by Leo Tolstoy
At first we had listened to Guskov with condescending attention, but as soon as he uttered this second French phrase we all involuntarily turned away from him.
‘I have played hundreds of times with him,’ said Lieutenant O., ‘and you won’t deny that it is strange’ (he put a special emphasis on the word ‘strange’), ‘remarkably strange, that I never once won even a twenty-kopek piece of him. How is it I win when playing with others?’
‘Paul Dmitrich plays admirably: I have long known him,’ said I. I had really known the Adjutant for some years; had more than once seen him playing for stakes high in proportion to the officers’ means; and had admired his handsome, rather stern, and always imperturbably calm face, his slow Ukrainian pronunciation, his beautiful things, his horses, his leisurely Ukrainian disposition, and especially his ability to play with self-control – systematically and pleasantly. I confess that more than once when looking at his plump white hands with a diamond ring on the first finger as he beat my cards one after the other, I was enraged with this ring, with the white hands, with the whole person of the Adjutant, and evil thoughts concerning him rose in my mind. But on thinking matters over in cool blood I became convinced that he was simply a more sagacious player than all those with whom he happened to play. I was confirmed in this by the fact that when listening to his general reflections on gaming – how, having been lucky starting with a small stake, one should follow up one’s luck; how in certain cases one ought to stop playing; that the first rule was to play for ready-money, &c., &c. – it was clear that he always won simply because he was cleverer and more self-possessed than the rest of us. And it now appeared that this self-possessed, strong player had, in the detachment, lost completely, not only money, but other belongings as well – which among officers indicates the lowest depth of loss.
‘He was always devilish lucky when playing against me,’ continued Lieutenant O.; ‘I have sworn never to play with him again.’
‘What a queer fellow you are, old man!’ said S., winking at me so that his whole head moved while he addressed O.; ‘you have lost some 300 rubles to him – lost it, haven’t you?’
‘More!’ said the Lieutenant crossly.
‘And now you’ve suddenly come to your senses; but it’s too late, old chap! Everyone else has long known him to be the sharper of our regiment,’ said S., hardly able to refrain from laughter and highly delighted at his invention.
‘Here’s Guskov himself— he prepares the cards for him. That is why they are friends, old chap!…’ And Lieutenant-Captain S. laughed good-humouredly so that he shook all over and spilt some of the mulled wine he held in his hand. A faint tinge of colour seemed to rise on Guskov’s thin, yellow face; he opened his mouth repeatedly, lifted his hands to his moustache and let them drop again to the places where his pockets should have been, several times began to rise but sat down again, and at last said in an unnatural voice, turning to S.:
‘This is not a joke, Nicholas Ivanich, you are saying such things! And in the presence of people who don’t know me and who see me in a common sheepskin coat … because …’ His voice failed him, and again the little red hands with their dirty nails moved from his coat to his face, now smoothing his moustaches or hair, now touching his nose, rubbing his eye, or unnecessarily scratching his cheek.
‘What’s the good of talking; everyone knows it, old chap!’ continued S., really enjoying his joke and not in the least noticing Guskov’s excitement. Guskov again muttered something, and leaning his right elbow on his left knee in a most unnatural position, looked at S. and tried to smile contemptuously.
‘Yes,’ thought I, watching that smile, ‘I have not only seen him before, but have spoken with him somewhere.’
‘We must have met somewhere before,’ I said to him when, under the influence of the general silence, S.’s laughter began to subside.
Guskov’s mobile face suddenly brightened, and his eyes, taking for the first time a sincerely pleased expression, turned to me.
‘Certainly; I knew you at once!’ he began in French. ‘In ’48 I had the pleasure of meeting you rather often in Moscow at my sister’s – the Ivashins.’
I apologized for not having recognized him in his present costume. He rose, approached me, and with his moist hand irresolutely and feebly pressed mine. Instead of looking at me, whom he professed to be so glad to see, he looked round in an unpleasantly boastful kind of way at the other officers. Either because he had been recognized by me who had seen him some years before in a drawing-room in a dress-coat, or because that recollection suddenly raised him in his own esteem, his face and even his movements, as it seemed to me, changed completely. They now expressed a lively intellect, childish self-satisfaction at the consciousness of that intellect, and a kind of contemptuous indifference. So that I admit, notwithstanding the pitiful position he was in, my old acquaintance no longer inspired me with sympathy, but with an almost inimical feeling.
I vividly recalled our first meeting. In 1848, during my stay in Moscow, I often visited Ivashin. We had grown up together and were old friends. His wife was a pleasant hostess and what is considered an amiable woman, but I never liked her. The winter I visited them she often spoke with ill-concealed pride of her brother, who had lately finished his studies and was, it seemed, among the best-educated and most popular young men in the best Petersburg society. Knowing by reputation Guskov’s father, who was very rich and held an important position, and knowing his sister’s leanings, I was prejudiced before I met Guskov. One evening, having come to see Ivashin, I found there a very pleasant-looking young man, not tall, in a black swallow-tail coat and white waistcoat and tie; but the host forgot to introduce us to one another. The young man, evidently prepared to go to a ball, stood hat in hand in front of Ivashin, hotly but politely arguing about a common acquaintance of ours who had recently distinguished himself in the Hungarian campaign. He was maintaining that this acquaintance of ours was not at all a hero or a man born for war, as was said of him, but merely a clever and well-educated man. I remember that I took part against Guskov in the dispute and went to an extreme, even undertaking to show that intelligence and education were always in inverse ratio to bravery; and I remember how Guskov pleasantly and cleverly argued that bravery is an inevitable result of intelligence and of a certain degree of development, with which view (considering myself to be intelligent and well educated) I could not help secretly agreeing. I remember also how, at the end of our conversation, Ivashin’s wife introduced us to one another and how her brother, with a condescending smile, gave me his little hand on which he had not quite finished drawing a kid glove, and pressed mine in the same feeble and irresolute manner as he did now. Though prejudiced against Guskov, I could not then help doing him the justice of agreeing with his sister that he really was an intelligent and pleasant young man who ought to succeed in society. He was exceedingly neat, elegantly dressed, fresh-looking, and had self-confidently modest manners and a very youthful, almost childlike, appearance which made one unconsciously forgive the expression of self-satisfaction and of a desire to mitigate the degree of his superiority over you, which his intelligent face, and especially his smile, always showed. It was reported that he had great success among the Moscow ladies that winter. Meeting him at his sister’s I could only infer the amount of truth in these reports from the expression of pleasure and satisfaction he always wore, and from the indiscreet stories he sometimes told. We met some half-dozen times and talked a good deal, or rather he talked a good deal and I listened. He usually spoke French, in a very correct, fluent, and ornamental style, and knew how to interrupt others in conversation politely and gently. In general he treated me and everyone rather condescendingly; and as always happens to me with people who are firmly convinced that I ought to be treated with condescension and whom I do not know well, I felt that he was quite right in so doing.
Now, when he sat down beside me and gave me his hand of his own accord, I vividly recalled his former supercilious expression
, and thought that he, as one of inferior rank, was making a rather unfair use of the advantage of his position by questioning me, an officer, in an off-hand manner, as to what I had been doing all this time and how I came to be here. Though I answered in Russian every time, he always began again in French, in which it was noticeable that he no longer expressed himself as easily as formerly. About himself he only told me in passing that after that unfortunate and stupid affair of his (I did not know what this affair was, and he did not tell me) he had been three months under arrest, and was afterwards sent to the Caucasus to the N— Regiment and had now served three years as a private.
‘You would not believe,’ said he, in French, ‘what I have suffered at the hands of the officer sets! It was lucky I formerly knew this Adjutant we have just been talking about: he is really a good fellow,’ he remarked condescendingly. ‘I am living with him, and it is after all some mitigation. Oui, mon cher, les jours se suivent, mais ne se ressemblent pas,’4 he added, but suddenly became confused, blushed, and rose from his seat, having noticed that the Adjutant we had been talking about was approaching us.
‘It is such a consolation to meet a man like you,’ whispered Guskov as he was leaving my side; ‘there is very very much I should like to talk over with you.’
I told him I should be very glad, though I confess that in reality Guskov inspired me with an unsympathetic, painful kind of pity.
I foresaw that I should feel uncomfortable when alone with him, but I wanted to hear a good many things from him, especially how it was that, while his father was so wealthy, he was poor, as his clothes and habits showed.
The Adjutant greeted us all except Guskov, and sat down beside me where the latter had been.
Paul Dmitrich, whom I had always known as a calm, deliberate, strong gambler and a moneyed man, was now very different from what he had been in the flourishing days of his card-playing. He seemed to be in a hurry, kept looking round at everybody, and before five minutes were over he, who always used to be reluctant to play, now proposed to Lieutenant O. that the latter should start a ‘bank’.
Lieutenant O. declined, under pretext of having duties to attend to; his real reason being that, knowing how little money and how few things Paul Dmitrich still possessed, he considered it unwise to risk his three hundred rubles against the hundred or less he might win.
‘Is it true, Paul Dmitrich,’ said the Lieutenant, evidently wishing to avoid a repetition of the request, ‘that we are to leave here to-morrow?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Paul Dmitrich, ‘but the orders are, to be ready! But really we’d better have a game: I would stake my Kabardá5 horse.’
‘No, to-day.…’
‘The grey one. Come what may! Or else, if you like, we’ll play for money. Well?’
‘Oh, but I – I would readily – you must not think —’ began Lieutenant O., answering his own doubts, ‘but you know, we may have an attack or a march before us to-morrow and I want to have a good sleep.’
The Adjutant rose, and putting his hands in his pockets began pacing up and down. His face assumed the usual cold and somewhat proud expression which I liked in him.
‘Won’t you have a glass of mulled wine?’ I asked.
‘I don’t mind if I do,’ he said, coming towards me.
But Guskov hurriedly took the tumbler out of my hand and carried it to the Adjutant, trying at the same time not to look at him. But he did not notice one of the cords with which the tent was fastened, stumbled over it, and letting the tumbler drop, fell on his hands.
‘What a muff!’ said the Adjutant, who had already stretched out his hand for the tumbler. Everyone burst out laughing, including Guskov, who was rubbing his bony knee which he could not have hurt in falling.
‘That’s the way the bear served the hermit,’ continued the Adjutant. ‘It’s the way he serves me every day! He has wrenched out all the tent-pegs stumbling over them.’ Guskov, paying no heed to him, apologized, looking at me with a scarcely perceptible, sad smile, which seemed to say that I alone could understand him. He was very pitiable, but the Adjutant, his protector, seemed for some reason to be angry with his lodger and would not let him alone.
‘Oh yes, he’s a sharp boy, turn him which way you will.’
‘But who does not stumble over those pegs, Paul Dmitrich?’ said Guskov; ‘you yourself stumbled the day before yesterday.’
‘I, old fellow, am not in the ranks; smartness is not expected of me.’
‘He may drag his feet,’ added Lieutenant-Captain S., ‘but a private must skip.…’
‘What curious jokes!…’ said Guskov, almost in a whisper, with eyes cast down. The Adjutant evidently did not feel indifferent to his lodger, he watched keenly every word he uttered.
‘He’ll have to be sent to the ambuscades again,’ he said, addressing S., and winking towards the degraded one.
‘Well, then, tears will flow again,’ said S., laughing.
Guskov no longer looked at me, but pretended to be getting tobacco from the pouch which had long been empty.
‘Get ready to go to the outposts, old chap,’ said S., laughing, ‘the scouts have reported that the camp will be attacked tonight, so reliable lads will have to be told off.’
Guskov smiled undecidedly, as if preparing to say something, and cast several imploring looks at S.
‘Well, you know I have been before, and I shall go again if I am sent,’ muttered he.
‘Yes, and you will be sent!’
‘Well, and I’ll go. What of that?’
‘Yes, just as you did at Argun – ran away from the ambuscade and threw away your musket,’ said the Adjutant, and turning away from him began telling us about the order for the next day.
It was true that the enemy was expected to fire at the camp in the night, and a movement of some sort was to take place next day. After talking for a while on various subjects of general interest, the Adjutant, as if he had suddenly chanced to recollect it, proposed to Lieutenant O. to have a little game. The Lieutenant quite unexpectedly accepted and they went with S. and the Ensign to the Adjutant’s tent, where a green folding-table and cards were to be found. The Captain, who was commander of our division, went to his tent to sleep, the other gentlemen also went away and Guskov and I were left alone.
I had not been mistaken; I really felt uncomfortable alone with him, and I could not help rising and pacing up and down the battery. Guskov walked silently by my side, turning round hurriedly and nervously so as neither to lag behind nor pass before me.
‘I am not in your way?’ he said, in a meek, sad voice. As far as I could judge in the darkness his face seemed deeply thoughtful and melancholy.
‘Not at all,’ I answered, but as he did not begin to speak, and I did not know what to say to him, we walked a good while in silence.
The twilight was now quite replaced by the darkness of night, but over the black outlines of the mountains the sheet-lightnings so common there in the evening flashed brightly. Above our heads tiny stars twinkled in the pale-blue frosty sky, and the red flames of smoking camp-fires glared all around: the tents near us seemed grey, and the embankment of our battery a gloomy black. From the fire nearest to us, round which our orderlies sat warming themselves and talking low, a gleam now and then fell on the brass of our heavy guns and made visible the figure of the sentry, as, with his cloak thrown over his shoulders, he walked with measured steps along the embankment.
‘You can’t think what a relief it is to me to talk to a man like you!’ said Guskov, though he had not yet spoken to me about anything. ‘Only a man who has been in my position can understand it.’
I did not know what to answer, and again we were silent, though it was evident that he wished to speak out and I wished to hear him.
‘For what were you.… What was the cause of your misfortune?’ I asked at last, unable to think of any better way to start the conversation.
‘Did you not hear about the unfortunate affair with Metenin?’
‘No, not a duel, but that stupid and terrible affair! I will tell you all about it if you have not heard it. It was the same year that you and I used to meet at my sister’s. I was then living in Petersburg. But first I must tell you that I then had what is called une position dans le monde,6 and a tolerably lucrative if not brilliant one. Mon père me donnait 10,000 par an.7 In ’49 I was promised a place in the embassy at Turin; an uncle on my mother’s side had influence and was always ready to give me a lift. It’s now a thing of the past. J’étais reçu dans la meilleure société de Pétersbourg: je pouvais prétendre8 to make a good match. I had learnt – as we all learn at school; so that I possessed no special education. It is true I read a good deal afterwards, mais j’avais surtout, you know, ce jargon du monde;9 and, whatever the cause, I was considered one of the leading young men in Petersburg. What raised me most in the general estimation, c’est cette liaison avec Mme D—,10 which was much talked of in Petersburg. But I was awfully young at the time and set little value on these advantages. I was simply young and foolish. What more did I need? At that time in Petersburg that fellow Metenin had a reputation.…’ And Guskov continued in this manner to tell me the story of his misfortune, which, being quite uninteresting, I will here omit.
‘Two months,’ continued he, ‘I was under arrest and quite alone. I don’t know what did not pass through my mind in that time; but, do you know, when it was all over, when it seemed as if every link with the past was severed, it became easier for me. Mon père, vous en avez entendu parler11 surely: he is a man with an iron will and firm convictions; il m’a deshérité12 and ceased all intercourse with me. According to his convictions it was the proper thing to do, and I do not blame him at all; il a été conséquent.13 And I also did not take a step to induce him to change his mind. My sister was abroad. Mme D— was the only one who wrote to me when letters were allowed, and she offered me help; but you will understand that I could not accept it, so that I had none of those trifles which somewhat mitigate such a position, you know – no books, no linen, no private food, nothing. Many, very many thoughts passed through my brain at that time and I began to look at everything with other eyes; for instance, all that noise and gossip about me in Petersburg society no longer interested or flattered me in the least; it all seemed ridiculous. I felt I was myself to blame; I had been careless and young and had spoilt my career, and my only thought was how to retrieve it. And I felt I had strength and energy enough to do it. After my arrest was over, I was, as I told you, sent to the Caucasus to the N— Regiment.
