The Gambler
He was a true Frenchman insofar as that, though he could be lively and
engaging when it suited him, he became insufferably dull and wearisome
as soon as ever the need for being lively and engaging had passed.
Seldom is a Frenchman _naturally_ civil: he is civil only as though to
order and of set purpose. Also, if he thinks it incumbent upon him to
be fanciful, original, and out of the way, his fancy always assumes a
foolish, unnatural vein, for the reason that it is compounded of trite,
hackneyed forms. In short, the natural Frenchman is a conglomeration of
commonplace, petty, everyday positiveness, so that he is the most
tedious person in the world. Indeed, I believe that none but greenhorns
and excessively Russian people feel an attraction towards the French;
for, to any man of sensibility, such a compendium of outworn forms—a
compendium which is built up of drawing-room manners, expansiveness,
and gaiety—becomes at once over-noticeable and unbearable.
“I have come to see you on business,” De Griers began in a very
off-hand, yet polite, tone; “nor will I seek to conceal from you the
fact that I have come in the capacity of an emissary, of an
intermediary, from the General. Having small knowledge of the Russian
tongue, I lost most of what was said last night; but, the General has
now explained matters, and I must confess that—”
“See here, Monsieur de Griers,” I interrupted. “I understand that you
have undertaken to act in this affair as an intermediary. Of course I
am only ‘un utchitel,’ a tutor, and have never claimed to be an
intimate of this household, nor to stand on at all familiar terms with
it. Consequently, I do not know the whole of its circumstances. Yet
pray explain to me this: have you yourself become one of its members,
seeing that you are beginning to take such a part in everything, and
are now present as an intermediary?”
The Frenchman seemed not over-pleased at my question. It was one which
was too outspoken for his taste—and he had no mind to be frank with me.
“I am connected with the General,” he said drily, “partly through
business affairs, and partly through special circumstances. My
principal has sent me merely to ask you to forego your intentions of
last evening. What you contemplate is, I have no doubt, very clever;
yet he has charged me to represent to you that you have not the
slightest chance of succeeding in your end, since not only will the
Baron refuse to receive you, but also he (the Baron) has at his
disposal every possible means for obviating further unpleasantness from
you. Surely you can see that yourself? What, then, would be the good of
going on with it all? On the other hand, the General promises that at
the first favourable opportunity he will receive you back into his
household, and, in the meantime, will credit you with your salary—with
‘vos appointements.’ Surely that will suit you, will it not?”
Very quietly I replied that he (the Frenchman) was labouring under a
delusion; that perhaps, after all, I should not be expelled from the
Baron’s presence, but, on the contrary, be listened to; finally, that I
should be glad if Monsieur de Griers would confess that he was now
visiting me merely in order to see how far I intended to go in the
affair.
“Good heavens!” cried de Griers. “Seeing that the General takes such an
interest in the matter, is there anything very unnatural in his
desiring also to know your plans?”
Again I began my explanations, but the Frenchman only fidgeted and
rolled his head about as he listened with an expression of manifest and
unconcealed irony on his face. In short, he adopted a supercilious
attitude. For my own part, I endeavoured to pretend that I took the
affair very seriously. I declared that, since the Baron had gone and
complained of me to the General, as though I were a mere servant of the
General’s, he had, in the first place, lost me my post, and, in the
second place, treated me like a person to whom, as to one not qualified
to answer for himself, it was not even worth while to speak. Naturally,
I said, I felt insulted at this. Yet, comprehending as I did,
differences of years, of social status, and so forth (here I could
scarcely help smiling), I was not anxious to bring about further scenes
by going personally to demand or to request satisfaction of the Baron.
All that I felt was that I had a right to go in person and beg the
Baron’s and the Baroness’s pardon—the more so since, of late, I had
been feeling unwell and unstrung, and had been in a fanciful condition.
And so forth, and so forth. Yet (I continued) the Baron’s offensive
behaviour to me of yesterday (that is to say, the fact of his referring
the matter to the General) as well as his insistence that the General
should deprive me of my post, had placed me in such a position that I
could not well express my regret to him (the Baron) and to his good
lady, for the reason that in all probability both he and the Baroness,
with the world at large, would imagine that I was doing so merely
because I hoped, by my action, to recover my post. Hence, I found
myself forced to request the Baron to express to me _his own_ regrets,
as well as to express them in the most unqualified manner—to say, in
fact, that he had never had any wish to insult me. After the Baron had
done _that_, I should, for my part, at once feel free to express to
him, whole-heartedly and without reserve, my own regrets. “In short,” I
declared in conclusion, “my one desire is that the Baron may make it
possible for me to adopt the latter course.”
“Oh fie! What refinements and subtleties!” exclaimed De Griers.
“Besides, what have you to express regret for? Confess, Monsieur,
Monsieur—pardon me, but I have forgotten your name—confess, I say, that
all this is merely a plan to annoy the General? Or perhaps, you have
some other and special end in view? Eh?”
“In return you must pardon _me_, mon cher Marquis, and tell me what
_you_ have to do with it.”
“The General—”
“But what of the General? Last night he said that, for some reason or
another, it behoved him to ‘move with especial care at present;’
wherefore, he was feeling nervous. But I did not understand the
reference.”
“Yes, there _do_ exist special reasons for his doing so,” assented De
Griers in a conciliatory tone, yet with rising anger. “You are
acquainted with Mlle. de Cominges, are you not?”
“Mlle. Blanche, you mean?”
“Yes, Mlle. Blanche de Cominges. Doubtless you know also that the
General is in love with this young lady, and may even be about to marry
her before he leaves here? Imagine, therefore, what any scene or
scandal would entail upon him!”
“I cannot see that the marriage scheme need, be affected by scenes or
scandals.”
“Mais le Baron est si irascible—un caractère prussien, vous savez!
Enfin il fera une querelle d’Allemand.”
“I do not care,” I replied, “seeing that I no longer belong to his
household” (of set purpose I was trying to talk as senselessly as
possible). “But is it quite settled that Mlle. is to marry the General?
What are they waiting for? Why should they conceal such a matter—at all
events from ourselves, the General’s own party?”
“I cannot tell you. The marriage is not yet a settled affair, for they
are awaiting news from Russia. The General has business transactions to
arrange.”
“Ah! Connected, doubtless, with madame his mother?”
De Griers shot at me a glance of hatred.
“To cut things short,” he interrupted, “I have complete confidence in
your native politeness, as well as in your tact and good sense. I feel
sure that you will do what I suggest, even if it is only for the sake
of this family which has received you as a kinsman into its bosom and
has always loved and respected you.”
“Be so good as to observe,” I remarked, “that the same family has just
_expelled_ me from its bosom. All that you are saying you are saying
but for show; but, when people have just said to you, ‘Of course we do
not wish to turn you out, yet, for the sake of appearance’s, you must
_permit_ yourself to be turned out,’ nothing can matter very much.”
“Very well, then,” he said, in a sterner and more arrogant tone.
“Seeing that my solicitations have had no effect upon you, it is my
duty to mention that other measures will be taken. There exist here
police, you must remember, and this very day they shall send you
packing. Que diable! To think of a blanc bec like yourself challenging
a person like the Baron to a duel! Do you suppose that you will be
_allowed_ to do such things? Just try doing them, and see if any one
will be afraid of you! The reason why I have asked you to desist is
that I can see that your conduct is causing the General annoyance. Do
you believe that the Baron could not tell his lacquey simply to put you
out of doors?”
“Nevertheless I should not GO out of doors,” I retorted with absolute
calm. “You are labouring under a delusion, Monsieur de Griers. The
thing will be done in far better trim than you imagine. I was just
about to start for Mr. Astley’s, to ask him to be my intermediary—in
other words, my second. He has a strong liking for me, and I do not
think that he will refuse. He will go and see the Baron on MY behalf,
and the Baron will certainly not decline to receive him. Although I am
only a tutor—a kind of subaltern, Mr. Astley is known to all men as the
nephew of a real English lord, the Lord Piebroch, as well as a lord in
his own right. Yes, you may be pretty sure that the Baron will be civil
to Mr. Astley, and listen to him. Or, should he decline to do so, Mr.
Astley will take the refusal as a personal affront to himself (for you
know how persistent the English are?) and thereupon introduce to the
Baron a friend of his own (and he has many friends in a good position).
That being so, picture to yourself the issue of the affair—an affair
which will not quite end as you think it will.”
This caused the Frenchman to bethink him of playing the coward. “Really
things may be as this fellow says,” he evidently thought. “Really he
_might_ be able to engineer another scene.”
“Once more I beg of you to let the matter drop,” he continued in a tone
that was now entirely conciliatory. “One would think that it actually
_pleased_ you to have scenes! Indeed, it is a brawl rather than genuine
satisfaction that you are seeking. I have said that the affair may
prove to be diverting, and even clever, and that possibly you may
attain something by it; yet none the less I tell you” (he said this
only because he saw me rise and reach for my hat) “that I have come
hither also to hand you these few words from a certain person. Read
them, please, for I must take her back an answer.”
So saying, he took from his pocket a small, compact, wafer-sealed note,
and handed it to me. In Polina’s handwriting I read:
“I hear that you are thinking of going on with this affair. You have
lost your temper now, and are beginning to play the fool! Certain
circumstances, however, I may explain to you later. Pray cease from
your folly, and put a check upon yourself. For folly it all is. I have
need of you, and, moreover, you have promised to obey me. Remember the
Shlangenberg. I ask you to be obedient. If necessary, I shall even
_bid_ you be obedient.—Your own
POLINA.
“_P.S._—If so be that you still bear a grudge against me for what
happened last night, pray forgive me.”
Everything, to my eyes, seemed to change as I read these words. My lips
grew pale, and I began to tremble. Meanwhile, the cursed Frenchman was
eyeing me discreetly and askance, as though he wished to avoid
witnessing my confusion. It would have been better if he had laughed
outright.
“Very well,” I said, “you can tell Mlle. not to disturb herself. But,”
I added sharply, “I would also ask you why you have been so long in