prevalent, and during the Revolution, notwithstanding the Spartan
austerity which it was declared was to be a characteristic of the new
era, gaming was freely tolerated by the authorities. Later, when Fouché
assumed the office of Minister of Police, the privilege of keeping
gambling-houses was let out as openly and as publicly as the King's
Ministers had farmed out the duties upon salt, tobacco, or wine to the
"fermiers généraux" of the revenue. Cards of address to gambling-houses
were distributed in all parts of France in the same manner as circulars
in London. The sum of money which this system of toleration brought
into Fouché's pocket reached upwards of ten thousand pounds per month.
The Prefect at Lyons, Vermignac, learnt, to his cost, how dangerous
it was to meddle with this _lawful_ income of Citizen Fouché; for,
having ordered the suppression of all gambling-houses in that city,
Fouché represented him in such a light to Bonaparte that he lost the
honourable place of Prefect, and was sent, in disgrace, as Minister to
Switzerland, a situation no Prefect's secretary would by choice accept,
on account of the unsettled state of that country, and the disagreeable
and difficult part a French Minister had at that time to perform there.
Besides what the farmers of the gambling-houses paid to Fouché every
month, they were obliged to hire and pay 120,000 persons employed in
their houses at Paris, and in the provinces, as croupiers, from half a
crown to half a guinea a day; most of these 120,000 persons were also
supposed to be spies for Fouché.
In 1789, Thiroux de Crosne, Lieutenant de Police, estimated that there
were fifty-three houses in Paris where illegal games were played; other
authorities of that time gave figures far in excess of this. _Tripots_
existed in the Rue Notre Dame des Victoires, Rue des Petits Pères,
Place des Petits Pères, and Rue de Cléry. No. 35 Rue Traversière, Saint
Honoré, No. 18 Rue de Richelieu, and No. 10 Rue Vivienne were all
well-known gaming places.
In the Palais Royal, however, thirty-one different establishments
were ready to allure the votaries of fortune. At No. 33 a man named
Dumoulin, who had been a lackey in the service of the Dubarry, acted
as croupier; No. 50 was known as the rendezvous of Royalists; No.
113 enjoyed a bad reputation as being the cause of a great number of
suicides; No. 36 was very decorously conducted, no woman being allowed
to enter its doors, whilst non-alcoholic refreshments and a light beer
were alone provided in order that the players should run no risk of
exciting themselves.
In order to further safeguard their clients, the proprietors of No.
36 maintained a regular armed guard who effectually prevented the
incursion of undesirable characters.
There existed at this period a regular gang of black-mailers, who,
headed by a ruffian named Venternière, made a practice of entering
gaming places and extorting money from the executive under the threat
of creating such a disturbance as to cause the tables to be suppressed.
The gang in question were, however, thoroughly routed in November 1793
when making a determined incursion into No. 36. They were very roughly
handled, their leader being laid senseless upon the pavement.
A celebrated Parisian gamester at the time of the Revolution was
Monsieur de Monville, who was a great deal in the company of the Duc
d'Orléans--a Prince whose passion for play was notorious. Whilst the
projected arrest of the Duc was being debated in the Convention, this
gentleman was engaged in a particularly spirited gambling duel with
the regicide Philippe Égalité; the players indeed were so absorbed in
their game as to cause dinner to be served on the very table at which
they were playing. At this moment Merlin de Douai burst into the room
with the announcement of the impeachment of the Duc, who, horror-struck
at such news, deplored the ingratitude of his accusers, after the many
proofs of patriotism which he had given. Then turning to Monville he
cried, "What do you think of such an infamy, Monville?" The latter,
whilst leisurely squeezing a lemon over his sole, said in the calmest
manner in the world, "It is certainly horrible. Monseigneur, but
what did you expect? The rascals have got all they could out of your
Highness, who is now of no more use; consequently they are going to
treat you as I do this lemon." He then, in the most elegant manner
in the world, threw the remains of the fruit in question into the
fire-place, remarking the while, "One must never forget. Monseigneur,
that a sole should be eaten quite hot."
M. de Monville was a great frequenter of the gambling-rooms over which
presided the beautiful Madame de St. Amaranthe, whose tragic fate on
the scaffold excited so much pity. The _tripot_ over which she cast
her smiles was at No. 50 in the Palais Royal, which has been mentioned
before, and was the most luxurious in Paris. It was said, indeed, that
it resembled nothing so much as Versailles in the days before the
Revolution, and here many Royalist conspirators were wont to assemble.
Denunciations of what was described as a reactionary stronghold were
being constantly received by the Committee of Public Safety, and the
popularity of the presiding goddess of this shrine of chance with the
Royalists eventually led to her execution.
The Revolutionary authorities saw reaction in everything, even in
playing-cards, and in 1792 they arrived at the conclusion that the
kings were but antiquated symbols of tyranny, and attempted to
substitute a card called the "pouvoir exécutif" in their place. Players
using these new-fashioned cards, instead of speaking of the king of
hearts or clubs, were obliged to say the "pouvoir exécutif" of hearts
and so on. Citizens Dajouré and Jaume, however, improved upon this,
and invented a new sort of pack in which the king became "le génie,"
the queen "liberty," the knave "equality," and the ace "law." Hearts,
clubs, spades, and diamonds were changed into peace, war, art, and
commerce. The cards in question, it may be added, made no successful
appeal to gamblers, who continued to prefer the sort still in general
use. They were, however, extremely prettily designed, and are now
reckoned amongst the artistic curiosities produced by the Revolution.
During our war with France some French prisoners at Deal were once
rather amusingly rebuked for their anti-monarchical tendencies by a
private of the West Essex Militia, which regiment was then quartered at
Deal. The man in question had been begged by the prisoners to procure
them a pack of cards, which he did when off his duty; but before
he delivered the cards, picked out the four kings. The Frenchmen,
discovering the deficiency, said the pack was imperfect, having no
kings in it. "Why," replied the soldier, "_if you can fight without a
king, surely you can play without one_!"
The Palais Royal, called during the Revolution the Palais Égalité, soon
became the most famous gambling-resort in the world--to-day it is but
a pathetic shadow of its former self. Built in imitation of the Piazza
San Marco at Venice by Cardinal Richelieu and bequeathed by him to
Louis XIII., the palace in question was in course of time given by the
Roi Soleil to his brother and thus became the property of the Orléans
family. Fantastically extravagant and crippled by debts, Philippe
Égalité first conceived the idea of putting the noble building raised
by the great Cardinal to a commercial use, continuing to obtain a very
large sum by letting out suitable parts as shops, gaming-houses, and
restaurants, some of them of a rather questionable nature.
The Palais Royal, before it contained shops and gaming-tables, had
been the resort of all that was most aristocratic in Paris. Walks and
flower-beds abounded, whilst on the southern side was an alley of
ancient chestnut trees of great antiquity, the destruction of which
provoked much indignation and sorrow.
The transformation of the historic palace and grounds into a bazaar
effected a great change in the habits of the Parisians, who, without
distinction of rank or class, flocked to the spot which, since the
stately days of Anne of Austria, had been the evening promenade of good
society alone.
Louis XVI. is said, after hearing of his cousin's decision in this
matter, to have remarked: "I suppose we shall now only see the Duc
d'Orléans on Sundays--he has become a shop-man!"
The Prince in question, however, cared little about this as long as he
was able to procure the large sums necessary for his wildly extravagant
mode of living. The centre of Parisian activity, the Palais Royal was
the incarnation of Paris in the eyes of all pleasure-loving Europe,
the famous Galeries de Bois becoming the resort of all the profligate
frivolity of a somewhat unbridled age.
The old gardens, sad and deserted to-day, have witnessed some strange
scenes in their time. Here it was that one summer's day Camille
Desmoulins uttered those burning words which heralded the approach of
the Revolution.
It was on the Palais Royal that Philippe Égalité let his eyes linger as
the tumbrel bore him through a hooting mob, past the splendid old home
which he had once inhabited, to where the guillotine awaited him in the
Place de la Révolution--now the Place de la Concorde. From the windows
of that self-same Palais Royal, in July 1830, did the son of Égalité
look hopefully yet half-fearfully expectant on another mob, yelling and
triumphant, which, after storming the Louvre and sacking the Tuileries,
came screeching the Marseillaise, roaring "Vive la Charte!" "Vive la
République!" "Vive Lafayette!" and most portentous of all for him,
"Vive Louis Philippe!" The last cry won the day; and Louis Philippe,
Duke of Orleans, went forth from the Palais Royal to become the Citizen
King.
Many queer characters haunted the galleries of the Palais Royal. As
late as the early years of the reign of Louis Philippe there could
on most days be seen there an aged individual who was pointed out as
"Valois Collier." He had been the husband of the infamous Jeanne de St.
Remy, "Comtesse" de la Motte, who was wont to boast (mayhap with some
probability of truth) that a strain of the royal blood of the Valois
ran in her veins.
On the side of the Galerie d'Orléans were the famous Galeries de Bois,
the resort of all lovers of careless gaiety during the Directory,
the Consulate, the First Empire, and the Restoration. In 1815 these
galleries were nicknamed, owing to the extensive Muscovite patronage
which they enjoyed, "Le Camp des Tartares."
The Palais Royal in its palmy days was the centre of luxury--an
emporium of every alluring delight. While its brilliantly-lit piazzas
were viewed with real or pretended horror by the austere, it was a
very Mecca to the pleasure-seekers of the world. In England the place
was often called "the Devil's Drawing-room," it being said that here a
debauchee could run the whole course of his career with the greatest
facility and ease.
On the first floor were cafés where his spirits could be raised to
any requisite pitch; on the second, gaming-rooms where he could lose
his money, and salons devoted to facile love--both, not unusually,
ante-chambers to the pawnbrokers who resided above; whilst, if at the
end of his tether and determined to end his troubles, he could repair
to some of the shops on the ground floor, where daggers and pistols
were very conveniently sold at reduced prices--every facility being
thus provided for enjoying all the pleasures of life under one roof.
Besides the licensed gaming-tables there were also many forms of
unsanctioned dissipation in divers subterranean chambers. A number of
billiard-rooms, each containing two or three tables, provided further
opportunities for passing the time. Women were everywhere, and from
about midday till three o'clock in the morning, the galleries of the
Palais Royal were thronged by crowds of gaily-attired nymphs ready to
lend their aid in charming the dream of life. In the days of the Terror
they absolutely dominated the whole place. It was an epoch when many
knew that the guillotine was being made ready to receive them, and
for this reason were seized with a veritable frenzy to snatch as much
enjoyment as possible.
The close connection which at that time existed between illicit passion
and death was well typified in the personality of one of the most
popular sirens. Mademoiselle Dubois, known as "la fille Chevalier," who
was a reigning favourite of the gardens. The girl in question possessed
no great beauty, her chief attraction being that her father was the
executioner at Dijon, who had sent numbers of people into the other
world.
[Illustration: THE PALMY DAYS OF THE PALAIS ROYAL.
From a contemporary print.]
The gaming-rooms were on the southern side of the Palais Royal.
To enter them you ascended a staircase and opened the door of an
ante-chamber, where several hundred hats, sticks, and great-coats,
carefully ticketed, were arranged, under the charge of two or three old
men, who received either one or two sous from every owner for the
safe delivery of his precious deposit. No dogs were admitted into these
sacred apartments, nor anything which was likely to disturb the deep
attention and holy quiet which pervaded them! From this ante-chamber
opened a folding-door, which led to a large, well-lighted room, in the
centre of which was a table surrounded, at a moderate estimate, by two
hundred and fifty or three hundred persons anxiously inspecting a game.
The salons in the various establishments opened one into another, and
in some there were as many as six rooms which contained tables.
At one time a curious condition was imposed upon the proprietors of the
gaming-tables. They were obliged to furnish every one who entered their
rooms with as much table-beer as they chose to call for. Waiters were
therefore perpetually running backwards and forwards with overflowing
tumblers of this refreshing beverage--six or seven crowded on a tray.
On the restoration of the Bourbons, public play in Paris continued to
flourish with unabated vigour.
There were in 1818:
7 Tables of Trente-et-un.
9 " Roulette.
1 " Passe-dix.
1 " Craps.
1 " Hazard.
1 " Biribi.
--
20
These twenty tables were divided into nine houses, four of which were
situated in the Palais Royal.
To serve the seven tables of trente-et-un there were:
Francs.
28 Dealers, at 550 francs a month, making 15,400
28 Croupiers, at 380 " " 10,640
42 Assistants, at 200 " " 8,400
For the nine roulette tables and one passe-dix:
80 Dealers, at 275 francs a month 22,000
60 Assistants, at 150 " " 9,000
For the service of the craps, biribi, and hazard:
12 Dealers, at 300 francs a month 3,600
12 Inspectors, at 120 " " 1,440
10 Aids, at 100 " " 1,000
6 Chefs de Partie at the principal houses, at 700
francs a month 4,200
3 Chefs de Partie for the Roulettes, at 500 francs
a month 1,500
20 Secret Inspectors, at 200 francs a month 4,000
1 Inspector-General at 1,000
130 Waiters, at 75 francs a month 9,750
_Cards every month_ cost 1,500
Beer and refreshments 3,000
Lights 5,500
The refreshments for the grand saloon, including
two dinners every week, cost 12,000
--------
The total expenses every month thus amounted to 113,930
The amount produced by the gaming-houses of Paris in 1823 was given as
follows:--
Francs. Francs.
Rough Revenue 15,000,000
Expenses: upkeep of gaming-houses,
pay of croupiers and
the like 1,000,000
Annual tax to Government 5,000,000
Fifteen per cent for the poor 500,000
---------
6,500,000
-----------
Total profits of proprietors 8,500,000
The scale of payment received by the croupiers and employés would seem
to have somewhat closely approximated to that in vogue at Monte Carlo
to-day. Every establishment employed the services of a functionary
called _l'homme de force_, whose duties seem to have exactly
corresponded with those of the less picturesquely named "chucker-out"
of to-day.
The lowest stake permitted at trente-et-quarante was five francs--in
certain rooms gold only was allowed--a lower limit of two francs being
imposed at roulette. In this respect, matters were much the same as at
German gaming-tables, which began to be put an end to after the war of
1866. The regulation now prevailing at Monte Carlo, which prescribes
twenty francs at trente-et-quarante and five francs at roulette, is
a very salutary one, preventing as it does a certain class of player
from risking small sums which he can ill afford to lose. During the
existence of the Paris gaming-tables there was at times a good deal
of agitation in favour of raising the limit at roulette, the lowness
of which was said to be responsible for widespread ruin amongst the
working-classes. Occasionally, however, fortune was kind towards some
of her humble worshippers. A cook employed at a Paris restaurant
happened one day to stroll into the gaming-rooms established at No. 113
in the Palais Royal. He had no money, so amused himself looking at the
people and eating oranges, a number of which he had brought with him.
The rooms were hot, and a thirsty player offered to give the man six
sous for one of the oranges, which the cook accepted. He then proceeded
to throw the six sous on the biribi table, where he won six francs,
which were increased to two hundred at roulette. At trente-et-quarante
he was even more lucky, and after playing with the greatest success for
some time found himself with a profit of some five hundred thousand
francs. His master, the restaurant-keeper, who was a wise man, with
some difficulty persuaded him to invest these large winnings in sound
securities, whilst pointing out the folly of any further gambling. The
cook never played again, and ended his days in affluence. He is said
to have been the only man of this class who ever made a fortune at the
Parisian gambling-tables.
Numbers of people who frequented the gaming-houses of the Palais
Royal came there when they were already ruined, and, losing the small
sums which still remained to them, afterwards created disturbance and
scandal.
[Illustration: A GAMING TABLE IN THE PALAIS ROYAL.]
A case of this sort which attracted a good deal of attention was
that of an English half-pay colonel, who, having lost all his money at
one of the Palais Royal Hells, determined to kill himself and every
one in the place besides. With this object in view he smuggled into
the place a canister full of explosive powder, which he put under the
table and furtively set alight. Though players and croupiers were very
unpleasantly astonished at the result, no one was hurt except the
Colonel, who was very roughly handled and was thrown into prison, from
which he was after a time sent over to England as a madman.
Amongst the games played were two which are now quite forgotten; these
were passe-dix and craps.
Passe-dix is said to be the most ancient of all games of chance.
According to tradition it was at this game that the soldiers played for
the garments of Christ after the crucifixion.
There is one banker and any amount of players, each one of whom holds
the box in turn. When a point under ten is thrown all the players
lose their stake. If, however, a point above ten is thrown the banker
pays double on all stakes. At private play every player banks in his
turn, but in the Palais Royal the bank was, of course, held for the
proprietors of the gaming-rooms.
The game of creps or craps mentioned in the list of tolerated games is
now obsolete as a medium for any serious gambling in Europe. Curiously
enough, however, it still survives in another continent, being even
at the present day a favourite game in mining camps in Alaska, where
it is well known in the gaming-saloons which are almost inevitable
accompaniments of such settlements. The game would appear to consist of
a board, something like an enlarged and glorified backgammon board, on
which are emblazoned an anchor and five other emblems. The banker, when
the money has been staked on these emblems, shakes out six dice, each
of which bears on its facets devices corresponding with the designs on
the board, the players being paid in proportion to the number of dice
showing the figure they have selected. The boards used in Alaska are
said to have been copied from similar ones brought by French emigrants
to California during the famous gold fever in the 'forties. In some
cases the identical boards exported from France are said to be still in
use.
The bankers at craps claim that the odds are perfectly even as between
the bank and the players, a statement which, however, would not resist
the test of serious mathematical investigation.
The farmer-general of all the metropolitan houses of play at this
time was Monsieur Benazet, Colonel of the Garde Nationale of Neuilly.
M. Benazet, after the Revolution of 1830, was decorated by Louis
Philippe with the cross of the Légion d'honneur, on account of his
loyalty. Besides the officials who have been enumerated, there was a
horde of attached spies, providers, pickers-up, and hangers-on, paid
for doing the "dirty work" of the houses, both in and out of doors.
The name, rank in life, presumed fortune, habitation, and habits of
each gaming-house guest were registered; and, if they became regular
customers, a sobriquet, or nickname, was given to each. By this means
the constant players were, in a certain degree, known to the police.
The salaried satellites of the _maisons de jeu_, when they entered upon
their office, were peremptorily told that "it was their duty to regard
every man who played at the tables as an enemy."
Three of the gaming-houses catered almost entirely for players of
means, Frascati's and the Salon des Étrangers being well-known to all
the gamblers of Europe. No. 154 in the Palais Royal, it should be
mentioned, was also a favourite resort of high gamblers during the
occupation of Paris by the Allies. Marshal Blücher lost very large sums
there.
This rough old soldier was a most irascible player, and when he lost
(which was more often than not) he would rap out volleys of German
oaths whilst glaring at the croupiers. He usually played very high,
and would grumble at the limit of 10,000 francs imposed as a maximum;
so great was the sensation that he created, that any table at which he
might be playing was always uncomfortably crowded.
In 1814 the stakes on the tables of the French gaming-houses consisted
of the coins of all nations, it being not uncommon to see French
napoléons and louis d'or, English guineas and crowns, Dutch ducats,
Spanish doubloons, Russian roubles, as well as the various moneys of
Prussia, Italy, and Germany, on the tables at the same moment. Notes
were somewhat rare, though occasionally some daring gamester would
stake a French one for a large amount.
The Salon and Frascati's were situated close together at that extremity
of the Rue Richelieu which opens into the Boulevards; they both
presented a highly aristocratic exterior, and both professed to be
aristocratically exclusive and to admit no person without a suitable
and satisfactory introduction. From this rule, however, Frascati's in
its latter days departed; and the Cerberus who guarded the portals of
that pandemonium very, very seldom refused admittance to any one whose
exterior afforded evidence that he possessed any material wherewithal
to feed (it were too much to say, satisfy) the devouring appetites of
the bank.
Frascati's opened rather later than the other gaming-houses, its
portals being only thrown open at one in the afternoon.
The Salon des Étrangers, also a favourite resort of Marshal Blücher,
was frequented chiefly by that class who could afford to frequent
gaming-houses, the ambassadors of foreign potentates frequently
presiding at its sumptuous and magnificent entertainments.
The opening of these houses took place with nearly as great regularity
as that of any bureau in Paris.
A well-known figure at the Salon was an old gentleman whose existence
was bound up with that of this gaming-house. He had been completely
ruined by play, and the proprietors of the Salon allowed him a pension
to support him in his miserable senility--just sufficient to supply
him with a wretched lodging, bread, and a change of raiment once in
every three or four years! In addition to this he was allowed a supper
(which was his dinner) at the gaming-house. Thither, at about eleven
o'clock at night, he went. Till supper-time (two) he amused himself in
watching the games and calculating the various chances, although he was
destitute of the means of playing a single coup. At four he returned to
his lodging, retired to bed, and lay till between nine and ten on the
following night. A cup of coffee was then brought to him; and, having
dressed himself, at the usual hour he again proceeded to the Salon.
This had been his round of life for several years; and during all that
time (except on a few mornings about midsummer) he had not beheld the
sun!