The Double and The Gambler

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

  “Quelle victoire! ” *35 he kept saying.

  “Mais, madame, c’était du feu! ” †36 Mlle Blanche added with a flirtatious smile.

  “Yes, ma’am, I just up and won twelve thousand florins! Twelve, nothing, what about the gold? With the gold it comes out to nearly thirteen. How much is that in our money? Some six thousand, eh?”

  I reported that it was over seven and, with the exchange what it was, maybe even eight.

  “No joking, eight thousand! And you dunderheads sit here and do nothing! Potapych, Marfa, did you see?”

  “Dearie, but how can it be? Eight thousand roubles!” Marfa exclaimed, twining about.

  “Take, here’s five gold pieces from me for each of you, here!”

  Potapych and Marfa rushed to kiss her hands.

  “The porters get one friedrich d’or each. Give them a gold piece each, Alexei Ivanovich. What’s that attendant bowing for, and the other one also? Congratulating me? Give them each a friedrich d’or as well.”

  “Madame la princesse…un pauvre expatrié…malheur continuel…les princes russes sont si généreux,” *37 a person twined about the armchair, in a shabby frock coat, a motley waistcoat, a mustache, holding a peaked cap in his outstretched hand, and with an obsequious smile…

  “Give him a friedrich d’or as well. No, give him two; well, enough, there’ll be no end to it. Up and carry! Praskovya,” she turned to Polina Alexandrovna, “tomorrow I’ll buy you stuff for a dress, and also for this Mlle…how’s she called, Mlle Blanche, or something, I’ll also buy her stuff for a dress. Translate, Praskovya!”

  “Merci, madame,” Mlle Blanche curtsied sweetly, twisting her mouth into a mocking smile, which she sent to des Grieux and the general. The general was a bit embarrassed and was terribly glad when we reached the avenue.

  “Fedosya, I’m thinking how surprised Fedosya will be now,” said grandmother, remembering her acquaintance, the general’s nanny. “She should also be given money for a dress. Hey, Alexei Ivanovich, Alexei Ivanovich, give something to this beggar!”

  Some ragamuffin with a bent back was going down the road and looking at us.

  “Maybe he’s not a beggar, grandmother, but some sort of rascal.”

  “Give! give! give him a gulden!”

  I went over and gave it to him. He gazed at me in wild perplexity, though he silently took the gulden. He reeked of wine.

  “And you, Alexei Ivanovich, have you tried your luck yet?”

  “No, grandmother.”

  “Your eyes were burning, I saw it.”

  “I’ll try it yet, grandmother, for certain, later on.”

  “And stake directly on zéro! You’ll see! How much capital do you have?”

  “Only twenty friedrichs d’or, grandmother.”

  “Not much. I’ll lend you fifty friedrichs d’or, if you like. Here’s that same roll, take it, and you, dearie, don’t get your hopes up, I won’t give you anything!” she suddenly turned to the general.

  The man was as if bowled over, but he said nothing. Des Grieux frowned.

  “Que diable, c’est une terrible vieille! ” *38 he whispered to the general through his teeth.

  “A beggar, a beggar, again a beggar!” cried grandmother. “Alexei Ivanovich, give this one a gulden, too.”

  This time we met a gray-haired old man on a wooden leg, in some sort of long-skirted blue frock coat and with a long cane in his hand. He looked like an old soldier. But when I offered him a gulden, he stepped back and examined me menacingly.

  “Was ist’s der Teufel! ” †39 he cried, adding another dozen oaths.

  “Eh, the fool!” cried grandmother, waving her hand. “Drive on! I’m hungry! I’ll have dinner right now, then loll about for a bit and go back again.”

  “You want to gamble again, grandmother?” I cried.

  “What do you think? You all sit here and mope, so I’ve got to look at you?”

  “Mais, madame,” des Grieux came closer, “les chances peuvent tourner, une seule mauvaise chance and vous perdrez tout…surtout avec votre jeu…c’était terrible! ” ‡40

  “Vous perdrez absolument,” §41 chirped Mlle Blanche.

  “What is it to all of you? It’s my money I’ll be losing, not yours! And where is that Mr. Astley?” she asked me.

  “He stayed at the vauxhall, grandmother.”

  “A pity; he’s such a nice man.”

  On reaching home, grandmother, meeting the manager while still on the stairs, called to him and boasted of her win; then she called Fedosya, gave her three friedrichs d’or and ordered dinner served. Fedosya and Marfa simply dissolved before her during dinner.

  “I’m watching you, dearie,” Marfa rattled out, “and I say to Potapych, what is it our dearie means to do? And all that money on the table, all that money, saints alive! in my whole life I never saw so much money, and gentlefolk all around, nothing but gentlefolk. How is it, Potapych, I say, it’s all such gentlefolk here? Mother of God, I think, help her. I’m praying for you, dearie, and my heart sinks, it just sinks, I’m trembling, I’m trembling all over. Grant her, Lord, I think, and so here the Lord sent it to you. And till now I’m still trembling, dearie, just trembling all over.”

  “Alexei Ivanovich, after dinner, at around four, get ready and we’ll go. Meanwhile, good-bye—oh, yes, and don’t forget to send me some little doctor, I also have to drink the waters. Or else you may forget.”

  I left grandmother’s as if in a daze. I tried to imagine what would happen now with all our people and what turn affairs would take. I saw clearly that they (the general mainly) had not yet managed to collect their senses, even from the first impression. The fact of grandmother’s appearance, instead of the telegram about her death (and therefore about the inheritance as well) that had been expected at any moment, had so shattered the whole system of their intentions and already-made decisions, that they treated grandmother’s further exploits at roulette with decided perplexity and a sort of stupor, which had come over them all. And yet this second fact was almost more important than the first, because, though grandmother had twice repeated that she would give no money to the general, who could tell—all the same they should not lose hope yet. Des Grieux, who was involved in all the general’s affairs, had not. I was sure that Mlle Blanche, who was also quite involved (what else: a general’s wife and a considerable inheritance!) would not lose hope and would use all the seductions of coquetry on grandmother—in contrast to the proud and unyielding Polina, who was not given to tenderness. But now, now, when grandmother had performed such exploits at roulette, now, when grandmother’s personality was stamped so clearly and typically before them (an obstinate, domineering old woman, et tombée en enfance)—now perhaps all was lost: why, she was pleased, like a child, to have gotten down to it, and, as usually happens, would lose her shirt. God! I thought (and, Lord forgive me, with the most malicious laughter), God, every friedrich d’or grandmother had staked today had left a sore spot in the general’s heart, had infuriated des Grieux, and had driven Mlle de Cominges, who felt the spoon going past her mouth, to a frenzy. Here is another fact: even after winning, in her joy, when grandmother had given money to everybody and had taken every passerby for a beggar, even then she had let slip to the general: “But all the same I won’t give you anything!” Which meant she was stubbornly fixed on this thought, had promised it to herself—dangerous! dangerous!

  All these considerations wandered through my head while I was going up the central stairway from grandmother’s to the topmost floor, to my little room. All this concerned me greatly; though, of course, I could guess in advance the main, the thickest threads connecting the actors before me, I still did not ultimately know all the means and secrets of this game. Polina was never fully trusting with me. Though, true, it did happen that she would open her heart to me occasionally, as if inadvertently, I noticed that often, even almost always, after being open, she either turned everything she had said to ridicule, or deliberately made it look confus
ed and false. Oh, she concealed a lot! In any case, I sensed that the finale was approaching for this whole mysterious and tense situation. One more stroke and everything would be finished and revealed. About my own fate, which was also caught up in it all, I almost didn’t worry. I was in a strange mood: in my pocket a total of twenty friedrichs d’or; I’m far away in a foreign land, with no post and no means of existence, no hopes, no plans and—it doesn’t worry me! If it hadn’t been for the thought of Polina, I would simply have surrendered myself entirely to the comic interest of the coming denouement and laughed my head off. But Polina confounds me. Her fate is being decided, I can feel that, but, I confess, it’s not at all her fate that troubles me. I’d like to penetrate her secrets; I’d like her to come to me and say: “I love you,” and if not, if that madness is unthinkable, then…well, what should I wish for? Do I know what to wish for? I’m as if lost myself; all I need is to be near her, in her aura, in her radiance, forever, always, all my life. Beyond that I know nothing! And can I possibly leave her?

  On the third floor, in their corridor, it was as if something nudged me. I turned and, twenty or more paces away, saw Polina coming out the door. She seemed to have been waiting and watching for me, and immediately beckoned to me.

  “Polina Alexandrovna…”

  “Quiet!” she warned.

  “Imagine,” I whispered, “it’s as if something just nudged me in the side; I turn around—it’s you! As if you give off some kind of electricity!”

  “Take this letter,” Polina said with a preoccupied and frowning air, probably without hearing what I had just said, “and deliver it personally to Mr. Astley right away. Be quick, I beg you. No reply is needed. He himself…”

  She didn’t finish. “To Mr. Astley?” I repeated in astonishment.

  But Polina had already disappeared through the door.

  “Aha, so they correspond!” Naturally, I ran at once to look for Mr. Astley, first in his hotel, where I didn’t find him, then in the vauxhall, where I ran around all the rooms, and finally, in vexation, almost in despair, on my way home, I met him by chance in a cavalcade of some English men and ladies, on horseback. I beckoned to him, stopped him, and gave him the letter. We had no time even to exchange glances. But I suspect that Mr. Astley deliberately hastened to urge his horse on.

  Was I tormented by jealousy? I was indeed in the most broken state of mind. I didn’t even want to know what they corresponded about. So he was her confidant! “A friend he may be,” I thought, and that was clear (and when had he found time to become one?), “but is there love in it?” “Of course not,” reason whispered to me. But reason alone is not enough in such cases. In any case, this, too, was to be clarified. The business was becoming unpleasantly complicated.

  I no sooner entered the hotel than the doorman and the manager, coming out of his room, informed me that I was being asked for, looked for, that three times there had been an inquiry about where I was, and a request that I go as quickly as possible to the general’s suite. I was in the nastiest state of mind. In the general’s study, besides the general himself, I found des Grieux and Mlle Blanche, alone, without her mother. The mother was decidedly a dummy personage, used only for display; when it came to real business, Mlle Blanche managed by herself. And the woman scarcely knew anything about her presumed daughter’s affairs.

  The three of them were hotly conferring about something, and the door of the study was even shut, something that had never happened before. Approaching the door, I heard loud voices—the brazen and caustic talk of des Grieux, the impudently abusive and furious shouting of Blanche, and the pitiful voice of the general, who was apparently trying to justify himself for something. On my appearance, they all seemed to restrain themselves and put themselves to rights. Des Grieux put his hair to rights and made his angry face into a smiling one—with that nasty, officially courteous French smile I hate so much. The general, crushed and at a loss, assumed a dignified air, but somehow mechanically. Mlle Blanche alone made scarcely a change in her anger-flashing physiognomy and only fell silent, directing her gaze at me with impatient expectation. I will note that till then she had treated me with incredible negligence, had not even responded to my greetings—simply hadn’t noticed me.

  “Alexei Ivanovich,” the general began in a gently upbraiding tone, “allow me to declare to you that it is strange, strange in the highest degree…in short, your behavior regarding me and my family…in short, strange in the highest degree…”

  “Eh! ce n’est pas ça,” *42 des Grieux interrupted with vexation and contempt. (He decidedly had the upper hand in everything!) “Mon cher monsieur, notre cher général se trompe †43 when he lapses into this tone” (I continue his speech in Russian), “but he wanted to tell you…that is, to warn you, or, better to say, to earnestly beg you not to ruin him—oh, yes, not to ruin! I am using precisely this expression…”

  “But how, how?” I interrupted.

  “Good heavens, you’ve undertaken to be the guide (or how do they say?) of this old woman, cette pauvre terrible vieille,” des Grieux himself became confused, “but she will lose; she will lose her shirt and everything! You’ve seen yourself, you’ve witnessed the way she plays! If she begins to lose, she won’t leave the table, out of stubbornness, out of anger, and she’ll keep on playing, keep on playing, and in such cases one can win nothing back, and then…then…”

  “And then,” the general picked up, “then you will ruin the entire family! Me and my family, we’re her heirs, she has no closer relations. I’ll tell you frankly: my affairs are in disarray, extreme disarray. You partly know yourself…If she loses a considerable sum, or even perhaps the whole fortune (oh, God!), what will become of them then, of my children!” (the general turned to des Grieux) “of me!” (He looked at Mlle Blanche, who turned away from him with contempt.) “Alexei Ivanovich, save us, save us!…”

  “But how, General, tell me, how can I…What do I amount to here?”

  “Refuse, refuse, drop her!…”

  “Then she’ll find somebody else!” I cried.

  “Ce n’est pas ça, ce n’est pas ça,” des Grieux interrupted again, “que diable! No, don’t drop her, but at any rate exhort her, talk to her, distract her…Well, finally, don’t let her lose too much, distract her somehow.”

  “But how can I do that? If you were to take it upon yourself, M. des Grieux,” I added as naïvely as I could.

  Here I noticed the quick, fiery, questioning glance Mlle Blanche gave des Grieux. In des Grieux’s own face something peculiar flashed, something frank, which he was unable to hold back.

  “That’s just it, that she won’t take me now!” des Grieux cried, waving his hand. “If only!…later…”

  Des Grieux glanced quickly and significantly at Mlle Blanche.

  “Oh, mon cher Monsieur Alexis, soyez si bon,” *44 Mlle Blanche herself stepped towards me with an enchanting smile, seized me by both hands, and pressed them firmly. Damn it all, that devilish face knew how to change in a single second! She instantly acquired such a pleading face, so sweet, childishly smiling, and even mischievous; at the end of the phrase she gave me a sly wink, in secret from everyone; did she mean to undercut me all at once, or what? And it didn’t come off badly—only it was crude, terribly crude.

  The general jumped up after her—precisely jumped:

  “Alexei Ivanovich, forgive me for speaking to you like that earlier, I meant to say something else…I beg you, I implore you, I bow down before you Russian-style—you, you alone can save us! Mlle de Cominges and I implore you—you understand? you do understand?” he implored, indicating Mlle Blanche to me with his eyes. He was very pitiful.

  At that moment there came three quiet and respectful knocks at the door; they opened—the floorboy had knocked, and a few steps behind him stood Potapych. The ambassadors were from grandmother. There was a request to find me and deliver me immediately—“she being angry,” Potapych informed me.

  “But it’s still only half-pas
t three!”

  “She couldn’t sleep, kept tossing, then suddenly got up, demanded her chair, and sent for you. She’s already on the porch, sir…”

  “Quelle mégère! ” *45 cried des Grieux.

  Indeed, I found grandmother already on the porch, losing patience over my absence. She couldn’t wait till four o’clock.

  “Well, lift me up!” she cried, and we set off again for the roulette tables.

  CHAPTER XII

  G RANDMOTHER WAS IN AN impatient and irritable state of mind; it was clear that roulette had lodged itself firmly in her head. She paid no attention to anything else, and was generally extremely distracted. For instance, she didn’t ask questions about anything on the way, as she had earlier. Seeing a very rich carriage that raced past us like the wind, she raised her hand and asked: “What’s that? Whose is it?”—but didn’t seem to hear my reply; her pensiveness was constantly broken by abrupt and impatient movements and actions. When I pointed out Baron and Baroness Wurmerhelm in the distance, as we were approaching the vauxhall, she looked distractedly and said quite indifferently: “Ah!”—and, turning quickly to Potapych and Marfa, who were walking behind her, said sharply:

  “Well, why are you tagging along? You needn’t be taken every time! Go home! You’re enough for me,” she added to me, when the other two hastily bowed and returned home.

  Grandmother was already expected in the vauxhall. She was at once allotted the same place next to the croupier. It seems to me that these croupiers, who are always so decorous and pretend to be ordinary officials for whom it is decidedly almost all the same whether the bank wins or loses, are not at all indifferent to the bank’s losses and, of course, are furnished with certain instructions for attracting gamblers and keeping better watch over the establishment’s interests—for which they certainly receive prizes and awards. At any rate they already looked upon grandmother as a nice little victim. Thereupon, what had been assumed of us—happened.