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
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