The Gambler

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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 seem 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;