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The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Gambler, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky - səhifə 11

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We had lost it all!
"The fool!" cried the old lady as she turned upon De Griers.

"You infernal Frenchman, to think that you should advise!

Away with you! Though you fuss and fuss, you don't even know

what you're talking about."


Deeply offended, De Griers shrugged his shoulders, favoured

the Grandmother with a look of contempt, and departed. For

some time past he had been feeling ashamed of being seen in

such company, and this had proved the last straw.


An hour later we had lost everything in hand.
"Home!" cried the Grandmother.
Not until we had turned into the Avenue did she utter a word;

but from that point onwards, until we arrived at the hotel,

she kept venting exclamations of "What a fool I am! What a

silly old fool I am, to be sure!"


Arrived at the hotel, she called for tea, and then gave orders

for her luggage to be packed.


"We are off again," she announced.
"But whither, Madame?" inquired Martha.
"What business is that of YOURS? Let the cricket stick to

its hearth. [The Russian form of "Mind your own business."]

Potapitch, have everything packed, for we are returning to

Moscow at once. I have fooled away fifteen thousand roubles."


"Fifteen thousand roubles, good mistress? My God!" And

Potapitch spat upon his hands--probably to show that he was

ready to serve her in any way he could.
"Now then, you fool! At once you begin with your weeping and

wailing! Be quiet, and pack. Also, run downstairs, and get my

hotel bill."
"The next train leaves at 9:30, Madame," I interposed, with a

view to checking her agitation.


"And what is the time now?"
"Half-past eight."
"How vexing! But, never mind. Alexis Ivanovitch, I have not a

kopeck left; I have but these two bank notes. Please run to

the office and get them changed. Otherwise I shall have

nothing to travel with."


Departing on her errand, I returned half an hour later to find

the whole party gathered in her rooms. It appeared that the

news of her impending departure for Moscow had thrown the

conspirators into consternation even greater than her losses

had done. For, said they, even if her departure should save

her fortune, what will become of the General later? And who

is to repay De Griers? Clearly Mlle. Blanche would never

consent to wait until the Grandmother was dead, but would at

once elope with the Prince or someone else. So they had all

gathered together--endeavouring to calm and dissuade the

Grandmother. Only Polina was absent. For her part the

Grandmother had nothing for the party but abuse.


"Away with you, you rascals!" she was shouting. "What have my

affairs to do with you? Why, in particular, do you"--here

she indicated De Griers--"come sneaking here with your goat's

beard? And what do YOU"--here she turned to Mlle. Blanche

"want of me? What are YOU finicking for?"
"Diantre!" muttered Mlle. under her breath, but her eyes

were flashing. Then all at once she burst into a laugh and

left the room--crying to the General as she did so: "Elle

vivra cent ans!"


"So you have been counting upon my death, have you?" fumed

the old lady. "Away with you! Clear them out of the room,

Alexis Ivanovitch. What business is it of THEIRS? It is not

THEIR money that I have been squandering, but my own."


The General shrugged his shoulders, bowed, and withdrew, with

De Griers behind him.


"Call Prascovia," commanded the Grandmother, and in five

minutes Martha reappeared with Polina, who had been sitting

with the children in her own room (having purposely

determined not to leave it that day). Her face looked grave

and careworn.
"Prascovia," began the Grandmother, "is what I have just

heard through a side wind true--namely, that this fool of a

stepfather of yours is going to marry that silly whirligig of

a Frenchwoman--that actress, or something worse? Tell me, is

it true?"
"I do not know FOR CERTAIN, Grandmamma," replied Polina; "but

from Mlle. Blanche's account (for she does not appear to think

it necessary to conceal anything) I conclude that--"
"You need not say any more," interrupted the Grandmother

energetically. "I understand the situation. I always thought

we should get something like this from him, for I always

looked upon him as a futile, frivolous fellow who gave himself

unconscionable airs on the fact of his being a general (though

he only became one because he retired as a colonel). Yes, I

know all about the sending of the telegrams to inquire

whether 'the old woman is likely to turn up her toes soon.' Ah,

they were looking for the legacies! Without money that

wretched woman (what is her name?--Oh, De Cominges) would

never dream of accepting the General and his false teeth--no,

not even for him to be her lacquey--since she herself, they

say, possesses a pile of money, and lends it on interest, and

makes a good thing out of it. However, it is not you,

Prascovia, that I am blaming; it was not you who sent those

telegrams. Nor, for that matter, do I wish to recall old

scores. True, I know that you are a vixen by nature--that you

are a wasp which will sting one if one touches it--yet, my

heart is sore for you, for I loved your mother, Katerina. Now,

will you leave everything here, and come away with me?

Otherwise, I do not know what is to become of you, and it is

not right that you should continue living with these people.

Nay," she interposed, the moment that Polina attempted to

speak, "I have not yet finished. I ask of you nothing in

return. My house in Moscow is, as you know, large enough for

a palace, and you could occupy a whole floor of it if you

liked, and keep away from me for weeks together. Will you

come with me or will you not?"


"First of all, let me ask of YOU," replied Polina, "whether you

are intending to depart at once?"


"What? You suppose me to be jesting? I have said that I am

going, and I AM going. Today I have squandered fifteen

thousand roubles at that accursed roulette of yours, and

though, five years ago, I promised the people of a certain

suburb of Moscow to build them a stone church in place of a

wooden one, I have been fooling away my money here! However,

I am going back now to build my church."
"But what about the waters, Grandmamma? Surely you came here

to take the waters?"


"You and your waters! Do not anger me, Prascovia. Surely you

are trying to? Say, then: will you, or will you not, come

with me?"
"Grandmamma," Polina replied with deep feeling, "I am very,

very grateful to you for the shelter which you have so kindly

offered me. Also, to a certain extent you have guessed my

position aright, and I am beholden to you to such an extent

that it may be that I will come and live with you, and that

very soon; yet there are important reasons why--why I cannot

make up my min,d just yet. If you would let me have, say, a

couple of weeks to decide in--?"


"You mean that you are NOT coming?"
"I mean only that I cannot come just yet. At all events, I

could not well leave my little brother and sister here,

since,since--if I were to leave them--they would be abandoned

altogether. But if, Grandmamma, you would take the little ones

AND myself, then, of course, I could come with you, and would

do all I could to serve you" (this she said with great

earnestness). "Only, without the little ones I CANNOT come."
"Do not make a fuss" (as a matter of fact Polina never at

any time either fussed or wept). "The Great Foster--Father

[Translated literally--The Great Poulterer] can find for all

his chicks a place. You are not coming without the children?

But see here, Prascovia. I wish you well, and nothing but

well: yet I have divined the reason why you will not come.

Yes, I know all, Prascovia. That Frenchman will never bring

you good of any sort."


Polina coloured hotly, and even I started. "For," thought I to

myself, "every one seems to know about that affair. Or

perhaps I am the only one who does not know about it? "
"Now, now! Do not frown," continued the Grandmother. "But I

do not intend to slur things over. You will take care that no

harm befalls you, will you not? For you are a girl of sense,

and I am sorry for you--I regard you in a different light to

the rest of them. And now, please, leave me. Good-bye."
"But let me stay with you a little longer," said Polina.
"No," replied the other; "you need not. Do not bother me, for

you and all of them have tired me out."


Yet when Polina tried to kiss the Grandmother's hand, the old

lady withdrew it, and herself kissed the girl on the cheek.

As she passed me, Polina gave me a momentary glance, and then

as swiftly averted her eyes.


"And good-bye to you, also, Alexis Ivanovitch. The train

starts in an hour's time, and I think that you must be weary

of me. Take these five hundred gulden for yourself."
"I thank you humbly, Madame, but I am ashamed to--"
"Come, come!" cried the Grandmother so energetically, and

with such an air of menace, that I did not dare refuse the

money further.
"If, when in Moscow, you have no place where you can lay your

head," she added, "come and see me, and I will give you a

recommendation. Now, Potapitch, get things ready."
I ascended to my room, and lay down upon the bed. A whole hour

I must have lain thus, with my head resting upon my hand. So

the crisis had come! I needed time for its consideration. To-

morrow I would have a talk with Polina. Ah! The Frenchman! So,

it was true? But how could it be so? Polina and De Griers!

What a combination!


No, it was too improbable. Suddenly I leapt up with the idea

of seeking Astley and forcing him to speak. There could be no

doubt that he knew more than I did. Astley? Well, he was

another problem for me to solve.


Suddenly there came a knock at the door, and I opened it to

find Potapitch awaiting me.


"Sir," he said, "my mistress is asking for you."
"Indeed? But she is just departing, is she not? The train

leaves in ten minutes' time."


"She is uneasy, sir; she cannot rest. Come quickly, sir; do

not delay."


I ran downstairs at once. The Grandmother was just being

carried out of her rooms into the corridor. In her hands she

held a roll of bank-notes.
"Alexis Ivanovitch," she cried, "walk on ahead, and we will

set out again."


"But whither, Madame?"
"I cannot rest until I have retrieved my losses. March on

ahead, and ask me no questions. Play continues until

midnight, does it not?"
For a moment I stood stupefied--stood deep in thought; but it

was not long before I had made up my mind.


"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

gulden. 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-gulden 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 gulden 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 " [Rascal] 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

shamelesslly pilfered from his mistress. For instance, one Pole

demanded of the Grandmother fifty gulden 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, tombee en enfance," who had lost "so

many millions."
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,



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