Recollections Of A Billiard-Marker, Leo Tolstoy

Recollections Of A Billiard-Marker

Translated by Nathan Dole 1887

WELL, IT HAPPENED about three o’clock. The gentlemen were playing. There was the tall visitor, as our men called him. The prince was there, — the two are always together. The mustached barin was there; also the little hussar, Oliver, who was an actor; there was the Polish pan. It was a pretty good crowd.

The tall visitor and the prince were playing together. Now, here I was walking up and down around the billiard-table with my stick, keeping tally, — ten and forty-seven, twelve and forty-seven.

Everybody knows it’s our business to score. You don’t get a chance to get a bite of anything, and you don’t get to bed till two o’clock o’ nights, but you’re always being screamed at to bring the balls.
I was keeping tally; and I look, and see a new barin comes in at the door. He gazed and gazed, and then sat down on the divan. Very good!
“Now, who can that be?” thinks I to myself. “He must be somebody.”
His dress was neat, — neat as a pin, — checkered tricot pants, stylish little short coat, plush vest, and gold chain and all sorts of trinkets dangling from it.

He was dressed neat; but there was something about the man neater still; slim, tall, his hair brushed forward in style, an his face fair and ruddy, — well, in a word, a fine young fellow.
You must know our business brings us into contact with all sorts of people. And there’s many that ain’t of much consequence, and there’s a good deal of poor trash. So, though you ‘re only a scorer, you get used to telling folks; that is, in a certain way you learn a thing or two.

I looked at the barin. I see him sit down, modest and quiet, not knowing anybody; and the clothes on him are so brand-new that, thinks I, “Either he ‘s a foreigner, — an Englishman maybe, — or some count just come. And though he’s so young, he has an air of some distinction.”
Oliver sat down next him, so he moved along a little.
They began a game. The tall man lost. He shouts to me. Says he, “You ‘re always cheating. You don’t count straight. Why don’t you pay attention?”
He scolded away, then threw down his cue, and went out. Now, just look here! Evenings, he and the prince plays for fifty silver rubles a game; and here he only lost a bottle of Makon wine, and got mad. That’s the kind of a character he is.

Another time he and the prince plays till two o’clock. They don’t bank down any cash; and so I know neither of them’s got any cash, but they are simply playing a bluff game.
“I’ll go you twenty-five rubles,” says he.
“All right.”
Just yawning, — and not even stopping to place the ball, — you see, he was not made of stone, — now just notice what he said. “We are playing for money,” says he, “and not for chips.”
But this man puzzled me worse than all the rest. Well, then, when the big man left, the prince says to the stranger, “Wouldn’t you like,” says he, “to play a game with me?”
“With pleasure,” says he.

He sat there, and looked rather foolish, indeed he did. He may have been courageous in reality; but, at all events, he got up, went over to the billiard-table, and did not seem flustered as yet. But whether he was flustered or not, you couldn’t help seeing that he was not quite at his ease.
Either his clothes were a little too new, or he was embarrassed because everybody was looking at him; at any rate, he seemed to have no energy. He sort of sidled up to the table, caught his pocket on the edge, began to chalk his cue, dropped his chalk.
Whenever he hit the ball, he always glanced around, and reddened. Not so the prince. He was used to it; he chalked and chalked his hand, tucked up his sleeve; he goes and sits down when he pockets the ball, even though he is such a little man.

They played two or three games; then I notice the prince puts up the cue, and says, “Would you mind telling me your name?”
“Nekhliudof,” says he.
Says the prince, “Was your father commander in the corps of cadets?”
“Yes,” says the other.
Then they began to talk in French, and I could not understand them. I suppose they were talking about family affairs.
“Au revoir” says the prince. “I am very glad to have made your acquaintance.”
He washed his hands, and went to get a lunch; but the other stood by the billiard-table with his cue, and was knocking the balls about.

It’s our business, you know, when a new man comes long, to be rather sharp; it ‘s the best way. I took the balls, and went to put them up. He reddened, and says, “Can’t I play any longer?”
“Certainly you can,” says I. “That’s what billiards is for.” But I don’t pay any attention to him. I straighten the cues.

“Will you play with me?”
“Certainly, sir,” says I.
I place the balls.
“Shall we play for odds?”
“What do you mean,— ‘play for odds’?”
“Well,” says I, “you give me a half-ruble, and I crawl under the table.”
Of course, as he had never seen that sort of thing, it seemed strange to him; he laughed.
“Go ahead,” says he.
“Very well,” says I, “only you must give me odds.”
“What!” says he, “are you a worse player than I am?”
“Most likely,” says I. “We have few players who can be compared with you.”

We began to play. He certainly had the idea that he was a crack shot. It was a caution to see him shoot; but the Pole sat there, and kept shouting out every time: —
“Ah, what a chance! ah, what a shot!”
But what a man he was! His ideas were good enough, but he didn’t know how to carry them out. Well, as usual I lost the first game, crawled under the table, and grunted.
Thereupon Oliver and the Pole jumped down from their seats, and applauded, thumping with their cues.
“Splendid! Do it again,” they cried, “once more.”
Well enough to cry “once more,” especially for the Pole. That fellow would have been glad enough to crawl under the billiard-table, or even under the Blue bridge, for a half-ruble! Yet he was the first to cry, “Splendid! but you haven’t wiped off all the dust yet.”
I, Petrushka the marker, was pretty well known to everybody.
Only, of course, I did not care to show my hand yet. I lost my second game.
“It does not become me at all to play with you, sir,” says I.

He laughed. Then, as I was playing the third game, he stood forty-nine and I nothing. I laid the cue on the billiard-table, and said, “Barin, shall we play off?”
“What do you mean by playing off?” says he. “How would you have it?”
“You make it three rubles or nothing,” says I.
“Why,” says he, “have I been playing with you for money?” The fool!
He turned rather red.
Very good. He lost the game. He took out his pocket-book, quite a new one, evidently just from the English shop, opened it; I see he wanted to make a little splurge. It was stuffed full of bills, nothing but hundred-ruble notes.
“No,” says he, “there’s no small stuff here.”
He took three rubles from his purse.

“There,” says he, “there’s your two rubles; the other pays for the games, and you keep the rest for vodka.”
“Thank you, sir, most kindly.”
I see that he is a splendid fellow. For such a one I would crawl under anything. For one thing, it’s a pity that he won’t play for money. For then, thinks I, I should know how to work him for twenty rubles, and maybe I could stretch it out to forty.
As soon as the Pole saw the young barin’s money, he says, “Wouldn’t you like to try a little game with me? You play so admirably.”
Such sharpers prowl around.
“No,” says he, “excuse me; I have not the time.”
And he went out.

I don’t know who that man was, that Pole. Some one called him Pan, and it stuck to him. Every day he used to sit in the billiard-room, and always look on. He was no longer allowed to take a hand in any game whatever; but he always sat by himself, and got out his pipe, and smoked. But then he could play well.
Very good. Nekhliudof came a second time, a third time; he began to come frequently. He would come morning and evening. He learned to play French carom and pyramid pool, — everything, in fact. He became less bashful, got acquainted with everybody, and played tolerably well. Of course, being a young man of a good family, with money, everybody liked him. The only exception was the “tall visitor”; he quarreled with him.
And the whole thing grew out of a trifle.

They were playing pool, — the prince, the “ tall visitor,” Nekhliudof, Oliver, and some one else. Nekhliudof was standing near the stove talking with some one. When it came the big man’s turn to play, it happened that his ball was just opposite the stove. There was very little space there, and he liked to have elbow-room.
Now, either he didn’t see Nekhliudof, or he did it on purpose; but, as he was flourishing his cue, he hit Nekhliudof in the chest, a tremendous rap. It actually made him groan. What then ? He did not think of apologizing, he was so boorish.