The Queen of Spades, and other stories
Paris, his domains being situated in the neighbourhood of Moscow and
of Saratoff; and finally refused point blank. You may imagine the fury
of my grandmother. She boxed his ears, and passed the night in another
room.
"The next day she returned to the charge. For the first time in her
life, she condescended to arguments and explanations. In vain did she
try to prove to her husband that there were debts and debts, and that
she could not treat a prince of the blood like her coachmaker.
"All this eloquence was lost. My grandfather was inflexible. My
grandmother did not know where to turn. Happily she was acquainted with
a man who was very celebrated at this time. You have heard of the Count
of St. Germain, about whom so many marvellous stories were told. You
know that he passed for a sort of Wandering Jew, and that he was said
to possess an elixir of life and the philosopher's stone.
"Some people laughed at him as a charlatan. Casanova, in his memoirs,
says that he was a spy. However that may be, in spite of the mystery of
his life, St. Germain was much sought after in good society, and was
really an agreeable man. Even to this day my grandmother has preserved
a genuine affection for him, and she becomes quite angry when anyone
speaks of him with disrespect.
"It occurred to her that he might be able to advance the sum of which
she was in need, and she wrote a note begging him to call. The old
magician came at once, and found her plunged in the deepest despair.
In two or three words she told him everything; related to him her
misfortune and the cruelty of her husband, adding that she had no hope
except in his friendship and his obliging disposition.
"'Madam,' said St. Germain, after a few moments' reflection, 'I could
easily advance you the money you want, but I am sure that you would
have no rest until you had repaid me, and I do not want to get you out
of one trouble in order to place you in another. There is another way
of settling the matter. You must regain the money you have lost.'
"'But, my dear friend,' answered my grandmother, 'I have already told
you that I have nothing left.'
"'That does not matter,' answered St. Germain. 'Listen to me, and I
will explain.'
"He then communicated to her a secret which any of you would, I am
sure, give a good deal to possess."
All the young officers gave their full attention. Tomski stopped to
light his Turkish pipe, swallowed a mouthful of smoke, and then went on.
"That very evening my grandmother went to Versailles to play at the
Queen's table. The Duke of Orleans held the bank. My grandmother
invented a little story by way of excuse for not having paid her debt,
and then sat down at the table, and began to stake. She took three
cards. She won with the first; doubled her stake on the second, and won
again; doubled on the third, and still won."
"Mere luck!" said one of the young officers.
"What a tale!" cried Hermann.
"Were the cards marked?" said a third.
"I don't think so," replied Tom ski, gravely.
"And you mean to say," exclaimed Narumoff, "that you have a grandmother
who knows the names of three winning cards, and you have never made her
tell them to you?"
"That is the very deuce of it," answered Tomski. "She had three sons,
of whom my father was one; all three were determined gamblers, and not
one of them was able to extract her secret from her, though it would
have been of immense advantage to them, and to me also. Listen to what
my uncle told me about it, Count Ivan Ilitch, and he told me on his
word of honour.
"Tchaplitzki--the one you remember who died in poverty after devouring
millions--lost one day, when he was a young man, to Zoritch about three
hundred thousand roubles. He was in despair. My grandmother, who had no
mercy for the extravagance of young men, made an exception--I do not
know why--in favour of Tchaplitzki. She gave him three cards, telling
him to play them one after the other, and exacting from him at the same
time his word of honour that he would never afterwards touch a card as
long as he lived. Accordingly Tchaplitzki went to Zoritch and asked for
his revenge. On the first card he staked fifty thousands rubles. He
won, doubled the stake, and won again. Continuing his system he ended
by gaining more than he had lost.
"But it is six o'clock! It is really time to go to bed."
Everyone emptied his glass and the party broke up.
CHAPTER II.
The old Countess Anna Fedotovna was in her dressing-room, seated before
her looking-glass. Three maids were in attendance. One held her pot of
rouge, another a box of black pins, a third an enormous lace cap, with
flaming ribbons. The Countess had no longer the slightest pretence to
beauty, but she preserved all the habits of her youth. She dressed in
the style of fifty years before, and gave as much time and attention to
her toilet as a fashionable beauty of the last century. Her companion
was working at a frame in a corner of the window.
[Illustrated: "SEATED BEFORE HER LOOKING-GLASS."]
"Good morning, grandmother," said the young officer, as he entered the
dressing-room. "Good morning, Mademoiselle Lise. Grandmother, I have
come to ask you a favour."
"What is it, Paul?"
"I want to introduce to you one of my friends, and to ask you to give
him an invitation to your ball."
"Bring him to the ball and introduce him to me there. Did you go
yesterday to the Princess's?"
"Certainly. It was delightful! We danced until five o'clock in the
morning. Mademoiselle Eletzki was charming."
"My dear nephew, you are really not difficult to please. As to beauty,
you should have seen her grandmother, the Princess Daria Petrovna. But
she must be very old the Princess Daria Petrovna!"
"How do you mean old?" cried Tomski thoughtlessly; "she died seven
years ago."
The young lady who acted as companion raised her head and made a sign
to the officer, who then remembered that it was an understood thing to
conceal from the Princess the death of any of her contemporaries. He
bit his lips. The Countess, however, was not in any way disturbed on
hearing that her old friend was no longer in this world.
"Dead!" she said, "and I never knew it! We were maids of honour in
the same year, and when we were presented, the Empress'"--and the
old Countess related for the hundredth time an anecdote of her young
days. "Paul," she said, as she finished her story, "help me to get up.
Lisaveta, where is my snuff-box?"
And, followed by the three maids, she went behind a great screen to
finish her toilet. Tomski was now alone with the companion.
"Who is the gentleman you wish to introduce to madame?" asked Lisaveta.
"Narumoff. Do you know him?"
"No. Is he in the army?"
"Yes."
"In the Engineers?"
"No, in the Horse Guards. Why did you think he was in the Engineers?"
The young lady smiled, but made no answer.
"Paul," cried the Countess from behind the screen, "send me a new
novel; no matter what. Only see that it is not in the style of the
present day."
"What style would you like, grandmother?"
"A novel in which the hero strangles neither his father nor his mother,
and in which no one gets drowned. Nothing frightens me so much as the
idea of getting drowned."
"But how is it possible to find you such a book? Do you want it in
Russian?"
"Are there any novels in Russian? However, send me something or other.
You won't forget?"
"I will not forget, grandmother. I am in a great hurry. Good-bye,
Lisaveta. What made you fancy Narumoff was in the Engineers?" and
Tomski took his departure.
Lisaveta, left alone, took out her embroidery, and sat down close to
the window. Immediately afterwards, in the street, at the corner of a
neighbouring house, appeared a young officer. The sight of him made the
companion blush to her ears. She lowered her head, and almost concealed
it in the canvas. At this moment the Counters returned, fully dressed.
"Lisaveta," she said "have the horses put in; we will go out for a
drive."
Lisaveta rose from her chair, and began to arrange her embroidery.
"Well, my dear child, are you deaf? Go and tell them to put the horses
in at once."
"I am going," replied the young lady, as she went out into the
ante-chamber.
A servant now came in, bringing some books from Prince Paul
Alexandrovitch.
"Say I am much obliged to him. Lisaveta! Lisaveta! Where has she run
off to?"
"I was going to dress."
"We have plenty of time, my dear. Sit down, take the first volume, and
read to me."
The companion took the book and read a few lines.
"Louder," said the Countess. "What is the matter with you? Have you a
cold? Wait a moment; bring me that stool. A little closer; that will
do."
Lisaveta read two pages of the book.
"Throw that stupid book away," said the Countess. "What nonsense! Send
it back to Prince Paul, and tell him I am much obliged to him; and the
carriage, is it never coming?
"Here it is," replied Lisaveta, going to the window.
"And now you are not dressed. Why do you always keep 'me waiting? It is
intolerable."
Lisaveta ran to her room. She had scarcely been there two minutes when
the Countess rang with all her might. Her maids rushed in at one door
and her valet at the other.
"You do not seem to hear me when I ring," she cried. "Go and tell
Lisaveta that I am waiting for her."
At this moment Lisaveta entered, wearing a new walking dress and a
fashionable bonnet.
"At last, miss," cried the Countess. "But what is that you have got on?
and why? For whom are you dressing? What sort of weather is it? Quite
stormy, I believe."
"No, your Excellency," said the valet; "it is exceedingly fine."
"What do you know about it? Open the ventilator. Just what I told you!
A frightful wind, and as icy as can be. Unharness the horses. Lisaveta,
my child, we will not go out to-day. It was scarcely worth while to
dress so much."
"What an existence!" said the companion to herself.
Lisaveta Ivanovna was, in fact, a most unhappy creature. "The bread of
the stranger is bitter," says Dante, "and his staircase hard to climb."
But who can tell the torments of a poor little companion attached to
an old lady of quality? The Countess had all the caprices of a woman
spoilt by the world. She was avaricious and egotistical, and thought
all the more of herself now that she had ceased to play an active part
in society. She never missed a ball, and she dressed and painted in the
style of a bygone age. She remained in a corner of the room, where she
seemed to have been placed expressly to serve as a scarecrow. Every
one on coming in went to her and made her a low bow, but this ceremony
once at an end no one spoke a word to her. She received the whole city
at her house, observing the strictest etiquette, and never failing to
give to everyone his or her proper name. Her innumerable servants,
growing pale and fat in the ante-chamber, did absolutely as they liked,
so that that the house was pillaged as if its owner were really dead.
Lisaveta passed her life in continual torture. If she made tea she was
reproached with wasting the sugar. If she read a novel to the Countess
she was held responsible for all the absurdities of the author. If she
went out with the noble lady for a walk or drive, it was she who was to
blame if the weather was bad or the pavement muddy. Her salary, more
than modest, was never punctually paid, and she was expected to dress
"like every one else," that is to say, like very few people indeed.
When she went into society her position was sad. Everyone knew her; no
one paid her any attention. At a ball she sometimes danced, but only
when a _vis-à-vis_ was wanted. Women would come up to her, take her by