The Gambler
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
shamelessly pilfered from his mistress. For instance, one Pole demanded
of the Grandmother fifty gülden 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, tombée en enfance,” who had lost
“so many millions.”
[4] Rascal
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, and that she
ought to be made to surrender what was not her own. Thus the party
arrived at the hotel; whence, presently, the gang of rascals was
ejected neck and crop.
According to Potapitch’s calculations, the Grandmother lost, that day,
a total of ninety thousand roubles, in addition to the money which she
had lost the day before. Every paper security which she had brought
with her—five percent bonds, internal loan scrip, and what not—she had
changed into cash. Also, I could not but marvel at the way in which,
for seven or eight hours at a stretch, she sat in that chair of hers,
almost never leaving the table. Again, Potapitch told me that there
were three occasions on which she really began to win; but that, led on
by false hopes, she was unable to tear herself away at the right
moment. Every gambler knows how a person may sit a day and a night at
cards without ever casting a glance to right or to left.
Meanwhile, that day some other very important events were passing in
our hotel. As early as eleven o’clock—that is to say, before the
Grandmother had quitted her rooms—the General and De Griers decided
upon their last stroke. In other words, on learning that the old lady
had changed her mind about departing, and was bent on setting out for
the Casino again, the whole of our gang (Polina only excepted)
proceeded en masse to her rooms, for the purpose of finally and frankly
treating with her. But the General, quaking and greatly apprehensive as
to his possible future, overdid things. After half an hour’s prayers
and entreaties, coupled with a full confession of his debts, and even
of his passion for Mlle. Blanche (yes, he had quite lost his head), he
suddenly adopted a tone of menace, and started to rage at the old
lady—exclaiming that she was sullying the family honour, that she was
making a public scandal of herself, and that she was smirching the fair
name of Russia. The upshot was that the Grandmother turned him out of
the room with her stick (it was a real stick, too!). Later in the
morning he held several consultations with De Griers—the question which
occupied him being: Is it in any way possible to make use of the
police—to tell them that “this respected, but unfortunate, old lady has
gone out of her mind, and is squandering her last kopeck,” or something
of the kind? In short, is it in any way possible to engineer a species
of supervision over, or of restraint upon, the old lady? De Griers,
however, shrugged his shoulders at this, and laughed in the General’s
face, while the old warrior went on chattering volubly, and running up
and down his study. Finally De Griers waved his hand, and disappeared
from view; and by evening it became known that he had left the hotel,
after holding a very secret and important conference with Mlle.
Blanche. As for the latter, from early morning she had taken decisive
measures, by completely excluding the General from her presence, and
bestowing upon him not a glance. Indeed, even when the General pursued
her to the Casino, and met her walking arm in arm with the Prince, he
(the General) received from her and her mother not the slightest
recognition. Nor did the Prince himself bow. The rest of the day Mlle.
spent in probing the Prince, and trying to make him declare himself;
but in this she made a woeful mistake. The little incident occurred in
the evening. Suddenly Mlle. Blanche realised that the Prince had not
even a copper to his name, but, on the contrary, was minded to borrow
of her money wherewith to play at roulette. In high displeasure she
drove him from her presence, and shut herself up in her room.
The same morning I went to see—or, rather, to look for—Mr. Astley, but
was unsuccessful in my quest. Neither in his rooms nor in the Casino
nor in the Park was he to be found; nor did he, that day, lunch at his
hotel as usual. However, at about five o’clock I caught sight of him
walking from the railway station to the Hôtel d’Angleterre. He seemed
to be in a great hurry and much preoccupied, though in his face I could
discern no actual traces of worry or perturbation. He held out to me a
friendly hand, with his usual ejaculation of “Ah!” but did not check
his stride. I turned and walked beside him, but found, somehow, that
his answers forbade any putting of definite questions. Moreover, I felt
reluctant to speak to him of Polina; nor, for his part, did he ask me
any questions concerning her, although, on my telling him of the
Grandmother’s exploits, he listened attentively and gravely, and then
shrugged his shoulders.
“She is gambling away everything that she has,” I remarked.
“Indeed? She arrived at the Casino even before I had taken my departure
by train, so I knew she had been playing. If I should have time I will
go to the Casino to-night, and take a look at her. The thing interests
me.”
“Where have you been today?” I asked—surprised at myself for having, as
yet, omitted to put to him that question.
“To Frankfort.”
“On business?”
“On business.”
What more was there to be asked after that? I accompanied him until, as
we drew level with the Hotel des Quatre Saisons, he suddenly nodded to
me and disappeared. For myself, I returned home, and came to the
conclusion that, even had I met him at two o’clock in the afternoon, I
should have learnt no more from him than I had done at five o’clock,
for the reason that I had no definite question to ask. It was bound to
have been so. For me to formulate the query which I really wished to
put was a simple impossibility.
Polina spent the whole of that day either in walking about the park
with the nurse and children or in sitting in her own room. For a long
while past she had avoided the General and had scarcely had a word to
say to him (scarcely a word, I mean, on any _serious_ topic). Yes, that
I had noticed. Still, even though I was aware of the position in which
the General was placed, it had never occurred to me that he would have
any reason to avoid _her_, or to trouble her with family explanations.
Indeed, when I was returning to the hotel after my conversation with
Astley, and chanced to meet Polina and the children, I could see that
her face was as calm as though the family disturbances had never
touched her. To my salute she responded with a slight bow, and I
retired to my room in a very bad humour.
Of course, since the affair with the Burmergelms I had exchanged not a
word with Polina, nor had with her any kind of intercourse. Yet I had
been at my wits’ end, for, as time went on, there was arising in me an
ever-seething dissatisfaction. Even if she did not love me she ought
not to have trampled upon my feelings, nor to have accepted my
confessions with such contempt, seeing that she must have been aware
that I loved her (of her own accord she had allowed me to tell her as
much). Of course the situation between us had arisen in a curious
manner. About two months ago, I had noticed that she had a desire to
make me her friend, her confidant—that she was making trial of me for
the purpose; but, for some reason or another, the desired result had
never come about, and we had fallen into the present strange relations,
which had led me to address her as I had done. At the same time, if my
love was distasteful to her, why had she not _forbidden_ me to speak of
it to her?
But she had not so forbidden me. On the contrary, there had been
occasions when she had even _invited_ me to speak. Of course, this
might have been done out of sheer wantonness, for I well knew—I had