The Queen of Spades, and other stories
of happiness on the occasion of his first appearance in the character
of a gambler.
"There!" said Hermann, after writing some figures on the back of his
card.
"How much?" asked the banker, half closing his eyes. "Excuse me, I
cannot see."
"Forty-seven thousand rubles," said Hermann.
Everyone's eyes were directed toward the new player.
"He has lost his head," thought Harumoff.
"Allow me to point out to you," said Tchekalinski, with his eternal
smile, "that you are playing rather high. We never put down here, as a
first stake, more than a hundred and seventy-five rubles."
"Very well," said Hermann; "but do you accept my stake or not?"
Tchekalinski bowed in token of acceptation. "I only wish to point out
to you," he said, "that although I am perfectly sure of my friends,
I can only play against ready money. I am quite convinced that your
word is as good as gold; but to keep up the rules of the game, and to
facilitate calculations, I should be obliged to you if you would put
the money on your card."
Hermann took a bank-note from his pocket and handed it to Tchekalinski,
who, after examining it with a glance, placed it on Hermann's card.
Then he began to deal. He turned up on the right a ten, and on the left
a three.
"I win," said Hermann, exhibiting his three.
A murmur of astonishment ran through the assembly. The banker knitted
his eyebrows, but speedily his face resumed its everlasting smile.
"Shall I settle at once?" he asked.
"If you will be kind enough to do so," said Hermann.
Tchekalinski took a bundle of bank-notes from his pocket-book, and
paid. Hermann pocketed His winnings and left the table.
Narumoff was lost in astonishment. Hermann drank a glass of lemonade
and went home.
The next evening he returned to the house. Tchekalinski again held the
bank. Hermann went to the table, and this time the players hastened to
make room for him. Tchekalinski received him with a most gracious bow.
Hermann waited, took a card, and staked on it his forty-seven thousand
roubles, together with the like sum which he had gained the evening
before.
Tchekalinski began to deal. He turned up on the right a knave, and on
the left a seven.
Hermann exhibited a seven.
There was a general exclamation. Tchekalinski was evidently ill at
ease, but he counted out the ninety-four thousand roubles to Hermann,
who took them in the calmest manner, rose from, the table, and went
away.
The next evening, at the accustomed hour, he again appeared. Everyone
was expecting him. Generals and high officials had left their whist to
watch this extraordinary play. The young officers had quitted their
sofas, and even the servants of the house pressed round the table.
When Hermann took his seat, the other players ceased to stake, so
impatient were they to see him have it out with the banker, who, still
smiling, watched the approach of his antagonist and prepared to meet
him. Each of them untied at the same time a pack of cards. Tchekalinski
shuffled, and Hermann cut. Then the latter took up a card and covered
it with a heap of banknotes. It was like the preliminaries of a duel. A
deep silence reigned through the room.
Tchekalinski took up the cards with trembling hands and dealt. On one
side he put down a queen and on the other side an ace.
"Ace wins," said Hermann.
"No. Queen loses," said Tchekalinski.
Hermann looked. Instead of ace, he saw a queen of spades before him. He
could not trust his eyes! And now as he gazed, in fascination, on the
fatal card, he fancied that he saw the queen of spades open and then
close her eye, while at the same time she gave a mocking smile. He felt
a thrill of nameless horror. The queen of spades resembled the dead
Countess!
Hermann is now at the Obukhoff Asylum, room No. 17 a hopeless madman!
He answers no questions which we put to him. Only he mumbles to himself
without cessation, "Three, seven, ace; three, seven, _queen_!"
THE PISTOL SHOT.
CHAPTER I.
We were stationed at the little village of Z. The life of an officer
in the army is well known. Drill and the riding school in the morning;
dinner with the colonel or at the Jewish restaurant; and in the evening
punch and cards.
At Z. nobody kept open house, and there was no girl that anyone could
think of marrying. We used to meet at each other's rooms, where we
never saw anything but one another's uniforms. There was only one man
among us who did not belong to the regiment. He was about thirty-five,
and, of course, we looked upon him as an old fellow. He had the
advantage of experience, and his habitual gloom, stern features, and
his sharp tongue gave him great influence over his juniors. He was
surrounded by a certain mystery. His looks were Russian, but his name
was foreign. He had served in the Hussars, and with credit. No one
knew what had induced him to retire and settle in this out of the way
little village, where he lived in mingled poverty and extravagance. He
always went on foot, and wore a shabby black coat. But he was always
ready to receive any of our officers; and though his dinners, cooked by
a retired soldier, never consisted of more than two or three dishes,
champagne flowed at them like water. His income, or how he got it, no
one knew, and no one ventured to ask. He had a few books on military
subjects and a few novels, which he willingly lent and never asked to
have returned. But, on the other hand, he never returned the books he
himself borrowed.
His principal recreation was pistol-shooting. The walls of his room
were riddled with bullets-a perfect honeycomb. A rich collection of
pistols was the only thing luxurious in his modestly furnished villa.
His skill as a shot was quite prodigious. If he had undertaken to
shoot a pear off some one's cap not a man in our regiment would have
hesitated to act as target. Our conversation often turned on duelling;
Silvio, so I will call him, never joined in it. When asked if he had
ever fought, he answered curtly, "Yes." But he gave no particulars, and
it was evident that he disliked such questions. We concluded that the
memory of some unhappy victim of his terrible skill preyed heavily upon
his conscience. None of us could ever have suspected him of cowardice.
There are men whose look alone is enough to repel such a suspicion.
An unexpected incident fairly astonished us. One afternoon about ten
officers were dining with Silvio. They drank as usual, that is to say,
a great deal. After dinner we asked our host to make a pool. For a long
time he refused on the ground that he seldom played. At last he ordered
cards to be brought in. With half a hundred gold pieces on the table we
sat round him, and the game began. It was Silvio's habit not to speak
when playing. He never disputed or explained. If an adversary made a
mistake Silvio without a word chalked it down against him. Knowing his
way we always let him have it.
But among us on this occasion was an officer who had but lately joined.
While playing he absent-mindedly scored a point too much. Silvio took
the chalk and corrected the score in his own fashion. The officer,
supposing him to have made a mistake, began to explain. Silvio went
on dealing in silence. The officer, losing patience, took the brush
and rubbed out what he thought was wrong. Silvio took the chalk and
recorrected it. The officer, heated with wine and play, and irritated
by the laughter of the company, thought himself aggrieved, and, in a
fit of passion, seized a brass candlestick and threw it at Silvio, who
only just managed to avoid the missile. Great was our confusion. Silvio
got up, white with rage, and said, with sparkling eyes--
"Sir! have the goodness to withdraw, and you may thank God that this
has happened in my own house."
We could have no doubt as to the consequences, and we already looked
upon our new comrade as a dead man. He withdrew saying that he was
ready to give satisfaction for his offence in any way desired.
The game went on for a few minutes; but feeling that our host was upset
we gradually left off playing and dispersed, each to his own quarters.
At the riding school next day we were already asking one another
whether the young lieutenant was still alive, when he appeared among
us. We asked him the same question, and were told that he had not yet
heard from Silvio. We were astonished. We went to Silvio's and found
him in the court-yard popping bullet after bullet into an ace which he
had gummed to the gate. He received us as usual, but made no allusion
to what had happened on the previous evening.
Three days passed and the lieutenant was still alive. "Can it be
possible," we asked one another in astonishment, "that Silvio will not
fight?"
Silvio did not fight. He accepted a flimsy apology, and became
reconciled to the man who had insulted him. This lowered him greatly
in the opinion of the young men, who, placing bravery above all the
other human virtues and regarding it as an excuse for every imaginable
vice, were ready to overlook anything sooner than a lack of courage.
However, little by little, all was forgotten, and Silvio regained his
former influence. I alone could not renew my friendship with him.
Being naturally romantic I had surpassed the rest in my attachment
to the man whose life was an enigma, and who seemed to me a hero of
some mysterious story. He liked me, and with me alone did he drop his
sarcastic tone and converse simply and most agreeably on many subjects.
But after this unlucky evening the thought that his honour was
tarnished, and that it remained so by his own choice, never left me;
and this prevented any renewal of our former intimacy. I was ashamed to
look at him. Silvio was too sharp and experienced not to notice this
and guess the reason. It seemed to vex him, for I observed that once or
twice he hinted at an explanation; but I wanted none, and Silvio gave
me up. Thenceforth I only met him in the presence of other friends, and
our confidential talks were at an end.
The busy occupants of the capital have no idea of the emotions so
frequently experienced by residents in the country and in country
towns; as, for instance, in awaiting the arrival of the post. On
Tuesdays and Fridays the bureau of the regimental staff was crammed
with officers. Some were expecting money, others letters or newspapers.
The letters were mostly opened on the spot, and the news freely
interchanged, the office meanwhile presenting a most lively appearance.
Silvio's letters used to be addressed to our regiment, and he usually
called for them himself. On one occasion, a letter having been handed
to him, I saw him break the seal and, with a look of great impatience,
read the contents. His eyes sparkled. The other officers, each engaged
with his own letters, did not notice anything.
"Gentlemen," said Silvio, "circumstances demand my immediate departure.
I leave tonight, and I hope you will not refuse to dine with me for the
last time. I shall expect you, too," he added, "turning towards me,
without fail." With these words he hurriedly left, and we agreed to
meet at Silvio's.
I went to Silvio's at the appointed time and found nearly the whole
regiment with him. His things were already packed. Nothing remained
but the bare shot-marked walls. We sat down to table. The host was in
excellent spirits, and his liveliness communicated itself to the rest
of the company. Corks popped every moment. Bottles fizzed and tumblers
foamed incessantly, and we, with much warmth, wished our departing
friend a pleasant journey and every happiness. The evening was far
advanced when we rose from table. During the search for hats, Silvio
wished everybody goodbye. Then, taking me by the hand, as I was on the