily as possible. Unfortunately, our

hundred thousand francs lasted us, as I have said, for very nearly a

month—which greatly surprised me. At all events, Blanche bought herself

articles to the tune of eighty thousand francs, and the rest sufficed

just to meet our expenses of living. Towards the close of the affair,

Blanche grew almost frank with me (at least, she scarcely lied to me at

all)—declaring, amongst other things, that none of the debts which she

had been obliged to incur were going to fall upon my head. “I have

purposely refrained from making you responsible for my bills or

borrowings,” she said, “for the reason that I am sorry for you. Any

other woman in my place would have done so, and have let you go to

prison. See, then, how much I love you, and how good-hearted I am!

Think, too, what this accursed marriage with the General is going to

cost me!”

True enough, the marriage took place. It did so at the close of our

month together, and I am bound to suppose that it was upon the ceremony

that the last remnants of my money were spent. With it the episode—that

is to say, my sojourn with the Frenchwoman—came to an end, and I

formally retired from the scene.

It happened thus: A week after we had taken up our abode in Paris there

arrived thither the General. He came straight to see us, and

thenceforward lived with us practically as our guest, though he had a

flat of his own as well. Blanche met him with merry badinage and

laughter, and even threw her arms around him. In fact, she managed it

so that he had to follow everywhere in her train—whether when

promenading on the Boulevards, or when driving, or when going to the

theatre, or when paying calls; and this use which she made of him quite

satisfied the General. Still of imposing appearance and presence, as

well as of fair height, he had a dyed moustache and whiskers (he had

formerly been in the cuirassiers), and a handsome, though a somewhat

wrinkled, face. Also, his manners were excellent, and he could carry a

frockcoat well—the more so since, in Paris, he took to wearing his

orders. To promenade the Boulevards with such a man was not only a

thing possible, but also, so to speak, a thing advisable, and with this

programme the good but foolish General had not a fault to find. The

truth is that he had never counted upon this programme when he came to

Paris to seek us out. On that occasion he had made his appearance

nearly shaking with terror, for he had supposed that Blanche would at

once raise an outcry, and have him put from the door; wherefore, he was

the more enraptured at the turn that things had taken, and spent the

month in a state of senseless ecstasy. Already I had learnt that, after

our unexpected departure from Roulettenberg, he had had a sort of a

fit—that he had fallen into a swoon, and spent a week in a species of

garrulous delirium. Doctors had been summoned to him, but he had broken

away from them, and suddenly taken a train to Paris. Of course

Blanche’s reception of him had acted as the best of all possible cures,

but for long enough he carried the marks of his affliction, despite his

present condition of rapture and delight. To think clearly, or even to

engage in any serious conversation, had now become impossible for him;

he could only ejaculate after each word “Hm!” and then nod his head in

confirmation. Sometimes, also, he would laugh, but only in a nervous,

hysterical sort of a fashion; while at other times he would sit for

hours looking as black as night, with his heavy eyebrows knitted. Of

much that went on he remained wholly oblivious, for he grew extremely

absent-minded, and took to talking to himself. Only Blanche could awake

him to any semblance of life. His fits of depression and moodiness in

corners always meant either that he had not seen her for some while, or

that she had gone out without taking him with her, or that she had

omitted to caress him before departing. When in this condition, he

would refuse to say what he wanted—nor had he the least idea that he

was thus sulking and moping. Next, after remaining in this condition

for an hour or two (this I remarked on two occasions when Blanche had

gone out for the day—probably to see Albert), he would begin to look

about him, and to grow uneasy, and to hurry about with an air as though

he had suddenly remembered something, and must try and find it; after

which, not perceiving the object of his search, nor succeeding in

recalling what that object had been, he would as suddenly relapse into

oblivion, and continue so until the reappearance of Blanche—merry,

wanton, half-dressed, and laughing her strident laugh as she approached

to pet him, and even to kiss him (though the latter reward he seldom

received). Once, he was so overjoyed at her doing so that he burst into

tears. Even I myself was surprised.

From the first moment of his arrival in Paris, Blanche set herself to

plead with me on his behalf; and at such times she even rose to heights

of eloquence—saying that it was for _me_ she had abandoned him, though

she had almost become his betrothed and promised to become so; that it

was for _her_ sake he had deserted his family; that, having been in his

service, I ought to remember the fact, and to feel ashamed. To all this

I would say nothing, however much she chattered on; until at length I

would burst out laughing, and the incident would come to an end (at

first, as I have said, she had thought me a fool, but since she had

come to deem me a man of sense and sensibility). In short, I had the

happiness of calling her better nature into play; for though, at first,

I had not deemed her so, she was, in reality, a kind-hearted woman

after her own fashion. “You are good and clever,” she said to me

towards the finish, “and my one regret is that you are also so

wrong-headed. You will _her_ be a rich man!”

“Un vrai Russe—un Kalmuk” she usually called me.

Several times she sent me to give the General an airing in the streets,

even as she might have done with a lacquey and her spaniel; but, I

preferred to take him to the theatre, to the Bal Mabille, and to

restaurants. For this purpose she usually allowed me some money, though

the General had a little of his own, and enjoyed taking out his purse

before strangers. Once I had to use actual force to prevent him from

buying a phaeton at a price of seven hundred francs, after a vehicle

had caught his fancy in the Palais Royal as seeming to be a desirable

present for Blanche. What could _she_ have done with a

seven-hundred-franc phaeton?—and the General possessed in the world but

a thousand francs! The origin even of those francs I could never

determine, but imagined them to have emanated from Mr. Astley—the more

so since the latter had paid the family’s hotel bill. As for what view

the General took of myself, I think that he never divined the footing

on which I stood with Blanche. True, he had heard, in a dim sort of

way, that I had won a good deal of money; but more probably he supposed

me to be acting as secretary—or even as a kind of servant—to his

inamorata. At all events, he continued to address me, in his old

haughty style, as my superior. At times he even took it upon himself to

scold me. One morning in particular, he started to sneer at me over our

matutinal coffee. Though not a man prone to take offence, he suddenly,

and for some reason of which to this day I am ignorant, fell out with

me. Of course even he himself did not know the reason. To put things

shortly, he began a speech which had neither beginning nor ending, and

cried out, à bâtons rompus, that I was a boy whom he would soon put to

rights—and so forth, and so forth. Yet no one could understand what he

was saying, and at length Blanche exploded in a burst of laughter.

Finally something appeased him, and he was taken out for his walk. More

than once, however, I noticed that his depression was growing upon him;

that he seemed to be feeling the want of somebody or something; that,

despite Blanche’s presence, he was missing some person in particular.

Twice, on these occasions, did he plunge into a conversation with me,

though he could not make himself intelligible, and only went on

rambling about the service, his late wife, his home, and his property.

Every now and then, also, some particular word would please him;

whereupon he would repeat it a hundred times in the day—even though the

word happened to express neither his thoughts nor his feelings. Again,

I would try to get him to talk about his children, but always he cut me

short in his old snappish way, and passed to another subject. “Yes,

yes—my children,” was all that I could extract from him. “Yes, you are

right in what you have said about them.” Only once did he disclose his

real feelings. That was when we were taking him to the theatre, and

suddenly he exclaimed: “My unfortunate children! Yes, sir, they _are_

unfortunate children.” Once, too, when I chanced to mention Polina, he

grew quite bitter against her. “She is an ungrateful woman!” he

exclaimed. “She is a bad and ungrateful woman! She has broken up a

family. If there were laws here, I would have her impaled. Yes, I

would.” As for De Griers, the General would not have his name

mentioned. “He has ruined me,” he would say. “He has robbed me, and cut

my throat. For two years he was a perfect nightmare to me. For months

at a time he never left me in my dreams. Do not speak of him again.”

It was now clear to me that Blanche and he were on the point of coming

to terms; yet, true to my usual custom, I said nothing. At length,

Blanche took the initiative in explaining matters. She did so a week

before we parted.

“Il a de la chance,” she prattled, “for the Grandmother is now _really_

ill, and therefore, bound to die. Mr. Astley has just sent a telegram

to say so, and you will agree with me that the General is likely to be

her heir. Even if he should not be so, he will not come amiss, since,

in the first place, he has his pension, and, in the second place, he

will be content to live in a back room; whereas _I_ shall be Madame

General, and get into a good circle of society” (she was always

thinking of this) “and become a Russian châtelaine. Yes, I shall have a

mansion of my own, and peasants, and a million of money at my back.”

“But, suppose he should prove jealous? He might demand all sorts of

things, you know. Do you follow me?”

“Oh, dear no! How ridiculous that would be of him! Besides, I have

taken measures to prevent it. You need not be alarmed. That is to say,

I have induced him to sign notes of hand in Albert’s name.

Consequently, at any time I could get him punished. Isn’t he

ridiculous?”

“Very well, then. Marry him.”

And, in truth, she did so—though the marriage was a family one only,

and involved no pomp or ceremony. In fact, she invited to the nuptials

none but Albert and a few other friends. Hortense, Cléopatre, and the

rest she kept firmly at a distance. As for the bridegroom, he took a

great interest in his new position. Blanche herself tied his tie, and

Blanche herself pomaded him—with the result that, in his frockcoat and

white waistcoat, he looked quite comme il faut.

“Il est, pourtant, _très_ comme il faut,” Blanche remarked when she

issued from his room, as though the idea that he was “_très_ comme il

faut” had impressed even her. For myself, I had so little knowledge of

the minor details of the affair, and took part in it so much as a

supine spectator, that I have forgotten most of what passed on this

occasion. I only remember that Blanche and the Widow figured at it, not

as “de Cominges,” but as “du Placet.” Why they had hitherto been “de

Cominges” I do not know—I only know that this entirely satisfied the

General, that he liked the name “du Placet” even better than he had

liked the name “de Cominges.” On the morning of the wedding, he paced

the salon in his gala attire and kept repeating to himself with an air

of great gravity and importance: “Mlle. Blanche du Placet! Mlle.

Blanche du Placet, du Placet!” He beamed with satisfaction as he did

so. Both in the church and at the wedding breakfast he remained not

only pleased and contented, but even proud. She too underwent a change,

for now she assumed an air of added dignity.

“I must behave altogether differently,” she confided to me with a

serious air. “Yet, mark you, there is a tiresome circumstance of which

I had never before thought—which is, how best to pronounce my new

family name. Zagorianski, Zagozianski, Madame la Générale de Sago,

Madame la Générale de Fourteen Consonants—oh these infernal Russian

names! The _last_ of them would be the best to use, don’t you think?”

At length the time had come for us to part, and Blanche, the egregious

Blanche, shed real tears as she took her leave of me. “Tu étais bon

enfant” she said with a sob. “Je te croyais bête et tu en avais l’air,

but it suited you.” Then, having given me a final handshake, she

exclaimed, “Attends!”; whereafter, running into her boudoir, she

brought me thence two thousand-franc notes. I could scarcely believe my

eyes! “They may come in handy for you,” she explained, “for, though you

are a very learned tutor, you are a very stupid man. More than two

thousand francs, however, I am not going to give you, for the reason

that, if I did so, you would gamble them all away. Now good-bye. Nous

serons toujours bons amis, and if you win again, do not fail to come to

me, et tu seras heureux.”

I myself had still five hundred francs left, as well as a watch worth a

thousand francs, a few diamond studs, and so on. Consequently, I could

subsist for quite a length of time without particularly bestirring

myself. Purposely I have taken up my abode where I am now partly to

pull myself together, and partly to wait for Mr. Astley, who, I have

learnt, will soon be here for a day or so on business. Yes, I know

that, and then—and then I shall go to Homburg. But to Roulettenberg I

shall not go until next year, for they say it is bad to try one’s luck

twice in succession at a table. Moreover, Homburg is where the best

play is carried on.

XVII

It is a year and eight months since I last looked at these notes of

mine. I do so now only because, being overwhelmed with depression, I

wish to distract my mind by reading them through at random. I left them

off at the point where I was just going to Homburg. My God, with what a

light heart (comparatively speaking) did I write the concluding

lines!—though it may be not so much with a light heart, as with a

measure of self-confidence and unquenchable hope. At that time had I

any doubts of myself? Yet behold me now. Scarcely a year and a half

have passed, yet I am in a worse position than the meanest beggar. But

what is a beggar? A fig for beggary! I have ruined myself—that is all.

Nor is there anything with which I can compare myself; there is no

moral which it would be of any use for you to read to me. At the

present moment nothing could well be more incongruous than a moral. Oh,

you self-satisfied persons who, in your unctuous pride, are forever

ready to mouth your maxims—if only you knew how fully I myself

comprehend the sordidness of my present state, you would not trouble to

wag your tongues at me! What could you say to me that I do not already

know? Well, wherein lies my difficulty? It lies in the fact that by a

single turn of a roulette wheel everything for me, has become changed.

Yet, had things befallen otherwise, these moralists would have been

among the first (yes, I feel persuaded of it) to approach me with

friendly jests and congratulations. Yes, they would never have turned

from me as they are doing now! A fig for all of them! What am I? I am

zero—nothing. What shall I be tomorrow? I may be risen from the dead,

and have begun life anew. For still, I may discover the man in myself,

if only my manhood has not become utterly shattered.

I went, I say, to Homburg, but afterwards went also to Roulettenberg,

as well as to Spa and Baden; in which latter place, for a time, I acted

as valet to a certain rascal of a Privy Councillor, by name Heintze,

who until lately was also my master here. Yes, for five months I lived

my life with lacqueys! That was just after I had come out of

Roulettenberg prison, where I had lain for a small debt which I owed.

Out of that prison I was bailed by—by whom? By Mr. Astley? By Polina? I

do not know. At all events, the debt was paid to the tune of two

hundred thalers, and I sallied forth a free man. But what was I to do

with myself? In my dilemma I had recourse to this Heintze, who was a

young scapegrace, and the sort of man who could speak and write three

languages. At first I acted as his secretary, at a salary of thirty

gülden a month, but afterwards I became his lacquey, for the reason

that he could not afford to keep a secretary—only an unpaid servant. I

had nothing else to turn to, so I remained with him, and allowed myself

to become his flunkey. But by stinting myself in meat and drink I

saved, during my five months of service, some seventy gülden; and one

evening, when we were at Baden, I told him that I wished to resign my

post, and then hastened to betake myself to roulette.

Oh, how my heart beat as I did so! No, it was not the money that I

valued—what I wanted was to make all this mob of Heintzes, hotel

proprietors, and fine ladies of Baden talk about me, recount my story,

wonder at me, extol my doings, and worship my winnings. True, these

were childish fancies and aspirations, but who knows but that I might

meet Polina, and be able to tell her everything, and see her look of

surprise at the fact that I had overcome so many adverse strokes of

fortune. No, I had no desire for money for its own sake, for I was

perfectly well aware that I should only squander it upon some new

Blanche, and spend another three weeks in Paris after buying a pair of

horses which had cost sixteen thousand francs. No, I never believed

myself to be a hoarder; in fact, I knew only too well that I was a

spendthrift. And already, with a sort of fear, a sort of sinking in my

heart, I could hear the cries of the croupiers—“Trente et un, rouge,

impair et passe,” “Quarte, noir, pair et manque.” How greedily I gazed

upon the gaming-table, with its scattered louis d’or, ten-gülden

pieces, and thalers; upon the streams of gold as they issued from the

croupier’s hands, and piled themselves up into heaps of gold

scintillating as fire; upon the ell—long rolls of silver lying around

the croupier. Even at a distance of two rooms I could hear the chink of

that money—so much so that I nearly fell into convulsions.

Ah, the evening when I took those seventy gülden to the gaming table

was a memorable one for me. I began by staking ten gülden upon passe.

For passe I had always had a sort of predilection, yet I lost my stake

upon it. This left me with sixty gülden in silver. After a moment’s

thought I selected zero—beginning by staking five gülden at a time.

Twice I lost, but the third round suddenly brought up the desired coup.

I could almost have died with joy as I received my one hundred and

seventy-five gülden. Indeed, I have been less pleased when, in former

times, I have won a hundred thousand gülden. Losing no time, I staked

another hundred gülden upon the red, and won; two hundred upon the red,

and won; four hundred upon the black, and won; eight hundred upon

manque, and won. Thus, with the addition of the remainder of my

original capital, I found myself possessed, within five minutes, of

seventeen hundred gülden. Ah, at such moments one forgets both oneself

and one’s former failures! This I had gained by risking my very life. I

had dared so to risk, and behold, again I was a member of mankind!

I went and hired a room, I shut myself up in it, and sat counting my

money until three o’clock in the morning. To think that when I awoke on

the morrow, I was no lacquey! I decided to leave at once for Homburg.

There I should neither have to serve as a footman nor to lie in prison.

Half an hour before starting, I went and ventured a couple of stakes—no

more; with the result that, in all, I lost fifteen hundred florins.

Nevertheless, I proceeded to Homburg, and have now been there for a

month.

Of course, I am living in constant trepidation, playing for the

smallest of stakes, and always looking out for something—calculating,

standing whole days by the gaming-tables to watch the play—even seeing

that play in my dreams—yet seeming, the while, to be in some way

stiffening, to be growing caked, as it were, in mire. But I must

conclude my notes, which I finish under the impression of a recent

encounter with Mr. Astley. I had not seen him since we parted at

Roulettenberg, and now we met quite by accident. At the time I was

walking in the public gardens, and meditating upon the fact that not

only had I still some fifty gülden in my possession, but also I had

fully paid up my hotel bill three days ago. Consequently, I was in a

position to try my luck again at roulette; and if I won anything I

should be able to continue my play, whereas, if I lost what I now

possessed, I should once more have to accept a lacquey’s place,

provided that, in the alternative, I failed to discover a Russian

family which stood in need of a tutor. Plunged in these reflections, I

started on my daily walk through the Park and forest towards a

neighbouring principality. Sometimes, on such occasions, I spent four

hours on the way, and would return to Homburg tired and hungry; but, on

this particular occasion, I had scarcely left the gardens for the Park

when I caught sight of Astley seated on a bench. As soon as he

perceived me, he called me by name, and I went and sat down beside him;

but, on noticing that he seemed a little stiff in his manner, I

hastened to moderate the expression of joy which the sight of him had

called forth.

“_You_ here?” he said. “Well, I had an idea that I should meet you. Do

not trouble to tell me anything, for I know all—yes, all. In fact, your

whole life during the past twenty months lies within my knowledge.”

“How closely you watch the doings of your old friends!” I replied.

“That does you infinite credit. But stop a moment. You have reminded me

of something. Was it you who bailed me out of Roulettenberg prison when

I was lying there for a debt of two hundred gülden? _someone_ did so.”

“Oh dear no!—though I knew all the time that you were lying there.”

“Perhaps you could tell me who _did_ bail me out?”

“No; I am afraid I could not.”

“What a strange thing! For I know no Russians at all here, so it cannot

have been a Russian who befriended me. In Russia we Orthodox folk _do_

go bail for one another, but in this case I thought it must have been

done by some English stranger who was not conversant with the ways of

the country.”

Mr. Astley seemed to listen to me with a sort of surprise. Evidently he

had expected to see me looking more crushed and broken than I was.

“Well,” he said—not very pleasantly, “I am none the less glad to find

that you retain your old independence of spirit, as well as your

buoyancy.”

“Which means that you are vexed at not having found me more abased and

humiliated than I am?” I retorted with a smile.

Astley was not quick to understand this, but presently did so and

laughed.

“Your remarks please me as they always did,” he continued. “In those

words I see the clever, triumphant, and, above all things, cynical

friend of former days. Only Russians have the faculty of combining

within themselves so many opposite qualities. Yes, most men love to see

their best friend in abasement; for generally it is on such abasement

that friendship is founded. All thinking persons know that ancient

truth. Yet, on the present occasion, I assure you, I am sincerely glad

to see that you are _not_ cast down. Tell me, are you never going to

give up gambling?”

“Damn the gambling! Yes, I should certainly have given it up, were it

not that—”

“That you are losing? I thought so. You need not tell me any more. I

know how things stand, for you have said that last in despair, and

therefore, truthfully. Have you no other employment than gambling?”

“No; none whatever.”

Astley gave me a searching glance. At that time it was ages since I had

last looked at a paper or turned the pages of a book.

“You are growing blasé,” he said. “You have not only renounced life,

with its interests and social ties, but the duties of a citizen and a

man; you have not only renounced the friends whom I know you to have

had, and every aim in life but that of winning money; but you have also

renounced your memory. Though I can remember you in the strong, ardent

period of your life, I feel persuaded that you have now forgotten every

better feeling of that period—that your present dreams and aspirations

of subsistence do not rise above pair, impair rouge, noir, the twelve

middle numbers, and so forth.”

“Enough, Mr. Astley!” I cried with some irritation—almost in anger.

“Kindly do not recall to me any more recollections, for I can remember

things for myself. Only for a time have I put them out of my head. Only

until I shall have rehabilitated myself, am I keeping my memory dulled.

When that hour shall come, you will see me arise from the dead.”

“Then you will have to be here another ten years,” he replied. “Should

I then be alive, I will remind you—here, on this very bench—of what I

have just said. In fact, I will bet you a wager that I shall do so.”

“Say no more,” I interrupted impatiently. “And to show you that I have

not wholly forgotten the past, may I enquire where Mlle. Polina is? If

it was not you who bailed me out of prison, it must have been she. Yet

never have I heard a word concerning her.”

“No, I do not think it was she. At the present moment she is in

Switzerland, and you will do me a favour by ceasing to ask me these

questions about her.” Astley said this with a firm, and even an angry,

air.

“Which means that she has dealt you a serious wound?” I burst out with

an involuntary sneer.

“Mlle. Polina,” he continued, “Is the best of all possible living

beings; but, I repeat, that I shall thank you to cease questioning me

about her. You never really knew her, and her name on your lips is an

offence to my moral feeling.”

“Indeed? On what subject, then, have I a better right to speak to you

than on this? With it are bound up all your recollections and mine.

However, do not be alarmed: I have no wish to probe too far into your

private, your secret affairs. My interest in Mlle. Polina does not

extend beyond her outward circumstances and surroundings. About them

you could tell me in two words.”

“Well, on condition that the matter shall end there, I will tell you

that for a long time Mlle. Polina was ill, and still is so. My mother

and sister entertained her for a while at their home in the north of

England, and thereafter Mlle. Polina’s grandmother (you remember the

mad old woman?) died, and left Mlle. Polina a personal legacy of seven

thousand pounds sterling. That was about six months ago, and now Mlle.

is travelling with my sister’s family—my sister having since married.

Mlle.’s little brother and sister also benefited by the Grandmother’s

will, and are now being educated in London. As for the General, he died

in Paris last month, of a stroke. Mlle. Blanche did well by him, for

she succeeded in having transferred to herself all that he received

from the Grandmother. That, I think, concludes all that I have to

tell.”

“And De Griers? Is he too travelling in Switzerland?”

“No; nor do I know where he is. Also I warn you once more that you had

better avoid such hints and ignoble suppositions; otherwise you will

assuredly have to reckon with me.”

“What? In spite of our old friendship?”

“Yes, in spite of our old friendship.”

“Then I beg your pardon a thousand times, Mr. Astley. I meant nothing

offensive to Mlle. Polina, for I have nothing of which to accuse her.

Moreover, the question of there being anything between this Frenchman

and this Russian lady is not one which you and I need discuss, nor even

attempt to understand.”

“If,” replied Astley, “you do not care to hear their names coupled

together, may I ask you what you mean by the expressions ‘this

Frenchman,’ ‘this Russian lady,’ and ‘there being anything between

them’? Why do you call them so particularly a ‘Frenchman’ and a

‘Russian lady’?”

“Ah, I see you are interested, Mr. Astley. But it is a long, long

story, and calls for a lengthy preface. At the same time, the question

is an important one, however ridiculous it may seem at the first

glance. A Frenchman, Mr. Astley, is merely a fine figure of a man. With

this you, as a Britisher, may not agree. With it I also, as a Russian,

may not agree—out of envy. Yet possibly our good ladies are of another

opinion. For instance, one may look upon Racine as a broken-down,

hobbledehoy, perfumed individual—one may even be unable to read him;

and I too may think him the same, as well as, in some respects, a

subject for ridicule. Yet about him, Mr. Astley, there is a certain

charm, and, above all things, he is a great poet—though one might like

to deny it. Yes, the Frenchman, the Parisian, as a national figure, was

in process of developing into a figure of elegance before we Russians

had even ceased to be bears. The Revolution bequeathed to the French

nobility its heritage, and now every whipper-snapper of a Parisian may

possess manners, methods of expression, and even thoughts that are

above reproach in form, while all the time he himself may share in that

form neither in initiative nor in intellect nor in soul—his manners,

and the rest, having come to him through inheritance. Yes, taken by

himself, the Frenchman is frequently a fool of fools and a villain of

villains. Per contra, there is no one in the world more worthy of

confidence and respect than this young Russian lady. De Griers might so

mask his face and play a part as easily to overcome her heart, for he

has an imposing figure, Mr. Astley, and this young lady might easily

take that figure for his real self—for the natural form of his heart

and soul—instead of the mere cloak with which heredity has dowered him.

And even though it may offend you, I feel bound to say that the

majority also of English people are uncouth and unrefined, whereas we

Russian folk can recognise beauty wherever we see it, and are always

eager to cultivate the same. But to distinguish beauty of soul and

personal originality there is needed far more independence and freedom

than is possessed by our women, especially by our younger ladies. At

all events, they need more _experience_. For instance, this Mlle.

Polina—pardon me, but the name has passed my lips, and I cannot well

recall it—is taking a very long time to make up her mind to prefer you

to Monsieur de Griers. She may respect you, she may become your friend,

she may open out her heart to you; yet over that heart there will be

reigning that loathsome villain, that mean and petty usurer, De Griers.

This will be due to obstinacy and self-love—to the fact that De Griers

once appeared to her in the transfigured guise of a marquis, of a

disenchanted and ruined liberal who was doing his best to help her

family and the frivolous old General; and, although these transactions

of his have since been exposed, you will find that the exposure has

made no impression upon her mind. Only give her the De Griers of former

days, and she will ask of you no more. The more she may detest the

present De Griers, the more will she lament the De Griers of the

past—even though the latter never existed but in her own imagination.

You are a sugar refiner, Mr. Astley, are you not?”

“Yes, I belong to the well-known firm of Lovell and Co.”

“Then see here. On the one hand, you are a sugar refiner, while, on the

other hand, you are an Apollo Belvedere. But the two characters do not

mix with one another. I, again, am not even a sugar refiner; I am a

mere roulette gambler who has also served as a lacquey. Of this fact

Mlle. Polina is probably well aware, since she appears to have an

excellent force of police at her disposal.”

“You are saying this because you are feeling bitter,” said Astley with

cold indifference. “Yet there is not the least originality in your

words.”

“I agree. But therein lies the horror of it all—that, how trepidation,

playing ever mean and farcical my accusations may be, they are none the

less _true_. But I am only wasting words.”

“Yes, you are, for you are only talking nonsense!” exclaimed my

companion—his voice now trembling and his eyes flashing fire. “Are you

aware,” he continued, “that wretched, ignoble, petty, unfortunate man

though you are, it was at _her_ request I came to Homburg, in order to

see you, and to have a long, serious talk with you, and to report to

her your feelings and thoughts and hopes—yes, and your recollections of

her, too?”

“Indeed? Is that really so?” I cried—the tears beginning to well from

my eyes. Never before had this happened.

“Yes, poor unfortunate,” continued Astley. “She _did_ love you; and I

may tell you this now for the reason that now you are utterly lost.

Even if I were also to tell you that she still loves you, you would

none the less have to remain where you are. Yes, you have ruined

yourself beyond redemption. Once upon a time you had a certain amount

of talent, and you were of a lively disposition, and your good looks

were not to be despised. You might even have been useful to your

country, which needs men like you. Yet you remained here, and your life

is now over. I am not blaming you for this—in my view all Russians

resemble you, or are inclined to do so. If it is not roulette, then it

is something else. The exceptions are very rare. Nor are you the first

to learn what a taskmaster is yours. For roulette is not exclusively a

Russian game. Hitherto, you have honourably preferred to serve as a

lacquey rather than to act as a thief; but what the future may have in

store for you I tremble to think. Now good-bye. You are in want of

money, I suppose? Then take these ten louis d’or. More I shall not give

you, for you would only gamble it away. Take care of these coins, and

farewell. Once more, _take care_ of them.”

“No, Mr. Astley. After all that has been said I—”

“_Take care_ of them!” repeated my friend. “I am certain you are still

a gentleman, and therefore I give you the money as one gentleman may

give money to another. Also, if I could be certain that you would leave

both Homburg and the gaming-tables, and return to your own country, I

would give you a thousand pounds down to start life afresh; but, I give

you ten louis d’or instead of a thousand pounds for the reason that at

the present time a thousand pounds and ten louis d’or will be all the

same to you—you will lose the one as readily as you will the other.

Take the money, therefore, and good-bye.”

“Yes, I _will_ take it if at the same time you will embrace me.”

“With pleasure.”

So we parted—on terms of sincere affection.

But he was wrong. If _I_ was hard and undiscerning as regards Polina

and De Griers, _he_ was hard and undiscerning as regards Russian people

generally. Of myself I say nothing. Yet—yet words are only words. I

need to _act_. Above all things I need to think of Switzerland.

Tomorrow, tomorrow—Ah, but if only I could set things right tomorrow,

and be born again, and rise again from the dead! But no—I cannot. Yet I

must show her what I can do. Even if she should do no more than learn

that I can still play the man, it would be worth it. Today it is too

late, but _tomorrow_. Yet I have a presentiment that things can never

be otherwise. I have got fifteen louis d’or in my possession, although

I began with fifteen gülden. If I were to play carefully at the

start—But no, no! Surely I am not such a fool as that? Yet _why_ should

I not rise from the dead? I should require at first but to go

cautiously and patiently and the rest would follow. I should require

but to put a check upon my nature for one hour, and my fortunes would

be changed entirely. Yes, my nature is my weak point. I have only to

remember what happened to me some months ago at Roulettenberg, before

my final ruin. What a notable instance that was of my capacity for

resolution! On the occasion in question I had lost

everything—everything; yet, just as I was leaving the Casino, I heard

another gülden give a rattle in my pocket! “Perhaps I shall need it for

a meal,” I thought to myself; but a hundred paces further on, I changed

my mind, and returned. That gülden I staked upon manque—and there _is_

something in the feeling that, though one is alone, and in a foreign

land, and far from one’s own home and friends, and ignorant of whence

one’s next meal is to come, one is nevertheless staking one’s very last

coin! Well, I won the stake, and in twenty minutes had left the Casino

with a hundred and seventy gülden in my pocket! That is a fact, and it

shows what a last remaining gülden can do.... But what if my heart had

failed me, or I had shrunk from making up my mind? ...

No; tomorrow all shall be ended!