The Jew
by
Translated from the Russian
By Constance Garnett
…’Tell us a story, colonel,’ we said at last to Nikolai Ilyitch.
The colonel smiled, puffed out a coil of tobacco smoke between his moustaches, passed his hand over his grey hair, looked at us and considered. We all had the greatest liking and respect for Nikolai Ilyitch, for his good-heartedness, common sense, and kindly indulgence to us young fellows. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, stoutly-built man; his dark face, ‘one of the splendid Russian faces,’ [Footnote: Lermontov in the Treasurer’s Wife.–AUTHOR’S NOTE.] straight-forward, clever glance, gentle smile, manly and mellow voice–everything about him pleased and attracted one.
‘All right, listen then,’ he began.
It happened in 1813, before Dantzig. I was then in the E—- regiment of cuirassiers, and had just, I recollect, been promoted to be a cornet. It is an exhilarating occupation–fighting; and marching too is good enough in its way, but it is fearfully slow in a besieging army. There one sits the whole blessed day within some sort of entrenchment, under a tent, on mud or straw, playing cards from morning till night. Perhaps, from simple boredom, one goes out to watch the bombs and redhot bullets flying.
At first the French kept us amused with sorties, but they quickly subsided. We soon got sick of foraging expeditions too; we were overcome, in fact, by such deadly dulness that we were ready to howl for sheer ennui. I was not more than nineteen then; I was a healthy young fellow, fresh as a daisy, thought of nothing but getting all the fun I could out of the French… and in other ways too… you understand what I mean… and this is what happened. Having nothing to do, I fell to gambling. All of a sudden, after dreadful losses, my luck turned, and towards morning (we used to play at night) I had won an immense amount. Exhausted and sleepy, I came out into the fresh air, and sat down on a mound. It was a splendid, calm morning; the long lines of our fortifications were lost in the mist; I gazed till I was weary, and then began to doze where I was sitting.
A discreet cough waked me: I opened my eyes, and saw standing before me a Jew, a man of forty, wearing a long-skirted grey wrapper, slippers, and a black smoking-cap. This Jew, whose name was Girshel, was continually hanging about our camp, offering his services as an agent, getting us wine, provisions, and other such trifles. He was a thinnish, red-haired, little man, marked with smallpox; he blinked incessantly with his diminutive little eyes, which were reddish too; he had a long crooked nose, and was always coughing.
He began fidgeting about me, bowing obsequiously.
‘Well, what do you want?’ I asked him at last.
‘Oh, I only–I’ve only come, sir, to know if I can’t be of use to your honour in some way…’
‘I don’t want you; you can go.’
‘At your honour’s service, as you desire…. I thought there might be, sir, something….’
‘You bother me; go along, I tell you.’
‘Certainly, sir, certainly. But your honour must permit me to congratulate you on your success….’
‘Why, how did you know?’
‘Oh, I know, to be sure I do…. An immense sum… immense….Oh! how immense….’
Girshel spread out his fingers and wagged his head.
‘But what’s the use of talking,’ I said peevishly; ‘what the devil’s the good of money here?’
‘Oh! don’t say that, your honour; ay, ay, don’t say so. Money’s a capital thing; always of use; you can get anything for money, your honour; anything! anything! Only say the word to the agent, he’ll get you anything, your honour, anything! anything!’
‘Don’t tell lies, Jew.’
‘Ay! ay!’ repeated Girshel, shaking his side-locks. ‘Your honour doesn’t believe me…. Ay… ay….’ The Jew closed his eyes and slowly wagged his head to right and to left…. ‘Oh, I know what his honour the officer would like…. I know,… to be sure I do!’