and other Polish compliments, then made peace again, threw money around without any order, gave directions in vain. When they quarreled, they each staked on his own side, one, for instance, on red, and the other, at the same time, on black. The end was that they got grandmother completely muddled and thrown off, so that she finally turned to the old croupier, all but in tears, asking him to protect her and chase them away. They were, in fact, chased away at once, despite their shouts and protests: they both shouted in unison, trying to prove that grandmother owed them money, that she had deceived them in some way, had acted dishonestly, meanly. Miserable Potapych told it to me in tears, that very evening after they lost, complaining that the Poles had stuffed their pockets with money, that he himself had seen them stealing shamelessly and constantly shoving money into their pockets. One, for instance, would wheedle five friedrichs d’or from grandmother for his labors and straight away stake them on the roulette table next to grandmother’s stakes. Grandmother would win, and he would shout that it was his stake that had won, and grandmother’s had lost. When they were chased out, Potapych stepped forward and reported that they had pockets full of gold. Grandmother at once asked the croupier to take measures, and though both little Poles began squawking (just like two snatched roosters), the police appeared and their pockets were emptied at once in grandmother’s favor. All that day, until she lost everything, grandmother had enjoyed a conspicuous authority with the croupiers and the whole vauxhall administration. Her renown had gradually spread through the town. All the visitors to the spa, from all nations, the ordinary and the most notable, flocked to look at “une vieille comtesse russe tombee en enfance,” who had already lost “several million.”
But grandmother gained very, very little from having rid herself of the two Poles. In their place a third Pole appeared at once to serve her, speaking perfectly pure Russian, dressed like a gentleman, though he smacked of the footman all the same, with enormous mustaches and with gonor.[51] He, too, kissed “the pani’s feet”[52] and “laid himself out at the pani’s feet,” but he treated everyone around him with arrogance, gave despotic orders—in short, he established himself at once not as grandmother’s servant, but as her master. Every moment, with every round, he turned to her and swore terrible oaths that he was a gonorable pan[53] and would not take a kopeck of grandmother’s money. He repeated these oaths so often that she finally became frightened. But since this pan at first actually seemed to improve her play and began to win a little, grandmother herself could no longer part with him. An hour later the two previous little Poles, who had been taken out of the vauxhall, appeared once more behind grandmother’s chair, again offering their services, if only to run errands. Potapych swore by God that the gonorable pan exchanged winks with them and even put something in their hands. Since grandmother had had no dinner and had hardly ever left her chair, one of the Poles actually proved useful: he ran next door to the vauxhall dining room and fetched her a cup of bouillon, and later tea as well. They both went, however. But towards the end of the day, when everybody could see that she was about to lose her last banknote, there were as many as six little Poles standing behind her chair, never seen or heard of before. And by the time grandmother was losing her last coins, they all not only didn’t listen to her, but didn’t even notice her, reached out to the table right over her, grabbed the money themselves, gave orders and placed stakes themselves, argued and shouted, chatted with the gonorable pan in a pan-brotherly way, while the gonorable pan even all but forgot about grandmother’s existence. Even when, having lost everything, grandmother was returning to the hotel at eight o’clock in the evening, three or four little Poles still refused to leave her and ran on both sides of her chair, shouting with all their might and insisting in a quick patter that grandmother had cheated them in some way and had to pay them something. Thus they came right up to the hotel, where, at last, they were driven away.
By Potapych’s reckoning, grandmother lost in that day a total of ninety thousand roubles, besides the money she had lost the day before. All her bonds—the five percent bonds, the state bonds, all the shares she had brought with her—she had cashed one after the other. I marveled at her ability to hold out for the whole seven or eight hours, sitting in her chair and hardly ever leaving the table, but Potapych told me that, on some three occasions, she had actually begun to win heavily, and, borne up by renewed hope, had no longer been able to leave. However, gamblers know how a man can sit almost around the clock in the same place over cards, without taking his eyes off the right one or the left.
Meanwhile, all that day quite decisive things were happening with us in the hotel. In the morning, before eleven o’clock, when grandmother was still at home, our people—that is, the general and des Grieux—resolved upon an ultimate step. Learning that grandmother had no thought of leaving, but, on the contrary, was setting out again for the vauxhall, the whole conclave of them (except for Polina) came to talk things over with her definitively and even openly. The general, trembling and his heart sinking in view of the terrible consequences for him, even overdid it: after half an hour of begging and pleading, and even having openly acknowledged everything, that is, all his debts, and even his passion for Mlle Blanche (he was totally lost), the general suddenly assumed a threatening tone and even began shouting and stamping his feet at grandmother; he shouted that she had disgraced their name, that she had become a scandal for the whole town, and finally…finally: “You have disgraced the name of Russia, madam!” shouted the general, “and there are police for that!” Grandmother finally drove him out with a stick (a real stick). That morning the general and des Grieux conferred once or twice more, interested precisely in whether it might in fact be possible to use the police. That is, thus and so, the unfortunate but venerable old lady has lost her wits, is gambling away her last money, and so on. In short, mightn’t it be possible to petition for some sort of custody or restriction?…But des Grieux only shrugged his shoulders and laughed in the face of the general, who was now pouring out complete drivel and running up and down the study. Finally, des Grieux waved his hand and disappeared somewhere. In the evening it turned out that he had left the hotel altogether, having first talked things over quite decisively and mysteriously with Mlle Blanche. As for Mlle Blanche, she had taken definitive measures that same morning: she had thrust the general away from her altogether and did not even allow him to come into her presence. When the general ran after her to the vauxhall and met her arm in arm with the little prince, neither she nor Mme la veuve Cominges recognized him. The little prince also did not bow to him. All that day Mlle Blanche probed and worked on the prince, so that he would finally declare himself decisively. But, alas! She was cruelly deceived in counting on the prince! This minor catastrophe took place in the evening; it was suddenly discovered that the prince was naked as a worm, and was counting on borrowing money from her on a promissory note and playing roulette. Blanche indignantly threw him out and locked herself in her room.
That same morning I went to see Mr. Astley, or, better to say, I spent the whole morning looking for Mr. Astley, but couldn’t find him anywhere. He was neither at home, nor in the vauxhall, nor in the park. He did not dine at his hotel that day. Between four and five, I suddenly saw him coming from the railway platform straight to the Hotel d’Angleterre. He was hurrying and very preoccupied, though it was hard to make out the preoccupation or any sort of perplexity in his face. He offered me his hand affably, with his usual exclamation: “Ah!” but without stopping in the road and continuing on his way at a rather quick pace. I tagged along behind him; but he was somehow able to answer me in such a way that I didn’t manage to ask him about anything. Besides, for some reason I was terribly ashamed to ask about Polina; he didn’t ask a word about her himself. I told him about grandmother; he listened attentively and gravely, and shrugged his shoulders.
“She’ll lose everything,” I observed.
“Oh, yes,” he replied, “she already went to play earlier, as I was leaving, and so I knew for certain that she’d lose. If I have time I’ll stop by the vauxhall to have a look, because it’s curious…”
“Where did you go?” I cried, amazed that I hadn’t asked till then.
“I was in Frankfurt.”
“On business?”
“Yes, on business.”
Well, what more was there for me to ask? However, I was still walking beside him, but he suddenly turned into the Hotel des Quatre Saisons, which stood on the road, nodded to me, and disappeared. On the way home I gradually realized that, even if I talked with him for two hours, I would learn decidedly nothing, because…I had nothing to ask him! Yes, of course, it was so! There was no way I could now formulate my question.
All that day, Polina either walked in the park with the children and the nanny, or sat at home. She had long been avoiding the general and barely spoke to him, at any rate about anything serious. I had long noticed it. But, knowing the situation the general was in that day, I thought he couldn’t pass her by, that is, it was impossible for there not to be any important family discussions. Nevertheless, when, on returning to the hotel after my
