The Gambler and Other Stories (Penguin ed.)

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  ‘Well, clear off!’ Grandmother cried out. ‘May you choke on my money! Change it with him, Alexey Ivanovich; there’s no time, otherwise we could go somewhere else.’

  ‘The clerk says that others give even less.’

  I don’t recall the exact exchange rate, but it was terrible. I exchanged close to 12,000 florins in gold and notes, took the receipt and gave it to Grandmother.

  ‘Well, well, well! No need to count it,’ she waved her hands. ‘Quick, quick, quick!’

  ‘I’ll never stake on that confounded zéro or red either,’ she uttered, as we approached the casino.

  This time I tried with all my might to coax her to stake much smaller sums, attempting to persuade her that should her luck change there would always be time to stake a large sum. But she was so impatient that even though she did agree at first, it was impossible to hold her in check when she was playing. As soon as she began to win stakes of ten, twenty friedrichs d’or – ‘Well, there you are! Well, there you are!’ (she began poking me) ‘Well, there you are! We won, you see – if we’d wagered 4,000 instead of ten, we would have won 4,000, but what do we have now? It’s all your doing, your doing!’

  And no matter the vexation I felt as I watched her play, I finally made up my mind to keep quiet and not give her any more advice.

  Suddenly des Grieux hurried over. The three of them were nearby; I had noticed that Mlle Blanche was standing with her mother off to the side, exchanging pleasantries with the little prince. The general was clearly out of favour, almost shunned. Blanche wouldn’t even look at him, although he was playing up to her with all his might. The poor general! He would grow pale and then turn red, tremble and was no longer even following Grandmother’s game. Blanche and the little prince finally left; the general ran after them.

  ‘Madame, madame,’ des Grieux whispered to Grandmother in a honeyed voice, having pushed his way through so that he was standing by her ear. ‘Madame, a stake like that no work … no, no, no is possible …’ he said in mangled Russian. ‘No!’

  ‘But how, then? Well, teach me,’ Grandmother turned towards him.

  Des Grieux suddenly began chattering away in French, offering advice, fussing, saying that she needed to wait for the chance, starting to make calculations on the basis of some numbers … Grandmother didn’t understand a thing. He was constantly turning to me so that I would translate; he kept thumping the table with his finger and pointing; finally, he grabbed a pencil and was about to make some calculations on a slip of paper. Grandmother finally lost her patience.

  ‘Well, off with you, off with you! You just keep talking nonsense! “Madame, madame,” but he doesn’t understand anything about it himself; off with you!’

  ‘Mais, madame,’ des Grieux chirped, and once again he began to nudge and point. He was in quite a state.

  ‘Well, stake it once like he says,’ Grandmother instructed me, ‘let’s see, perhaps something really will come of it.’

  Des Grieux merely wanted to divert her from staking large sums – he proposed staking on numbers one by one and in combinations. I placed the stakes according to his instructions, one friedrich d’or on the odd numbers below twelve and five friedrichs d’or on groups of numbers from twelve to eighteen and from eighteen to twenty-four: in all we staked sixteen friedrichs d’or.

  The wheel began spinning. ‘Zéro,’ the croupier cried out. We had lost everything.

  ‘What a blockhead!’ Grandmother cried out, as she turned to des Grieux. ‘What a disgusting little Frenchman you are! And he gives advice, the monster! Off with you, off with you! He doesn’t understand a thing and yet he pokes his nose in!’

  Des Grieux, terribly offended, shrugged his shoulders, looked at Grandmother with contempt and walked away. He was ashamed that he had gotten involved; he couldn’t help himself.

  An hour later, no matter how hard we tried, we had lost everything.

  ‘Home!’ Grandmother cried.

  She didn’t say a word until we reached the avenue. In the avenue, when we were coming up to the hotel, she began to fulminate:

  ‘What a fool! What a little fool! You’re an old, old fool, you are!’

  As soon as we entered her suite:

  ‘Tea!’ Grandmother shouted. ‘And start packing immediately! We’re leaving!’

  ‘And where is it you wish to go, ma’am?’ Marfa began.

  ‘And what business is it of yours? The cobbler should stick to his last! Potapych, pack up everything, all the luggage. We’re going back, to Moscow! I’m ruined, I lost 15,000 roubles.’

  ‘Fifteen thousand, ma’am! My dear God!’ Potapych cried out, after touchingly flinging up his hands, probably supposing that was what was expected from him.

  ‘Come, come, you fool! And now he’s even started whimpering! Silence! Start packing! Get the bill, quickly, quickly!’

  ‘The next train leaves at half past nine, Grandmother,’ I informed her, in order to put a stop to the furore.

  ‘And what time is it now?’

  ‘Half past seven.’

  ‘What a nuisance! Well, never mind! Alexey Ivanovich, I don’t even have a kopeck. Here are two more notes, run over there and change these for me. Otherwise, I won’t have anything for the journey.’

  I set off. When I returned to the hotel half an hour later, I found all our party with Grandmother. They seemed to be even more startled to learn that Grandmother was leaving for Moscow for good than they were by her losses. Even supposing that her departure would save her fortune, what would become of the general now? Who would pay des Grieux? Mlle Blanche, it goes without saying, wasn’t going to wait for Grandmother to die and most likely would steal away with the little prince or with someone else. They stood before her, comforting her, trying to talk her round. Polina again was missing. Grandmother shouted at them furiously.

  ‘Leave me in peace, you devils! What business is it of yours? Why is that goat’s beard butting into my business?’ she shouted at des Grieux, ‘and you, you little pipsqueak, what do you want?’ she turned to Mlle Blanche. ‘What are you making a fuss about?’

  ‘Diantre!’ Mlle Blanche whispered, her eyes flashing furiously, but then suddenly she burst into laughter and walked out.

  ‘Elle vivra cent ans!’3 she cried out to the general as she walked out the door.

  ‘Ah, so you were counting on my death?’ Grandmother yelled at the general. ‘Get out! Throw them all out, Alexey Ivanovich! It’s none of your business. It was my own money that I squandered, not yours!’

  The general shrugged his shoulders, bowed and went out. Des Grieux followed him.

  ‘Call Praskovya,’ Grandmother ordered Marfa.

  Five minutes later Marfa returned with Polina. All this time Polina had been sitting in her room with the children and, it seems, had purposely made up her mind not to go out all day. Her face was serious, sad and anxious.

  ‘Praskovya,’ Grandmother began, ‘is it true, what I’ve chanced to learn just now, that your fool of a stepfather wishes to marry that silly French flirt – an actress is she, or something worse? Tell me, is it true?’

  ‘I don’t know for certain, Grandmother,’ Polina answered, ‘but from the words of Mlle Blanche herself, who does not find it necessary to be discreet, I conclude …’

  ‘Enough!’ Grandmother broke in energetically, ‘I understand everything! I’ve always thought him capable of this and have always thought him a most shallow and frivolous man. He swaggers about because he’s a general (but he was really only a colonel, he got the promotion on his retirement), and he puts on airs. I know, my dear, how you sent telegram after telegram to Moscow – “Will the old lady turn up her toes soon?” You were waiting for the inheritance; without money that nasty wench – what’s her name, de Cominges isn’t it? – wouldn’t take him on as a lackey, what with his false teeth and all. They say that she has piles of money, that she loans it on interest and has not done badly for herself. I don’t blame you, Praskovya; you weren’t the one sending t
he telegrams; and I don’t want to bring up the past either. I know that you have a nasty little temper – just like a wasp! You sting and then it swells up so, but I feel sorry for you because I loved Katerina, your mother. Well, what’s it to be? Drop everything here and come with me. After all, you have nowhere to go; and it’s not decent for you to be with them now. Stop!’ Grandmother interrupted Polina who was about to reply, ‘I haven’t finished. I will ask nothing of you. I have a house in Moscow, as you know, a mansion, take an entire floor if you like and don’t see me for weeks on end if my temper isn’t to your liking. Well, do you want to or not?’

  ‘Allow me to ask you first: do you really mean to leave at once?’

  ‘Did you think that I was joking, my dear girl? I said I was leaving and I’m leaving. Today I squandered 15,000 roubles on that damned roulette of yours. Five years ago I made a promise to rebuild a wooden church in stone on my estate, and instead of that I threw it away here. Now, my dear girl, I’m going to go and build that church.’

  ‘And what about the waters, Grandmother? After all, you did come to drink the waters, didn’t you?’

  ‘Oh, you and your waters! Don’t annoy me, Praskovya; are you doing it on purpose, is that it? Tell me, are you coming or not?’

  ‘I am very, very grateful to you, Grandmother,’ Polina began with feeling, ‘for the refuge that you are offering me. To some extent, you have understood my situation. I am so grateful that, believe me, I will come to you and perhaps quite soon; but now there are reasons, important ones … and I cannot decide right now, this minute. If you were staying for two weeks even …’

  ‘That means, you don’t want to?’

  ‘It means that I can’t. Besides, in any event I can’t leave my brother and sister behind, and since … since … since it really is possible that they might be abandoned, then … If you will take me and the little ones, Grandmother, then of course I will come and, believe me, I will repay you!’ she added heatedly. ‘But I cannot come, Grandmother, without the children.’

  ‘Well, no whimpering!’ (Polina had no intention of whimpering; in fact, she never cried.) ‘And room will be found for the chicks; the hen house is a big one. Besides, it’s time they were in school. Well, so you’re not coming now? Well, Praskovya, take care! I only wish you well, but I know, you see, why you’re not coming. I know everything, Praskovya! That little Frenchman will bring you no good.’

  Polina blushed. I was simply taken aback. (Everybody knows! So, I’m the only one who knows nothing!)

  ‘Come, come, don’t frown. I won’t spread it on thick. Only mind that it doesn’t end badly, do you understand? You’re a clever girl; I’d be sorry for you. Well, enough, I wish I’d never set my eyes on the lot of you! Go! Goodbye!’

  ‘Grandmother, I’ll see you off,’ Polina said.

  ‘There’s no need; don’t bother, I’m sick of you all.’ Polina kissed Grandmother’s hand, but the latter pulled it away and kissed her on the cheek.

  As she walked past me, Polina gave me a quick glance and at once turned away her eyes.

  ‘Well, goodbye to you, too, Alexey Ivanovich! It’s only an hour till the train. And I think you’re tired of my company. Here, take these fifty gold pieces.’

  ‘Thank you so very much, Grandmother, but I’m ashamed …’

  ‘Come, come!’ Grandmother cried out, but so energetically and threateningly that I didn’t dare try to stop her and took them.

  ‘When you’re running around in Moscow without a job – come and see me; I’ll recommend you to someone. Well, off with you!’

  I went to my room and lay down on the bed. I think I lay there for half an hour on my back, with my hands behind my head. Catastrophe had struck; there was more than enough to think about. I decided to have an urgent talk with Polina tomorrow. Ah! The little Frenchman? So, then, it was true! However, what could it mean? Polina and des Grieux! Goodness gracious! What a contrast!

  This was all simply unbelievable. Suddenly beside myself, I jumped up in order to go at once to look for Mr Astley and make him talk, come what may. Of course, he knows more than I about all this. Mr Astley? There’s another riddle for me!

  But suddenly there was a knock at my door. I look and it’s Potapych.

  ‘My good sir, Alexey Ivanovich, the mistress is asking for you!’

  ‘What’s the matter? Is she leaving? There’s still twenty minutes till the train.’

  ‘She’s anxious, sir, she can scarcely sit still. “Quickly, quickly!” – you, that is, sir; for Christ’s sake, don’t delay.’

  I ran downstairs at once. They had already brought Grandmother out into the corridor. She had her pocketbook in her hands.

  ‘Alexey Ivanovich, lead the way, let’s go! …’

  ‘Where, Grandmother?’

  ‘Life’s not worth living unless I win it back! Well, march, no questions! They play until midnight there, don’t they?’

  I was dumbfounded, gave it a moment’s thought, but made up my mind at once.

  ‘As you please, Antonida Vasilyevna, but I’m not going.’

  ‘And why is that? What’s this all about? Have you all gone crazy!’

  ‘As you please: I would reproach myself afterwards; I don’t want to! I want to be neither a witness nor a participant; spare me, Antonida Vasilyevna. Here’s your fifty friedrichs d’or back; goodbye!’ And after putting down the roll of friedrichs d’or there on the table right next to Grandmother’s chair, I bowed and walked away.

  ‘What nonsense!’ Grandmother cried out to me as I was leaving. ‘So don’t come, I’ll find the way there by myself! Potapych, come with me! Well, lift me up, carry me.’

  I didn’t find Mr Astley and returned home. It was late, past midnight, when I learned from Potapych how Grandmother’s day ended. She had lost everything that I had just changed for her, that is, another 10,000 roubles in our money. That very same little Pole, to whom she had earlier given two friedrichs d’or, attached himself to her and directed her play the entire time. In the beginning, before the little Pole turned up, she had Potapych place the stakes, but she soon got rid of him; and that’s when the little Pole came running. As luck would have it, he understood Russian and could even jabber away in a mixture of three languages, so that they could understand each other enough. Grandmother abused him mercilessly the whole time, and though he constantly prostrated himself at his lady’s feet, he ‘couldn’t compare with you, Alexey Ivanovich,’ Potapych told me. ‘She treated you just like you were a gentleman, but that one – I saw it with my own eyes, may God strike me dead, was stealing her money right there from the table. She caught him at it twice herself, and she gave him such a dressing down, she called him every name in the book, sir, and she even pulled him by the hair once, indeed she did, I wouldn’t lie, so that everybody around started laughing. She lost everything, sir; everything she had, everything that you changed for her. We brought the mistress back here – she asked only for a little drink of water, crossed herself, and went straight to bed. She was exhausted, I suppose, and fell asleep right away. May God send her angelic dreams! Oh, I’ve had enough of this being abroad!’ Potapych said by way of conclusion. ‘I said that it would come to no good. And now we should get back to our own Moscow as soon as possible! You name it, we’ve got it back home in Moscow: a garden, flowers the likes of which they don’t even have here, smells, apples ripening, space – but no, we had to come abroad! Oh-oh-oh! …’

  CHAPTER 13

  Almost a whole month now has passed since I touched these notes of mine, begun under the influence of impressions that were powerful, though chaotic. The catastrophe, whose approach I sensed even then, indeed did come, but a hundred times more violently and unexpectedly than I had thought. It was all somewhat strange, shocking and even tragic, at least as far as I was concerned. Certain things happened to me that were almost miraculous; at least that’s how I still look upon them, although from another point of view and especially if one were to judge by the whirl in whic
h I found myself then, they were only somewhat out of the ordinary. But the most miraculous thing for me is how I regarded all these events. I still don’t understand it myself! And all this has flown by like a dream – even my passion – which after all had been strong and true, but … what has become of it now? Indeed, every once in a while, the idea flashes through my head: ‘Was I out of my mind then or have I been in some madhouse all this time, and maybe I’m sitting there now – so that it all only seemed to have happened and to this day only seems …’

  I have gathered my notes together and reread them. (Who knows, perhaps in order to convince myself that I didn’t write them in a madhouse?) Now I’m absolutely all alone. Autumn is coming, the leaves are turning yellow. I sit in this forsaken little town (oh, these little German towns are so forsaken!), and instead of weighing my next step, I am living under the influence of sensations that have only just passed, under the influence of fresh memories, under the influence of all this recent whirlwind, which pulled me then into its vortex and then threw me aside again. At times it still seems as though I were still whirling around in that same vortex, as though this storm is about to come tearing by again, to carry me away on its wing in passing, and I will again lose my sense of order and proportion, and I will spin, spin, spin …

  However, perhaps I’ll settle down somehow and stop spinning, if I give myself as precise an account as possible of all that happened this month. I feel drawn to my pen again; and sometimes there’s absolutely nothing to do in the evenings. It’s funny, but in order to have something to keep me busy I take out from the rotten little library here the novels of Paul de Kock1 (in German translation!), which I can hardly stomach, but I read them and – marvel at myself: it’s as if I were afraid of destroying the enchantments of the recent past with a serious book or some other serious occupation. It’s as if this shocking dream and all the impressions that it left behind were so dear to me that I’m afraid even to have it touched by anything new in case it goes up in smoke! Is it really all so dear to me? Yes, of course it is; perhaps I will remember it even after forty years …