The Serapion Brethren, Vol. II

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

"I think I understand you," said the Baron; "I am quite ready to give you satisfaction in the way you mean."

"Oh, good heavens!" the Stranger said; "what a very unequal affair a fight would be between us. I feel sure that, like myself, you do not look upon the duel as a mere piece of childish fanfaronade, nor consider that a drop or two of blood--perhaps from a scratched finger--can wash a stained honour white again. No, no! there are plenty of causes which render it impossible for two men to go on existing on this earth at the same time. Although one of them may be on the Caucasus and the other on the Tiber, there is no separation between them so long as the notion of the existence of the hated one subsists. In a case like that the duel, which is to decide the question which of those two is to make way on this earth for the other, is a positive necessity. But between us a duel, as I said, would be one-sided, since my life is nothing like as valuable as yours. If I killed you I should destroy a whole world of the fairest hopes. But if I fell, you would end a miserable existence, marred by the most bitter and painful memories. However, the chief point is that I do not consider myself in the smallest degree offended. You told me to go, and I went."

He spoke the latter words in a tone which betrayed his inward mortification, which was sufficient reason for the Baron to apologise to him once more, laying special weight on the circumstance that the Stranger's gaze seemed somehow (he could not tell why) to go penetrating into him to such an extent that he could bear it no longer.

"If my gaze penetrated you, as you say it did," said the Stranger, "would to God it had carried with it the conviction of the threatening peril in which you stand. In your gladness of heart, with all your youthful unknowingness, you are hovering on the very brink of a terrible abyss. One single impulse, and into it you fall, without the possibility of rescue. In one word, you are on the point of becoming a passionate gambler, and of going to perdition."

The Baron assured him that he was completely mistaken. He explained to him how it was that he had been led at first to go to the tables, and that the true love of play was completely absent from him--that all he desired was to lose a few hundred louis, and, having accomplished that, he would play no more; but that, up to this time, he had had the most extraordinary luck.

"Alas!" cried the Stranger, "it is just that very luck which is the most terrible, mocking temptation of the Infernal Power. Just this very luck of yours, Baron, the whole way in which you have been led on to play, the whole style of your playing, and everything connected with the matter, show but too plainly how your interest in it keeps on increasing and increasing. Everything about it reminds me only too clearly of the fate of an unfortunate fellow who begun exactly as you have done. This was why I could not take my eyes from you, why I could scarce refrain from telling you in words what my eyes intended to say to you, namely, 'For heaven's sake look at the fiends that are stretching out their talons to drag you down to perdition;' that is what I longed to cry out to you. I wished to make your acquaintance, and in that I have succeeded. Let me tell you the story of the unfortunate man to whom I have referred, and then perhaps you will see that it is no idle cobweb of my brain which makes me see you to be in the most imminent peril, and that I give you fair warning."

They sate down on a seat which was in a lonely place, and the Stranger commenced as follows. "The same brilliant gifts which distinguish you, Baron, procured for the Chevalier Menars the respect and admiration of men, and rendered him the beloved of women. Only as far as wealth was concerned fortune had not been so kind to him as to you. He was on the confines of penury, and nothing but the most scrupulous economy enabled him to keep up the decent appearance which his position as the descendant of a family of condition demanded of him. Since the very smallest loss of money would have been of much consequence to him, upsetting all his course of life, he was precluded from everything in the shape of play. But he had not the smallest inclination for it, so that his avoidance of it involved not the slightest sacrifice on his part. He was excessively lucky in whatever he undertook, so that his good fortune became a species of proverb.

"Contrarily to his habit he allowed himself to be persuaded one night to go to a gambling-house, where the friends who were with him were soon deep in the game.

"Taking no interest in the game, with his mind fully occupied about something else, he strolled up and down the room, just now and then casting a glance at the table, where the gold was streaming in upon the banquier from every side. All at once an elderly Colonel observed him, and cried out, 'Oh, the devil! here's the Chevalier Menars, with his luck, and none of us can win because he hasn't taken a side. This won't do. He must stake for me instantly.'

"The Chevalier tried his utmost to excuse himself, saying he knew nothing about the game. But nothing would serve the Colonel but that he must to the table willy nilly.