The Last Throw - Aluisio Azevedo

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
The last throw by Elusio Azzovido ten Louis. They were
all he had left. These few coins were all that
remained of a large, famous fortune that had been handed
down a line of noble ancestors to him, the last
of his family. Ten Louis. Don Philippe jingled the glittering

(00:24):
gold pieces in his hand as he walked slowly toward
the spot where half an hour before he had abandoned
the roulette. Leaning against the back of his still vacant chair,
he glanced down at the green table with cold, indifferent eyes.
The numbers were buried in the gold and silver of
other players. He remained motionless for a long time and

(00:47):
stared with unseeing eyes at the silver wheel. His senses
were concentrated on a single thought that burned in his brain.
He must recover that squandered fortune, or at least east
a part of it. With one hundred thousand francs, a
mere hundred thousand, he could save himself the disgrace of Ruin.

(01:09):
With one hundred thousand francs, he would hasten to Paris
and pay his debts of honor. Then, under some pretext
or other, possibly that of health, he would pretend a
trip to Switzerland and sail for America with what money
he had left in America, fortunes were contagious. One discovered

(01:30):
fabulous dowries. If he were finally obliged to work, he
would work. He did not know what work he would do,
but the new world swam before his credulous eyes in
a golden haze. No definite plan or idea accompanied this hope.
He believed in America as he believed in cards or

(01:52):
the roulette. It was a gambler's last hope. It was
a blind leap in the dark. Would not America also
be a green table piled high with California gold? It
was a card flung in a last desperate play. He
would go, And afterwards, how fine it would be to

(02:13):
return to Europe, many times a millionaire and still young,
to revel unrestrained, while these air castles mounted higher and
higher in his feverish imagination, the wheel spun swiftly and silently,
and heaps of gold and silver poured along the table
before his distracted eyes. But if I should lose, he

(02:36):
asked himself, he dare not imagine the situation that this
question's answer would make inevitable. He felt that he had
compromised his honor by the very thought. Nevertheless, if he
lost that miserable handful of coins, what remained for him
but suicide? What remained for him in this world? If

(03:01):
it were not ridicule and humiliation? He saw himself penniless,
creeping like a shadow through the dark streets, his head
on his breast, his hands plunged into his pockets, fleeing
from the sight of every one, and conscious that his
abject misery made him as abhorrent as though he had

(03:21):
a contagious disease. A cold sweat oozed over his skin,
and he shivered. Cowardly. Means of salvation that stole into
his distracted mind, recalling rich friends and questionable resources, were
repelled instantly by his pride, which still remained unbroken. Fat

(03:43):
vastiu monsieurs, cried the banker. Don Philippe smiled a sad,
resigned smile, as if in response to the inner voice
that appealed to his courage, And after shaking the ten
gold pieces once more, he opened his delicate, useless hand,
and with an air haughtier and more indifferent than ever,

(04:04):
threw them on the red section which was nearest him.
Thrieen of a pleu a vertigo threatened his feint calm.
The small ivory sphere sprang from the banker's dexterous fingers
and whirled around the top of the bowl. The silence
of death reigned in the room. If on that throw,

(04:26):
instead of red, black should come up, the wretched gambler reflected,
any beggar on the streets would be richer than he.
The ball began to slacken its speed and hovered above
the circle of numbers, ready to fall. The noble slid
into a chair and rested his head in his rigid,
bloodless hands. The ball dropped red. Don Philippe's ten louis

(04:53):
became twenty. He made not the slightest gesture, but awaited
the next throw, apparently indifferent. The table was swept clean
and covered again with glittering stakes. The banker closed the bets.
The ball shot out, fell read again. Dom Philippe did
not remove his hands from his face. On his twenty

(05:16):
louis were placed another twenty. The game continued in silence,
in the midst of the mute anguish that reigned in
the hearts of all who played a third Red number doubled.
The stakes of Don Philippe, who continued immobile as stone.
None the less so pronounced was the rise and fall

(05:37):
of his breast that his whole body accompanied the pulsation
of his heart. Red. Eighty Louis were poured upon the
eighty in front of the silent player. Red. The gold
began to form a heap. Red again. The pile of
gold was on a towering level with the enigmatic face,

(05:59):
which gradually retreated behind those two white hands with their
delicately traced blue veins. Red still, that imperturbable face now
seemed petrified. Behind the stiff, thin fingers, he seemed to
be laughing sardonically at the other players. The immobility and

(06:21):
the luck of this singular companion in vice again attracted
attention Red. By this time the other men and women
could not take their eyes from that mysterious individual, whose
face none of them had recognized, yet so absorbed had
each been in his own game. Red, Red. The mountain

(06:44):
of gold kept rising and rising before those two hands
that seemed each moment whiter, stiffer, more firmly planted against
the unknown gambler's face. Red, Red, Red coins crept under
his arms, fell to his lap, threw his legs, and

(07:05):
rolled across the floor with a ringing sound. Red. The
others abandoned their own games to watch this remarkable player,
hoping that the two marble hands would be lowered, that
the mocking mask would fall, revealing his identity. Each throw

(07:26):
doubled the wealth filed before this deathlike figure. In Vain,
a beautiful sobriquette at his aid leaned against him suggestively.
In Vain did a group of women form behind his chair,
talking loudly and betting at each new lucky throw whether
or not he would stake everything again. Now, when Red

(07:49):
was announced by the banker's tremulous voice, a roar of
astonishment would rise in the room. A timpan clamored continuously
for attention and order, But the comments redoubled about that
mute statue. Some protested against his impertinent madness, begging for
a black number as deserved punishment. Others applauded him enthusiastically

(08:13):
and shouted bravo at each turn of the wheel. Still,
others calculated the accumulated gold by counting the plays. Each
time the ball dropped, there rose a chorus of conflicting
emotions of approval and disappointment. Finally, the banker, pale and trembling,

(08:35):
swayed against the edge of the table and moaned, in
a despairing voice of a drowning shipwrecked sailor. The bank
has gone to glory. But not even then did the
mysterious player make the slightest gesture. Although around him gathered
the curious debauchers of both sexes and all nations, forming

(08:57):
a nosy, tempestuous wall. They shouted at him from all sides,
in all languages and in all tones. He did not move.
They tapped his shoulders, they touched his head, to no avail.
They shook his chair. The statue remained motionless. Then two men,

(09:20):
each taking one of the noble's hands, tore them away
from his face, and a third raised his head, which
was sunken on his breast. A cry of horror rose
from the onlookers. He, who had broken the bank and
played in silence all night, enticed by the women and
envied by the men, was a frozen corpse, with wide

(09:44):
staring eyes, half open mouth, and on his stiffened cheeks
two silent tears. The three men drew back in terror,
and the dead gambler fell against the table, burying his
face and hands in the gold, as if to defend
his gains against the greed of the surviving players, who

(10:06):
were already protesting in loud voices against the legitimacy of
his possession. The end of the last throw by Eluzio
Ozzovido