left the room--crying to the General as she did so: "Elle
vivra cent ans!"
"So you have been counting upon my death, have you?" fumed
the old lady. "Away with you! Clear them out of the room,
Alexis Ivanovitch. What business is it of THEIRS? It is not
THEIR money that I have been squandering, but my own."
The General shrugged his shoulders, bowed, and withdrew, with
De Griers behind him.
"Call Prascovia," commanded the Grandmother, and in five
minutes Martha reappeared with Polina, who had been sitting
with the children in her own room (having purposely
determined not to leave it that day). Her face looked grave
and careworn.
"Prascovia," began the Grandmother, "is what I have just
heard through a side wind true--namely, that this fool of a
stepfather of yours is going to marry that silly whirligig of
a Frenchwoman--that actress, or something worse? Tell me, is
it true?"
"I do not know FOR CERTAIN, Grandmamma," replied Polina; "but
from Mlle. Blanche's account (for she does not appear to think
it necessary to conceal anything) I conclude that--"
"You need not say any more," interrupted the Grandmother
energetically. "I understand the situation. I always thought
we should get something like this from him, for I always
looked upon him as a futile, frivolous fellow who gave himself
unconscionable airs on the fact of his being a general (though
he only became one because he retired as a colonel). Yes, I
know all about the sending of the telegrams to inquire
whether 'the old woman is likely to turn up her toes soon.' Ah,
they were looking for the legacies! Without money that
wretched woman (what is her name?--Oh, De Cominges) would
never dream of accepting the General and his false teeth--no,
not even for him to be her lacquey--since she herself, they
say, possesses a pile of money, and lends it on interest, and
makes a good thing out of it. However, it is not you,
Prascovia, that I am blaming; it was not you who sent those
telegrams. Nor, for that matter, do I wish to recall old
scores. True, I know that you are a vixen by nature--that you
are a wasp which will sting one if one touches it-- yet, my
heart is sore for you, for I loved your mother, Katerina. Now,
will you leave everything here, and come away with me?
Otherwise, I do not know what is to become of you, and it is
not right that you should continue living with these people.
Nay," she interposed, the moment that Polina attempted to
speak, "I have not yet finished. I ask of you nothing in
return. My house in Moscow is, as you know, large enough for
a palace, and you could occupy a whole floor of it if you
liked, and keep away from me for weeks together. Will you
come with me or will you not?"
"First of all, let me ask of YOU," replied Polina, "whether you
are intending to depart at once?"
"What? You suppose me to be jesting? I have said that I am
going, and I AM going. Today I have squandered fifteen
thousand roubles at that accursed roulette of yours, and
though, five years ago, I promised the people of a certain
suburb of Moscow to build them a stone church in place of a
wooden one, I have been fooling away my money here! However,
I am going back now to build my church."
"But what about the waters, Grandmamma? Surely you came here
to take the waters?"
"You and your waters! Do not anger me, Prascovia. Surely you
are trying to? Say, then: will you, or will you not, come
with me?"
"Grandmamma," Polina replied with deep feeling, "I am very,
very grateful to you for the shelter which you have so kindly
offered me. Also, to a certain extent you have guessed my
position aright, and I am beholden to you to such an extent
that it may be that I will come and live with you, and that
very soon; yet there are important reasons why--why I cannot
make up my min,d just yet. If you would let me have, say, a
couple of weeks to decide in--?"
"You mean that you are NOT coming?"
"I mean only that I cannot come just yet. At all events, I
could not well leave my little brother and sister here,
since,since--if I were to leave them--they would be abandoned
altogether. But if, Grandmamma, you would take the little ones
AND myself, then, of course, I could come with you, and would
do all I could to serve you" (this she said with great
earnestness). "Only, without the little ones I CANNOT come."
"Do not make a fuss" (as a matter of fact Polina never at
any time either fussed or wept). "The Great Foster--Father
[Translated literally--The Great Poulterer] can find for all
his chicks a place. You are not coming without the children?
But see here, Prascovia. I wish you well, and nothing but
well: yet I have divined the reason why you will not come.
Yes, I know all, Prascovia. That Frenchman will never bring
you good of any sort."
Polina coloured hotly, and even I started. "For," thought I to
myself, "every one seems to know about that affair. Or
perhaps I am the only one who does not know about it? "
"Now, now! Do not frown," continued the Grandmother. "But I
do not intend to slur things over. You will take care that no
harm befalls you, will you not? For you are a girl of sense,
and I am sorry for you--I regard you in a different light to
the rest of them. And now, please, leave me. Good-bye."
"But let me stay with you a little longer," said Polina.
"No," replied the other; "you need not. Do not bother me, for
you and all of them have tired me out."
Yet when Polina tried to kiss the Grandmother's hand, the old
lady withdrew it, and herself kissed the girl on the cheek.
As she passed me, Polina gave me a momentary glance, and then
as swiftly averted her eyes.
"And good-bye to you, also, Alexis Ivanovitch. The train
starts in an hour's time, and I think that you must be weary
of me. Take these five hundred gulden for yourself."
"I thank you humbly, Madame, but I am ashamed to--"
"Come, come!" cried the Grandmother so energetically, and
with such an air of menace, that I did not dare refuse the
money further.
"If, when in Moscow, you have no place where you can lay your
head," she added, "come and see me, and I will give you a
recommendation. Now, Potapitch, get things ready."
I ascended to my room, and lay down upon the bed. A whole hour
I must have lain thus, with my head resting upon my hand. So
the crisis had come! I needed time for its consideration. To-
morrow I would have a talk with Polina. Ah! The Frenchman! So,
it was true? But how could it be so? Polina and De Griers!
What a combination!
No, it was too improbable. Suddenly I leapt up with the idea
of seeking Astley and forcing him to speak. There could be no
doubt that he knew more than I did. Astley? Well, he was
another problem for me to solve.
Suddenly there came a knock at the door, and I opened it to
find Potapitch awaiting me.
"Sir," he said, "my mistress is asking for you."
"Indeed? But she is just departing, is she not? The train
leaves in ten minutes' time."
"She is uneasy, sir; she cannot rest. Come quickly, sir; do
not delay."
I ran downstairs at once. The Grandmother was just being
carried out of her rooms into the corridor. In her hands she
held a roll of bank-notes.
"Alexis Ivanovitch," she cried, "walk on ahead, and we will
set out again."
"But whither, Madame?"
"I cannot rest until I have retrieved my losses. March on
ahead, and ask me no questions. Play continues until
midnight, does it not?"
For a moment I stood stupefied--stood deep in thought; but it
was not long before I had made up my mind.
"With your leave, Madame," I said, "I will not go with you."
"And why not? What do you mean? Is every one here a stupid
good-for-nothing?"
"Pardon me, but I have nothing to reproach myself with. I
merely will not go. I merely intend neither to witness nor to
join in your play. I also beg to return you your five hundred
gulden. Farewell."
Laying the money upon a little table which the Grandmother's
chair happened to be passing, I bowed and withdrew.
"What folly!" the Grandmother shouted after me. "Very well, then.
Do not come, and I will find my way alone. Potapitch, you must
come with me. Lift up the chair, and carry me along."
I failed to find Mr. Astley, and returned home. It was now
growing late--it was past midnight, but I subsequently learnt
lost all the money which, earlier in the day, I had got for
her paper securities--a sum amounting to about ten thousand
roubles. This she did under the direction of the Pole whom,
that afternoon, she had dowered with two ten-gulden pieces.
But before his arrival on the scene, she had commanded
Potapitch to stake for her; until at length she had told him
also to go about his business. Upon that the Pole had leapt
into the breach. Not only did it happen that he knew the
Russian language, but also he could speak a mixture of three
different dialects, so that the pair were able to understand
one another. Yet the old lady never ceased to abuse him,
despite his deferential manner, and to compare him
unfavourably with myself (so, at all events, Potapitch
declared). "You," the old chamberlain said to me, "treated
her as a gentleman should, but he--he robbed her right and
left, as I could see with my own eyes. Twice she caught him
at it, and rated him soundly. On one occasion she even pulled
his hair, so that the bystanders burst out laughing. Yet she
lost everything, sir--that is to say, she lost all that you had
changed for her. Then we brought her home, and, after asking
for some water and saying her prayers, she went to bed. So
worn out was she that she fell asleep at once. May God send
her dreams of angels! And this is all that foreign travel has
done for us! Oh, my own Moscow! For what have we not at home
there, in Moscow? Such a garden and flowers as you could
never see here, and fresh air and apple-trees coming into
blossom,--and a beautiful view to look upon. Ah, but what
must she do but go travelling abroad? Alack, alack!"
XIII
Almost a month has passed since I last touched these notes--
notes which I began under the influence of impressions at once
poignant and disordered. The crisis which I then felt to be
approaching has now arrived, but in a form a hundred times
more extensive and unexpected than I had looked for. To me it
all seems strange, uncouth, and tragic. Certain occurrences
have befallen me which border upon the marvellous. At all
events, that is how I view them. I view them so in one regard
at least. I refer to the whirlpool of events in which, at the
time, I was revolving. But the most curious feature of all is
my relation to those events, for hitherto I had never clearly
understood myself. Yet now the actual crisis has passed away
like a dream. Even my passion for Polina is dead. Was it ever
so strong and genuine as I thought? If so, what has become of
it now? At times I fancy that I must be mad; that somewhere I
am sitting in a madhouse; that these events have merely SEEMED
to happen; that still they merely SEEM to be happening.
I have been arranging and re-perusing my notes (perhaps for the
purpose of convincing myself that I am not in a madhouse). At
present I am lonely and alone. Autumn is coming--already it is
mellowing the leaves; and, as I sit brooding in this melancholy
little town (and how melancholy the little towns of Germany can
be!), I find myself taking no thought for the future, but
living under the influence of passing moods, and of my
recollections of the tempest which recently drew me into its
vortex, and then cast me out again. At times I seem still seem to
be caught within that vortex. At times, the tempest seems once
more to be gathering, and, as it passes overhead, to be
wrapping me in its folds, until I have lost my sense of order
and reality, and continue whirling and whirling and whirling
around.
Yet, it may be that I shall be able to stop myself from
revolving if once I can succeed in rendering myself an exact
account of what has happened within the month just past.
Somehow I feel drawn towards the pen; on many and many an
evening I have had nothing else in the world to do. But,
curiously enough, of late I have taken to amusing myself with
the works of M. Paul de Kock, which I read in German
translations obtained from a wretched local library. These
works I cannot abide, yet I read them, and find myself
marvelling that I should be doing so. Somehow I seem to be
afraid of any SERIOUS book--afraid of permitting any SERIOUS
preoccupation to break the spell of the passing moment. So
dear to me is the formless dream of which I have spoken, so
dear to me are the impressions which it has left behind it,
that I fear to touch the vision with anything new, lest it
should dissolve in smoke. But is it so dear to me? Yes, it IS
forty years hence. . . .
So let me write of it, but only partially, and in a more
abridged form than my full impressions might warrant.
First of all, let me conclude the history of the Grandmother.
Next day she lost every gulden that she possessed. Things were
bound to happen so, for persons of her type who have once
entered upon that road descend it with ever-increasing rapidity,
even as a sledge descends a toboggan-slide. All day until eight
o'clock that evening did she play; and, though
I personally did
not witness her exploits, I learnt of them later through report.
All that day Potapitch remained in attendance upon her; but the
Poles who directed her play she changed more than once. As a
beginning she dismissed her Pole of the previous day--the Pole
whose hair she had pulled--and took to herself another one; but
the latter proved worse even than the former, and incurred
dismissal in favour of the first Pole, who, during the time of
his unemployment, had nevertheless hovered around the
Grandmother's chair, and from time to time obtruded his head
over her shoulder. At length the old lady became desperate, for
the second Pole, when dismissed, imitated his predecessor by
declining to go away; with the result that one Pole remained
standing on the right of the victim, and the other on her left;
from which vantage points the pair quarrelled, abused each other
concerning the stakes and rounds, and exchanged the epithet
"laidak " [Rascal] and other Polish terms of endearment. Finally, they
effected a mutual reconciliation, and, tossing the money about
anyhow, played simply at random. Once more quarrelling, each of
them staked money on his own side of the Grandmother's chair
(for instance, the one Pole staked upon the red, and the other
one upon the black), until they had so confused and browbeaten
the old lady that, nearly weeping, she was forced to appeal to
the head croupier for protection, and to have the two Poles
expelled. No time was lost in this being done, despite the
rascals' cries and protestations that the old lady was in their
debt, that she had cheated them, and that her general behaviour
had been mean and dishonourable. The same evening the
unfortunate Potapitch related the story to me with tears
complaining that the two men had filled their pockets with
money (he himself had seen them do it) which had been
shamelesslly pilfered from his mistress. For instance, one Pole
demanded of the Grandmother fifty gulden for his trouble, and
then staked the money by the side of her stake. She happened to
win; whereupon he cried out that the winning stake was his, and
hers the loser. As soon as the two Poles had been expelled,
Potapitch left the room, and reported to the authorities that
the men's pockets were full of gold; and, on the Grandmother
also requesting the head croupier to look into the affair, the
police made their appearance, and, despite the protests of the
Poles (who, indeed, had been caught redhanded), their pockets
were turned inside out, and the contents handed over to the
Grandmother. In fact, in, view of the circumstance that she lost
all day, the croupiers and other authorities of the Casino
showed her every attention; and on her fame spreading through
the town, visitors of every nationality--even the most knowing of
them, the most distinguished--crowded to get a glimpse of "la
vieille comtesse russe, tombee en enfance," who had lost "so
many millions."
Yet with the money which the authorities restored to her from
the pockets of the Poles the Grandmother effected very, very
little, for there soon arrived to take his countrymen's place, a
third Pole--a man who could speak Russian fluently, was dressed
like a gentleman (albeit in lacqueyish fashion), and sported a
huge moustache. Though polite enough to the old lady, he took a
high hand with the bystanders. In short, he offered himself less
as a servant than as an ENTERTAINER. After each round he would
turn to the old lady, and swear terrible oaths to the effect
that he was a "Polish gentleman of honour" who would scorn to
take a kopeck of her money; and, though he repeated these oaths
so often that at length she grew alarmed, he had her play in
hand, and began to win on her behalf; wherefore, she felt that
she could not well get rid of him. An hour later the two Poles
who, earlier in the day, had been expelled from the Casino, made
a reappearance behind the old lady's chair, and renewed their
offers of service--even if it were only to be sent on messages;