Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The Gambler Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I confess I did not like it. Although I had made up my mind to play, I felt averse to doingso on behalf of some one else. In fact, it almost upset my balance, and I entered the gamingrooms with an angry feeling at my heart. At first glance the scene irritated me. Never at anytime have I been able to bear the flunkeyishness which one meets in the Press of the worldat large, but more especially in that of Russia, where, almost every evening, journalistswrite on two subjects in particular-namely, on the splendour and luxury of the casinos tobe found in the Rhenish towns, and on the heaps of gold which are daily to be seen lying ontheir tables. Those journalists are not paid for doing so: they write thus merely out of aspirit of disinterested complaisance. For there is nothing splendid about the establishmentsin question; and, not only are there no heaps of gold to be seen lying on their tables, butalso there is very little money to be seen at all. Of course, during the season, some madmanor another may make his appearance-generally an Englishman, or an Asiatic, or a Turk-and (as had happened during the summer of which I write) win or lose a great deal; but, asregards the rest of the crowd, it plays only for petty gülden, and seldom does much wealthfigure on the board.