The Gambler
Page 18
“If you will not mention the name of des Grieux together with the other name, I would ask you to explain to me what you mean by the expression ‘a Frenchman and a Russian young lady.’ What sort of ‘juxtaposition’ is it? Why precisely a Frenchman and a Russian young lady?”
“You see, you’ve become interested. But this is lengthy stuff, Mr. Astley. Here you have to know a lot beforehand. However, it’s an important question—ridiculous as it all is at first sight. A Frenchman, Mr. Astley, is a finished, beautiful form. You, as a Briton, might disagree with that; I, as a Russian, also disagree—well, let’s say, out of envy; but our young ladies may be of a different opinion. You may find Racine{21} affected, distorted, and perfumed; you probably wouldn’t even bother to read him. I, too, find him affected, distorted, and perfumed, even ridiculous from a certain point of view; but he’s charming, Mr. Astley, and, above all—he’s a great poet, whether we like it or not. The national form of the Frenchman, that is, the Parisian, began composing itself into a graceful form while we were still bears. The revolution was heir to the nobility. Nowadays even the most banal little Frenchman may have manners, ways, expressions, and even thoughts of a fully graceful form, without partaking in that form either with his own initiative, or with his soul, or with his heart; he has come into it all by inheritance. In himself he may be emptier than the emptiest and lower than the lowest. Well, Mr. Astley, sir, I shall now inform you that there is no being in the world more trustful and candid than a good, clever, and not too affected Russian young lady. A des Grieux, appearing in some sort of role, appearing masked, can win her heart with extraordinary ease; he is of graceful form, Mr. Astley, and the young lady takes this form for his very soul, for the natural form of his soul and heart, and not for clothing that has come to him through inheritance. To your greatest displeasure, I must confess that Englishmen are for the most part angular and graceless, while Russians have a rather keen ability to discern beauty and to fall for it. But to discern the beauty of a soul and the originality of a person—for that one needs incomparably more independence and freedom than our women, especially young ladies, possess—and in any case more experience. And Miss Polina—forgive me, what’s said can’t be unsaid—needs a very, very long time to decide that she prefers you to the scoundrel des Grieux. She will appreciate you, will become your friend, will open all her heart to you, but even so in that heart will reign the hateful blackguard, the nasty and petty money-grubber des Grieux. This will even persist, so to speak, out of obstinacy and vanity alone, because the same des Grieux once appeared to her in the aureole of a graceful marquis, a dis-enchanted liberal, who (supposedly!) ruined himself helping her family and the light-minded general. All these tricks were uncovered afterwards. But never mind that they were uncovered: even so, give her the former des Grieux now—that’s what she wants! And the more she hates the present des Grieux, the more she pines for the former one, though the former one existed only in her imagination. Are you in sugar, Mr. Astley?”
“Yes, I’m a partner in the well-known sugar refinery Lowell and Co.”
“Well, so you see, Mr. Astley. On one side there’s a sugar refiner, on the other—the Apollo Belvedere.{22} All this somehow doesn’t hang together. And I’m not even a sugar refiner; I’m simply a petty gambler at roulette, and was even a lackey, which is certainly already known to Miss Polina, because she seems to have good police.”
“You’re bitter, that’s why you talk all this nonsense,” Mr. Astley said coolly, having pondered. “Besides, there’s no originality in your words.”
“I agree! But that’s the horror of it, my noble friend, that all these accusations of mine, however outdated, however banal, however farcical—are still true! You and I still never got anywhere!”
“That’s vile nonsense…because, because…be it known to you!” Mr. Astley pronounced in a trembling voice and flashing his eyes, “be it known to you, ungrateful and unworthy, petty and unhappy man, that I have come to Homburg especially on her orders, so as to see you, have a long and heartfelt talk with you, and report everything to her—your feelings, thoughts, hopes and…memories!”
“It can’t be! Can it be?” I cried, and tears gushed from my eyes. I couldn’t hold them back, and that, I believe, for the first time in my life.
“Yes, unhappy man, she loved you, and I can reveal it to you, because you’re a lost man! What’s more, even if I tell you that she loves you to this day—why, you’ll stay here all the same! Yes, you’ve ruined yourself. You had certain abilities, a lively character, and were not a bad man; you could even have been of use to your country, which has such need of people, but—you’ll stay here, and your life is ended. I’m not blaming you. In my view, all Russians are that way, or are inclined to be that way. If it’s not roulette, it’s something else like it. The exceptions are all too rare. You’re not the first to have no understanding of what work is (I’m not speaking of your peasants). Roulette is for the most part a Russian game. So far you’ve been honest and would sooner go to work as a lackey than steal…but I’m afraid to think what the future may hold. Enough, and farewell! You, of course, need money? Here are ten louis d’or for you, I won’t give you more, because you’ll gamble it away anyway. Take it, and farewell! Take it!”
“No, Mr. Astley, after all that’s been said now…”
“Ta-a-ake it!” he cried. “I’m convinced that you are still a noble person, and I’m giving it to you as a friend can give to a true friend. If I could be certain that you would give up gambling right now, leave Homburg, and go to your own country—I would be ready to give you a thousand pounds immediately to start a new career. But I precisely do not give you a thousand pounds, but give you only ten louis d’or, because whether it’s a thousand pounds or ten louis d’or at the present time is perfectly one and the same to you; all the same—you’ll gamble it away. Take it, and farewell.”
“I’ll take it, if you’ll allow me to embrace you in farewell.”
“Oh, with pleasure!”
We embraced sincerely, and Mr. Astley left.
No, he’s wrong! If I was sharp and stupid about Polina and des Grieux, he is sharp and hasty about Russians. I’m not talking about myself. However…however, meanwhile that’s all not it. It’s all words, words, words, and we want deeds! The main thing now is Switzerland! Tomorrow—oh, if only I could set out tomorrow! To be born anew, to resurrect. I must prove to them…Let Polina know that I can still be a human being. All it takes…now it’s late, though—but tomorrow…Oh, I have a presentiment, and it cannot be otherwise! I have fifteen louis d’or now, and I began once with only fifteen guldens! If you begin cautiously…—and can I possibly, can I possibly be such a little child? Can I possibly not understand myself that I’m a lost man? But—why can’t I resurrect? Yes! it only takes being calculating and patient at least once in your life and—that’s all! It only takes being steadfast at least once, and in an hour I can change my whole destiny! The main thing is character. Only remember what happened to me of this sort seven months ago in Roulettenburg, before I lost definitively. Oh, it was a remarkable case of determination: I lost everything then, everything…I walk out of the vauxhall, I look—one last gulden is stirring in my waistcoat pocket: “Ah, so I’ll have money for dinner!” I thought, but after going a hundred steps, I changed my mind and went back. I staked that gulden on manque (that time it was manque), and, truly, there’s something peculiar in the feeling when, alone, in a foreign land, far from your own country and your friends, and not knowing what you’re going to eat that day, you stake your last gulden, your very, very last! I won, and twenty minutes later left the vauxhall with a hundred and seventy guldens in my pocket. That’s a fact, sirs! There’s what your last gulden can sometimes mean! And what if I had lost heart then, what if I hadn’t dared to venture?…
Tomorrow, tomorrow it will all be over!
Footnotes
1
Count and countess.
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2
Teacher or tutor [Russian in French transliteration].
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3
Common table.
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4
That was not so stupid.
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5
Gentleman.
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6
Overlook.
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7
The bad sort.
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8
Thirty and forty.
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9
The Gallic cock.
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10
Madame baroness…I have the honor of being your slave.
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11
Utmost.
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12
Yes indeed.
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13
Are you crazy?
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14
Your emoluments.
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15
My dear monsieur, forgive me, I’ve forgotten your name, monsieur Alexis?…isn’t it?
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16
Madame her mother.
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17
The baron is so irascible, a Prussian character, you know, he will finally make a German-style quarrel.
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18
Devil take it! a greenhorn like you…
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19
Perhaps.
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20
Thirty and forty.
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21
One fine morning
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22
The Russian gentlefolk.
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23
Under the poor general’s nose.
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24
Yes, Madame…and believe me, I am so delighted…your health…it’s a miracle…to see you here, a charming surprise…
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25
This old woman has fallen into dotage.
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26
But, madame, it will be a pleasure.
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27
Alone she’ll do stupid things.
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28
Leave, leave.
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29
Red and black, even and odd, below and above eighteen.
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30
Thirty-six.
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31
Place your bets, gentlemen! Place your bets, gentlemen! No more bets?
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32
How much zero? twelve? twelve?
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33
The betting is closed!
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34
What a victory!
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35
But, madame, it was fire [exciting, brilliant].
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36
Madame princess…a poor expatriate…continual misfortune…Russian princes are so generous.
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37
Devil take it, she’s a terrible old woman!
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38
What the devil is this!
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39
But, madame…luck can turn, one stroke of bad luck and you will lose everything…above all the way you play…it was terrible!
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40
You’ll surely lose.
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41
Eh! it’s not that.
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42
My dear sir, our dear general is mistaken…
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43
Oh, my dear Monsieur Alexis, be so good.
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44
What a shrew!
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45
We’ll drink milk, in the fresh grass.
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46
Nature and truth.
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47
Gambled away (distortion of the German verspielt).
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48
The deuce!
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49
She’ll live a hundred years!
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50
Scoundrel.
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51
Honor (Polish).
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52
The lady’s feet.
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53
Honorable gentleman (distorted Polish).
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54
The last three rounds, gentlemen!
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55
Twenty-two!
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56
Thirty-one!
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57
Four!
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58
The gentleman has already won a hundred thousand florins.
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59
These Russians!
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60
Ah, it’s him! Come then, you ninny!…you won gold and silver? I’d prefer the gold.
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61
Bibi, how stupid you are…We’ll have a beanfeast, won’t we?
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62
My son, have you a heart?
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63
Anyone else…
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64
If you’re not too stupid, I’ll take you to Paris.