“Well, well, well! no stopping!” shouted grandmother. “Well, what do you care? I have no time for you!”
I walked behind; des Grieux sprang over to me.
“She lost all she won in the morning and blew twelve thousand guldens of her own. We’re on our way to exchange the five percent notes,” I whispered to him hurriedly.
Des Grieux stamped his foot and dashed to tell the general. We went on rolling grandmother.
“Stop her, stop her!” the general whispered in a frenzy.
“You go and try stopping her,” I whispered to him.
“Auntie!” the general approached, “auntie…we’re just…we’re just…” his voice trembled and faltered, “going to hire horses and drive out of town…A most delightful view…a point…we were on our way to invite you.”
“Eh, you and your point!” grandmother waved him away irritably.
“There’s a village…we’ll have tea…” the general went on, now in total despair.
“Nous boirons du lait, sur l’herbe fraîche,”[45] des Grieux added with ferocious spite.
Du lait, de l’herbe fraîche—that’s all a Parisian bourgeois has of the ideally idyllic; therein, as everybody knows, lies his view of “la nature et la vérité! ”[46] {10}
“Eh, you and your milk! Go and guzzle it yourself, it gives me a bellyache. Why are you bothering me?!” cried grandmother. “I tell you, I have no time!”
“Here we are, grandmother!” I cried. “This it it!”
We rolled up to the house where the banker’s office was. I went to exchange the notes; grandmother stayed waiting by the entrance; des Grieux, the general, and Blanche stood to one side, not knowing what to do. Grandmother looked at them wrathfully, and they went off down the road to the vauxhall.
I was offered such terrible terms that I didn’t dare accept and went back to grandmother to ask for instructions.
“Ah, the robbers!” she cried, clasping her hands. “Well! Never mind! Exchange them!” she cried resolutely. “Wait, call the banker to me!”
“Maybe one of the clerks, grandmother?”
“All right, a clerk, it’s all the same. Ah, the robbers!”
The clerk agreed to come out, having learned that he had been asked by a paralyzed old countess who couldn’t walk. Grandmother reproached him for thievery, at length, wrathfully, and loudly, and bargained with him in a mixture of Russian, French, and German, with me helping to translate. The grave clerk kept looking at the two of us and silently wagging his head. He gazed at grandmother even with a much too intent curiosity—which was impolite. Finally, he began to smile.
“Well, away with you!” cried grandmother. “Choke on my money! Exchange with him, Alexei Ivanovich, there’s no time, otherwise we could go elsewhere…”
“The clerk says others will give still less.”
I don’t remember the figures exactly, but it was terrible. I exchanged about twelve thousand florins in gold and notes, took the receipt, and brought it to grandmother.
“Well! well! well! No point in counting it,” she waved her hands, “quick, quick, quick!”
“I’ll never stake on that cursed zéro, nor on red either,” she said as we approached the vauxhall.
This time I tried as hard as I could to persuade her to make smaller stakes, insisting that, with a turn of the chances, there would always be a moment for staking a big amount. But she was so impatient that, though she agreed at first, it was impossible to hold her back during the play. As soon as she began to win stakes of ten or twenty friedrichs d’or, “Well, there! Well, there!” she began nudging me, “well, there, we’ve won—if we’d staked four thousand instead of ten, we’d have won four thousand, and what now? It’s all you, all you!”
And vexed as I was, watching her play, I finally decided to keep quiet and give no more advice.
Suddenly des Grieux sprang over. The three of them were nearby; I noticed that Mlle Blanche and her mama were standing to one side, exchanging courtesies with the little prince. The general was obviously out of favor, almost in the doghouse. Blanche didn’t even want to look at him, though he fidgeted about her with all his might. Poor general! He turned pale, red, trembled, and even no longer followed grandmother’s play. 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 close to her ear. “Madame, stake no go that way…no, no, no possible…” he spoke in distorted Russian, “no!”
“And how, then? Go on, teach me!” grandmother turned to him. Des Grieux suddenly began babbling rapidly in French, giving advice, fussing, saying one had to wait for the chance, started calculating some numbers…Grandmother understood nothing. He turned to me constantly, asking me to translate; jabbed his finger at the table, pointing, finally snatched a pencil and was beginning to work something out on paper. Grandmother finally lost patience.
“Well, away, away with you! it’s all rubbish! Madame, madame—and he doesn’t understand a thing himself. Away!”
“Mais, madame,” chirped des Grieux, and again he began nudging and pointing. He was all worked up.
“Well, stake once as he says,” grandmother told me, “let’s see; maybe it will really work.”
Des Grieux wanted only to distract her from big stakes: he suggested staking on numbers singly and in groups. I staked, at his direction, one friedrich d’or on each of the series of odd numbers from one to twelve, and five friedrichs d’or on groups of numbers between twelve and eighteen, and between eighteen and twenty-four: in all we staked sixteen friedrichs d’or.
The wheel spun. “Zéro,” cried the croupier. We lost everything.
“What a blockhead!” cried grandmother, turning to des Grieux. “Vile little Frenchman that you are! You and your fiendish advice! Away, away! He doesn’t understand a thing, and he pokes his nose into it anyway!”
Terribly offended, des Grieux shrugged his shoulders, gave grandmother a contemptuous look, and walked off. He felt ashamed now that he had gotten involved; he just couldn’t help it.
An hour later, despite all our efforts, we had lost everything.
“Home!” cried grandmother.
She didn’t say a word till we got to the avenue. In the avenue and already approaching the hotel, exclamations began to escape her.
“What a fool! what a great big fool! You old fool, you!”
We had only just entered the suite: “Bring me tea!” grandmother cried, “and get ready at once! We’re going!”
“Where would you be pleased to be going, dearie?” Marfa tried to ask.
“What business is that of yours? To your last, shoemaker! Potapych, pack up everything, all the luggage! We’re going back to Moscow! I’ve verspieled[47] away fifteen thousand roubles!”
“Fifteen thousand, dearie! My God!” cried Potapych, clasping his hands touchingly, probably hoping to oblige.
“Well, well, you fool! None of this sniveling! Silence! Get ready! The bill, quickly, quickly!”
“The next train leaves at half-past nine, grandmother,” I reported, to stop her furor.
“And what is it now?”
“Half-past seven.”
“How vexing! Well, never mind! Alexei Ivanovich, I haven’t a kopeck. Here are two more notes, run off to that place, exhange them for me. Otherwise I’ll have nothing for the road.”
I went. Half an hour later, on returning to the hotel, I found all our people at grandmother’s. Having learned that grandmother was leaving altogether for Moscow, they seemed to be even more struck than by her losses. Suppose that going away would save her fortune, but what would become of the general now? Who would pay des Grieux? Mlle Blanche certainly wouldn’t wait until grandmother died, and would probably slip away now with the little prince or somebody else. They were all standing in front of her, comforting her, trying to talk sense into her. Polina again was not there. Grandmother was shouting furiously at them.
&n
bsp; “Leave me alone, you devils! What business is it of yours? Why is this goat-beard getting at me?” she shouted at des Grieux. “And you, you shank of a girl, what do you want?” she turned to Mlle Blanche. “What are you fussing about?”
“Diantre! ”[48] whispered Mlle Blanche, her eyes flashing with rage, but she suddenly burst out laughing and left.
“Elle vivra cent ans! ”[49] she cried to the general from the doorway.
“Ah, so you’re counting on my death?” grandmother screamed at the general. “Get out! Throw them all out, Alexei Ivanovich! Is it any of your business? I’ve blown my money, not yours!”
The general shrugged his shoulders, stooped, and left. Des Grieux followed.
“Call Praskovya,” grandmother told 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 decided not to go out all day. Her face was serious, sad, and preoccupied.
“Praskovya,” grandmother began, “is it true, what I learned from someone today, that your fool of a stepfather supposedly wants to marry that silly French fidget—an actress, isn’t she, or something still worse? Tell me, is it true?”
“I don’t know for certain, grandmother,” Polina answered, “but from the words of Mlle Blanche herself, who finds concealment unnecessary, I conclude…”
“Enough!” grandmother interrupted energetically, “I understand everything! I always reckoned he was up to just that, and always considered him the emptiest and flightiest of men. He goes around swaggering that he’s a general (he got the rank after he retired as a colonel), and putting on airs. I know it all, my dear, how you sent telegram after telegram to Moscow—‘Will the old crone turn her toes up soon?’ They were waiting for the inheritance; without money, that mean wench—what’s her name?—de Cominges or something, wouldn’t even take him as a lackey, with false teeth at that. They say she has heaps of money herself, lends it on interest, having earned it in a nice way. I don’t blame you, Praskovya; it wasn’t you who sent the telegrams; nor do I want to remember old wrongs. I know what a nasty character you’ve got—a wasp! it swells when you sting, but I feel sorry for you, because I loved your late mother Katerina. Well, do you want to drop all this here and come with me? You’ve got nowhere to go; and it’s improper for you to be with them now. Wait!” grandmother interrupted Polina, who was about to begin a reply, “I haven’t finished yet. I won’t demand anything of you. My house in Moscow you know—it’s a palace, you can have a whole floor and not come down to see me for weeks, if you don’t fancy my character. Well, do you want to or not?”
“Allow me to ask you first: do you really mean to leave right now?”
“Do you think I’m joking, dearie? I said I’d leave, and I’ll leave. I’ve dumped fifteen thousand roubles today at your thrice-cursed roulette. Five years ago I promised to replace the wooden church on my estate near Moscow with a stone one, and instead I whistled it away here. Now, dearie, I’m going to go and build that church.”
“And the waters, grandmother? Haven’t you come to take the waters?”
“Eh, you and your waters! Don’t vex me, Praskovya; are you doing it on purpose, or what? Tell me, will you come along?”
“I thank you very, very much, grandmother,” Polina began with feeling, “for the refuge you’re offering me. You’ve partly guessed my situation. I’m so grateful that, believe me, I may even come to you soon; but now there are reasons…important ones…and I can’t decide at once, this minute. If you were staying two weeks…”
“You mean you don’t want to?”
“I mean I can’t. Besides, in any case I can’t leave my brother and sister, and since…since…since they may indeed be all but abandoned, then…if you’ll take me with the little ones, grandmother, I’ll certainly come to you, and, believe me, I’ll come to deserve it of you,” she added warmly, “but without the children I can’t, grandmother.”
“Well, don’t snivel!” (Polina had never thought of sniveling, and she never cried.) “There’ll be room for the chicks as well; it’s a big chicken coop. Besides, it’s time they went to school. Well, so you’re not coming now? Well, Praskovya, watch out! I’d like to wish you well, but I know why you’re not coming. I know everything, Praskovya! That little Frenchman won’t bring you any good.”
Polina flushed. I gave a start. (Everybody knows! I alone, therefore, know nothing!)
“Well, well, don’t frown. I won’t embroider on it. Only watch out that nothing bad happens, understand? You’re a smart girl; I’d be sorry for you. Well, enough, I don’t even want to look at you all! Go! Good-bye!”
“I’ll still come to see you off, grandmother,” said Polina.
“No need to; don’t bother me, I’m sick of you all.”
Polina kissed grandmother’s hand, but she pulled her hand away and kissed Polina on the cheek.
As she passed me, Polina glanced at me quickly and at once turned away.
“Well, good-bye to you, too, Alexei Ivanovich! It’s only an hour till the train. And you’re tired of me, I think. Here, take these fifty gold pieces.”
“I humbly thank you, grandmother, I’m ashamed to…”
“Well, well!” cried grandmother, but so energetically and menacingly that I didn’t dare refuse and accepted.
“In Moscow, when you’re running around without a job, come to me; I’ll recommend you to someone. Well, out with you!”
I went to my room and lay down on the bed. I think I lay for half an hour on my back, my hands thrust behind my head. The catastrophe had broken out, there was something to think about. I decided imperatively to talk with Polina tomorrow. Ah! the little Frenchman? So then it’s true! What could there be to it, though? Polina and des Grieux! Lord, what a juxtaposition!
All this was simply unbelievable. I suddenly jumped up, beside myself, to go looking for Mr. Astley at once and make him speak at all costs. Here, too, of course, he knows more than I do. Mr. Astley? There’s another riddle for me!
But suddenly there came a knock at my door. I looked—Potapych.
“Alexei Ivanovich, my dear: the mistress, she’s calling.”
“What is it? Is she leaving or something? It’s still twenty minutes till the train.”
“She’s restless, my dear, can barely sit still. ‘Quick, quick!’—meaning you, my dear; for Christ’s sake, don’t delay.”
I raced downstairs at once. Grandmother had already been rolled out to the corridor. She had the wallet in her hands.
“Alexei Ivanovich, lead the way, come on!…”
“Where to, grandmother?”
“It may kill me, but I’ll win back what I lost! Well, march, no questions! They play till midnight there, don’t they?”
I was dumbfounded, reflected, but made up my mind at once.
“As you will, Antonida Vassilyevna, but I won’t go.”
“Why not? What’s this now? Are you all moonstruck or something?”
“As you will, but afterwards I’d reproach myself; I don’t want to! I don’t want either to witness it or to participate in it; spare me, Antonida Vassilyevna. Here are your fifty friedrichs d’or back; good-bye!” And, placing the roll of friedrichs d’or right there on a little table next to grandmother’s chair, I bowed and left.
“What rubbish!” grandmother cried after me. “Don’t come then, if you please, I’ll find the way myself! Potapych, come with me! Well, pick me up, get going.”
I didn’t find Mr. Astley and went back home. Late, past midnight, I learned from Potapych how grandmother’s day had ended. She had lost everything I had exchanged for her earlier, that is, another ten thousand roubles, by our reckoning. That same little Pole to whom she had given two friedrichs d’or had attached himself to her and guided her play the whole time. First, before the little Pole, she had made Potapych stake for her, but soon chased him away; it was then that the little Pole popped up. As luck would have it, he understood Russian a
nd could even chatter in a mixture of three languages, so that they somehow managed to understand each other. Grandmother scolded him mercilessly all the time, and though he constantly “laid himself out at my lady’s feet,” he was “no comparison with you, Alexei Ivanovich,” Potapych recounted. “She treated you as a gentleman, but that one—I saw it with my own eyes, God strike me dead—he stole from her right there at the table. She caught him twice and railed at him, my dear, railed at him with all sorts of words, and even pulled his hair once, really, I’m not lying, so that there was laughter all around. She lost everything, my dear; everything she had, everything you exchanged for her. We brought her here, the dear lady—she just asked for a drink of water, crossed herself, and went to bed. Wore herself out, must be, fell asleep at once. May God send her angelic dreams! Ah, these foreign parts!” Potapych concluded. “I said no good would come of it. We ought to hurry back to our Moscow! We’ve got everything at home in Moscow. A garden, flowers such as don’t exist here, fragrance, apples ripening, vastness—no, she had to go abroad! Oh, oh, oh!…”
CHAPTER XIII
IT’S ALMOST A WHOLE month now since I’ve touched these notes of mine, begun under the effect of strong though disorderly impressions. The catastrophe, the approach of which I anticipated then, did come, but a hundred times more drastically and unexpectedly than I had thought. It was all something strange, ugly, and even tragic, at any rate for me. Certain things happened to me that were almost miraculous; so at least I look at them to this day—though from another point of view, and especially judging by the whirl I was then spinning in, they were at most only somewhat out of the ordinary. But most miraculous of all for me was the way I regarded these events. To this day I don’t understand myself! And it all flew away like a dream—even my passion, and yet it really was strong and true, but…where has it gone now? Indeed, the thought occasionally flits through my head: “Didn’t I go out of my mind then and spend the whole time sitting in a madhouse somewhere, and maybe I’m sitting there now—so that for me it was all a seeming and only seems to this day…”
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