Chapter I

And on rainy days they used to gather, and — God forgive them! — doubled their stakes from fifty to a hundred, and won, and chalked up their losses. So on rainy days they kept busy.

Once there was a card party at the rooms of Narumov, an officer of the Horse Guards. The long winter night passed unnoticed; they sat down to supper at five in the morning. Those who had won ate with a great appetite; the others sat absently before their empty plates. But champagne appeared, the talk grew lively, and everyone joined in.

"How did you get on, Surin?" asked the host.

"I lost, as usual. I must say I'm unlucky. I play mirandole, I never get excited, nothing can put me out — and still I lose all the time!"

"And you've never once been tempted to play a run of stakes? Your firmness amazes me."

"Look at Hermann!" said one of the guests, pointing to a young engineer officer. "He's never had a card in his hand in his life, never doubled a stake, and he sits with us till five in the morning watching us play!"

"Play interests me very much," said Hermann. "But I am not in a position to sacrifice what is necessary in the hope of gaining what is superfluous."

"Hermann is a German: he's prudent, that's all," remarked Tomsky. "But if there is anyone I don't understand, it's my grandmother, Countess Anna Fedotovna."

"What? Why?" the guests cried.

"I can't understand," Tomsky went on, "why my grandmother doesn't gamble."

"What's surprising," said Narumov, "about an old woman of eighty not gambling?"

"So you don't know anything about her?"

"No! Really, nothing!"

"Then listen.

"You must know that about sixty years ago my grandmother went to Paris and was all the fashion there. People ran after her to see la Vénus moscovite; Richelieu courted her, and Grandmother maintains that he nearly shot himself because of her cruelty.

"In those days the ladies played faro. Once, at court, she lost to the Duke of Orléans, on her word, a very great sum. Coming home, Grandmother took off her beauty patches and her hoops, and announced to Grandfather that she had lost, and ordered him to pay.

"My late grandfather, as far as I remember, was a kind of house steward to Grandmother. He feared her like fire; but when he heard of such a dreadful loss, he flew into a passion, brought the accounts, showed her that in half a year they had spent half a million, that they had no estate near Moscow or Saratov, near Paris, and refused flatly. Grandmother gave him a slap in the face and went to bed alone, as a sign of her displeasure.

"The next day she sent for her husband, hoping that the domestic punishment had had an effect; but she found him unshakeable. For the first time in her life she went so far as to reason and explain with him; she thought to shame him, condescendingly proving that there are debts and debts, and that there is a difference between a prince and a coachmaker. In vain. Grandfather had rebelled. No, and that was all! Grandmother did not know what to do.

"She was on friendly terms with a very remarkable man. You have heard of the Count Saint-Germain, of whom so many wonders are told. You know that he passed himself off as the Wandering Jew, as the discoverer of the elixir of life and the philosopher's stone, and so on. People laughed at him as a charlatan, and Casanova, in his memoirs, says he was a spy; however, in spite of his mystery, Saint-Germain had a very respectable appearance and was a most amiable man in society. Grandmother loves him to this day, and gets angry if anyone speaks of him without respect. Grandmother knew that Saint-Germain could dispose of large sums. She decided to turn to him, wrote him a note, and asked him to come at once.

"The old eccentric came immediately and found her in terrible grief. She described to him in the blackest colours her husband's barbarity, and said at last that she placed all her hope in his friendship and kindness.

"Saint-Germain thought for a while.

"'I can serve you with this sum,' he said, 'but I know you would not be at peace until you had paid me back, and I would not wish to bring you into new troubles. There is another way: you can win it back.'

"'But, my dear Count,' answered Grandmother, 'I tell you we have no money at all.'

"'Money is not needed here,' Saint-Germain replied. 'Be pleased to listen to me.' And he revealed to her a secret for which any one of us would pay dearly..."

The young gamblers redoubled their attention. Tomsky lit his pipe, drew on it, and went on.

"That same evening Grandmother appeared at Versailles, au jeu de la Reine. The Duke of Orléans was keeping the bank; Grandmother apologised lightly for not having brought her debt, made up a little story to excuse herself, and began to play against him. She chose three cards and played them one after another: all three won, and Grandmother won back everything."

"Chance!" said one of the guests.

"A fairy tale!" said Hermann.

"Perhaps the cards were marked?" said a third.

"I don't think so," Tomsky answered gravely.

"What!" said Narumov. "You have a grandmother who can guess three cards in a row, and you haven't yet learned her magic from her?"

"Yes, devil take it!" answered Tomsky. "She had four sons, including my father: all four desperate gamblers, and not one did she tell her secret to, though it would have done them no harm, or me either. But this is what my uncle, Count Ivan Ilyich, told me, and assured me on his honour. The late Chaplitsky — the one who died in poverty after squandering millions — once in his youth lost, I think, about three hundred thousand to Zorich. He was in despair. Grandmother, who was always severe on the follies of young men, somehow took pity on Chaplitsky. She gave him three cards, to be played one after the other, and took his word of honour never to play again afterwards. Chaplitsky went to the man who had beaten him; they sat down to play. Chaplitsky staked fifty thousand on the first card and won; he doubled the stake and won again; and so he won back everything and more...

"But it's time to sleep: it's a quarter to six already."

And indeed it was getting light; the young men drained their glasses and went home.