Alexander Pushkin - Пиковая дама / The Queen of Spades

“It is,” said he, “a necessity for soldiers like us. Suppose, for instance, you come to a little town; what are you to do? One cannot always find a Jew to afford one sport. In short, you must go to the inn and play billiards, and to play you must know how to play.”

These reasons completely convinced me, and with great ardour I began taking my lesson. Zourine encouraged me loudly; he was surprised at my rapid progress, and after a few lessons he proposed that we should play for money, were it only for a “ groch ” (two kopeks) [12] One kopek = small bit of copper money. , not for the profit, but that we might not play for nothing, which, according to him, was a very bad habit.

I agreed to this, and Zourine called for punch; then he advised me to taste it, always repeating that I must get accustomed to the service.

“And what,” said he, “would the service be without punch?”

I followed his advice. We continued playing, and the more I sipped my glass, the bolder I became. My balls flew beyond the cushions. I got angry; I was impertinent to the marker who scored for us. I raised the stake; in short, I behaved like a little boy just set free from school. Thus the time passed very quickly. At last Zourine glanced at the clock, put down his cue, and told me I had lost a hundred roubles [13] The rouble was then worth, as is now the silver rouble, about 3s. 4d. English money. . This disconcerted me very much; my money was in the hands of Savéliitch. I was beginning to mumble excuses, when Zourine said:

“But don’t trouble yourself; I can wait, and now let us go to Arinúshka’s.”

What could you expect? I finished my day as foolishly as I had begun it. We supped with this Arinúshka. Zourine always filled up my glass, repeating that I must get accustomed to the service.

Upon leaving the table I could scarcely stand. At midnight Zourine took me back to the inn.

Savéliitch came to meet us at the door.

“What has befallen you?” he said to me in a melancholy voice, when he saw the undoubted signs of my zeal for the service. “Where did you thus swill yourself? Oh! good heavens! such a misfortune never happened before.”

“Hold your tongue, old owl,” I replied, stammering; “I am sure you are drunk. Go to bed, … but first help me to bed.”

The next day I awoke with a bad headache. I only remembered confusedly the occurrences of the past evening. My meditations were broken by Savéliitch, who came into my room with a cup of tea.

“You begin early making free, Petr’ Andréjïtch,” he said to me, shaking his head. “Well, where do you get it from? It seems to me that neither your father nor your grandfather were drunkards. We needn’t talk of your mother; she has never touched a drop of anything since she was born, except ‘ kvassí [14] “ Kvass ,” kind of cider; common drink in Russia. . So whose fault is it? Whose but the confounded ‘ moussié ’; he taught you fine things, that son of a dog, and well worth the trouble of taking a Pagan for your servant, as if our master had not had enough servants of his own!”

I was ashamed. I turned round and said to him:

“Go away, Savéliitch; I don’t want any tea.”

But it was impossible to quiet Savéliitch when once he had begun to sermonize.

“Do you see now, Petr’ Andréjïtch,” said he, “what it is to commit follies? You have a headache; you won’t take anything. A man who gets drunk is good for nothing. Do take a little pickled cucumber with honey or half a glass of brandy to sober you. What do you think?”

At this moment a little boy came in, who brought me a note from Zourine. I unfolded it and read as follows:

“DEAR PETR’ ANDRÉJÏTCH,

“Oblige me by sending by bearer the hundred roubles you lost to me yesterday. I want money dreadfully.

“Your devoted

“IVÁN ZOURINE.”

There was nothing for it. I assumed a look of indifference, and, addressing myself to Savéliitch, I bid him hand over a hundred roubles to the little boy.

“What – why?” he asked me in great surprise.

“I owe them to him,” I answered as coldly as possible.

“You owe them to him!” retorted Savéliitch, whose surprise became greater. “When had you the time to run up such a debt? It is impossible. Do what you please, excellency, but I will not give this money.”

I then considered that, if in this decisive moment I did not oblige this obstinate old man to obey me, it would be difficult for me in future to free myself from his tutelage. Glancing at him haughtily, I said to him:

“I am your master; you are my servant. The money is mine; I lost it because I chose to lose it. I advise you not to be headstrong, and to obey your orders.”

My words made such an impression on Savéliitch that he clasped his hands and remained dumb and motionless.

“What are you standing there for like a stock?” I exclaimed, angrily.

Savéliitch began to weep.

“Oh! my father, Petr’ Andréjïtch,” sobbed he, in a trembling voice; “do not make me die of sorrow. Oh! my light, hearken to me who am old; write to this robber that you were only joking, that we never had so much money. A hundred roubles! Good heavens! Tell him your parents have strictly forbidden you to play for anything but nuts.”

“Will you hold your tongue?” said I, hastily, interrupting him. “Hand over the money, or I will kick you out of the place.”

Savéliitch looked at me with a deep expression of sorrow, and went to fetch my money. I was sorry for the poor old man, but I wished to assert myself, and prove that I was not a child. Zourine got his hundred roubles.

Savéliitch was in haste to get me away from this unlucky inn; he came in telling me the horses were harnessed. I left Simbirsk with an uneasy conscience, and with some silent remorse, without taking leave of my instructor, whom I little thought I should ever see again.

My reflections during the journey were not very pleasant. According to the value of money at that time, my loss was of some importance. I could not but confess to myself that my conduct at the Simbirsk Inn had been most foolish, and I felt guilty toward Savéliitch. All this worried me. The old man sat, in sulky silence, in the forepart of the sledge, with his face averted, every now and then giving a cross little cough. I had firmly resolved to make peace with him, but I did not know how to begin. At last I said to him:

“Look here, Savéliitch, let us have done with all this; let us make peace.”

“Oh! my little father, Petr’ Andréjïtch,” he replied, with a deep sigh, “I am angry with myself; it is I who am to blame for everything. What possessed me to leave you alone in the inn? But what could I do; the devil would have it so, else why did it occur to me to go and see my gossip the deacon’s wife, and thus it happened, as the proverb says, ‘I left the house and was taken to prison.’ What ill-luck! What ill-luck! How shall I appear again before my master and mistress? What will they say when they hear that their child is a drunkard and a gamester?”

To comfort poor Savéliitch, I gave him my word of honour that in future I would not spend a single kopek without his consent. Gradually he calmed down, though he still grumbled from time to time, shaking his head:

“A hundred roubles, it is easy to talk!”

I was approaching my destination. Around me stretched a wild and dreary desert, intersected by little hills and deep ravines. All was covered with snow. The sun was setting. My kibitka was following the narrow road, or rather the track, left by the sledges of the peasants. All at once my driver looked round, and addressing himself to me: