Englishmen keep their solemnity and respectful deportment for a church;
foreigners reserve theirs for a gambling-table. Never was I more struck
than by the decorous stillness and well-bred quietness of the room in
which the highest play went forward. All the animation of French
character, all the bluntness of German, all the impetuosity of the
Italian or the violent rashness of the Russian, were calmed down and
subdued beneath the influence of the great passion; and it seemed as
though the Devil would not accept the homage of his votaries if not
rendered with the well-bred manners of true gentlemen. It was not enough
that men should be ruined--they should be ruined with easy propriety and
thorough good-breeding. Whatever their hearts might feel, their faces
should express no discomfiture; though their head should ache and their
hand should tremble, the lip must be taught to say ‘rouge’ or ‘noir’
without any emotion.
I do not scruple to own that all this decorum was more dreadful than any
scene of wild violence or excitement The forced calmness, the pent-up
passion, might be kept from any outbreak of words; but no training could
completely subdue the emotions which speak by the bloodshot eye, the
quivering cheek, the livid lip.
No man’s heart is consecrated so entirely to one passion as a gambler’s.
Hope with him usurps the place of every other feeling. Hope, however
rude the shocks it meets from disappointment, however beaten and
baffled, is still there; the flame may waste down to a few embers, but a
single spark may live amid the ashes, yet it is enough to kindle up into
a blaze before the breath of fortune. At first he lives but for moments
like these; all his agonies, all his sufferings, all the torturings of a
mind verging on despair are repaid by such brief intervals of luck. Yet
each reverse of fate is telling on him heavily; the many disappointments
to his wishes are sapping by degrees his confidence in fortune. His hope
is dashed with fear; and now commences within him that struggle which is
the most fearful man’s nature can endure. The fickleness of chance, the
waywardness of fortune, fill his mind with doubts and hesitations.
Sceptical on the sources of his great passion, he becomes a doubter on
every subject; he has seen his confidence so often at fault that he
trusts nothing, and at last the ruling feature of his character is
suspicion. When this rules paramount, he is a perfect gambler; from that
moment he has done with the world and all its pleasures and pursuits;
life offers to him no path of ambition, no goal to stimulate his
energies. With a mock stoicism he affects to be superior to the race
which other men are running, and laughs at the collisions of party and
the contests of politics. Society, art, literature, love itself, have no
attractions for him then; all excitements are feeble compared with the
alternations of the gaming-table; and the chances of fortune in real
life are too tame and too tedious for the impatience of a gambler.
I have no intention of winding up these few remarks by any moral episode
of a gambler’s life, though my memory could supply me with more than one
such--when the baneful passion became the ruin, not of a thoughtless,
giddy youth, inexperienced and untried, but of one who had already won
golden opinions from the world, and stood high in the ranks which lead
to honour and distinction. These stories have, unhappily, a sameness
which mars the force of their lesson; they are listened to like the
refrain of an old song, and from their frequency are disregarded. No; I
trust in the fact that education and the tastes that flow from it are
the best safeguards against a contagion of a heartless, soulless
passion, and would rather warn my young countrymen at this place against
the individuals than the system.
‘Am I in your way, sir?’ said a short, somewhat overdressed man, with
red whiskers, as he made room for me to approach the play-table, with a
politeness quite remarkable--‘am I in your way, sir?’
‘Not in the least; I beg you ‘ll not stir.’
‘Pray take my seat; I request you will.’
‘By no means, sir; I never play. I was merely looking on.’
‘Nor I either--or at least very rarely,’ said he, rising with the air of
a man who felt no pleasure in what was going forward. ‘You don’t happen
to know that young gentleman in the light-blue frock and white vest
yonder?’
‘No, I never saw him before.’
‘I ‘m sorry for it,’ said he in a whisper; ‘he has just lost seventy
thousand francs, and is going the readiest way to treble the sum by his
play. I ‘m certain he is English by his look and appearance, and it is a
cruel thing, a very cruel thing, not to give him a word of caution
here.’
The words, spoken with a tone of feeling, interested me much in the
speaker, and already I was angry with myself for having conceived a
dislike to his appearance and a prejudice against his style of dress.
‘I see,’ continued he, after a few seconds’ pause--‘I see you agree with
me. Let us try if we can’t find some one who may know him. If Wycherley
is here--you know Sir Harry, I suppose?’
‘I have not that honour.’
‘Capital fellow--the best in the world. He’s in the Blues, and always
about Windsor or St. James’s. He knows everybody; and if that young
fellow be anybody, he’s sure to know him. Ah, how d’ye do, my lord?’
continued he, with an easy nod, as Lord Colebrook passed.
‘Eh, Crotty, how goes it?’ was the reply.
‘You don’t happen to know that gentleman yonder, my lord, do you?’
‘Not I; who is he?’
‘This gentleman and I were both anxious to learn who he is; he is losing
a deal of money.’
‘Eh, dropping his tin, is he? And you ‘d rather save him, Crotty? All
right and sportsmanlike,’ said his lordship, with a knowing wink, and
walked on.
‘A very bad one, indeed, I fear,’ said Crotty, looking after him; ‘but I
didn’t think him so heartless as that. Let us take a turn, and look out
for Wycherley.’
Now, although I neither knew Wycherley nor his friend Crotty, I felt it
a case where one might transgress a little on etiquette, and probably
save a young man--he didn’t look twenty--from ruin; and so, without more
ado, I accompanied my new acquaintance through the crowded salons,
elbowing and pushing along amid the hundreds that thronged there. Crotty
seemed to know almost every one of a certain class; and as he went, it
was a perpetual ‘Comment ça va,’ prince, count, or baron; or, ‘How d’ye
do, my lord?’ or, ‘Eh, Sir Thomas, you here?’ etc; when at length, at
the side of a doorway leading into the supper-room, we came upon the
Honourable Jack, with two ladies leaning upon his arms. One glance was
enough; I saw they were the alderman’s daughters. Sir Peter himself, at
a little distance off, was giving directions to the waiter for supper.
‘Eh, Crotty, what are you doing to-night?’ said Jack, with a triumphant
look at his fair companions; ‘any mischief going forward, eh?’
‘Nothing half so dangerous as your doings,’ said Crotty, with a very
arch smile; ‘have you seen Wycherley? Is he here?’
‘Can’t possibly say,’ yawned out Jack; then leaning over to me, he said
in a whisper, ‘Is the Princess Von Hohenstauvenof in the rooms?’
‘I really don’t know; I ‘m quite a stranger.’
‘By Jove, if she is,’ said he, without paying any attention to my reply,
‘I ‘m floored, that’s all. Lady Maude Beverley has caught me already. I
wish you ‘d keep the Deverington girls in talk, will you?’
‘You forget, perhaps, I have no acquaintance here.’
‘Oh yes, by Jove, so I did! Glorious fun you must have of it! What a
pace I ‘d go along if I wasn’t known, eh! wouldn’t I?’
‘There’s Wycherley--there he is,’ said Crotty, taking me by the arm as
he spoke, and leading me forward. ‘Do me the favour to give me your
name; I should like you to know Wycherley’--and scarcely had I
pronounced it, when I found myself exchanging greetings with a large,
well-built, black-whiskered and moustached man of about forty. He was
dressed in deep mourning, and looked in his manner and air very much the
gentleman.
‘Have you got up the party yet, Crotty?’ said he, after our first
salutations were over, and with a half-glance towards me.
‘No, indeed,’ said Crotty slowly; ‘the fact is, I wasn’t thinking of it.
There’s a poor young fellow yonder losing very heavily, and I wanted to
see if you knew him; it would be only fair to----’
‘So it would; where is he?’ interrupted the baronet, as he pushed
through the crowd towards the play-room.
‘I told you he was a trump,’ said Crotty, as we followed him--‘the
fellow to do a good-natured thing at any moment.
While we endeavoured to get through after him, we passed close beside a
small supper-table, where sat the alderman and his two pretty daughters,
the Honourable Jack between them. It was evident from his boisterous
gaiety that he had triumphed over all his fears of detection by any of
the numerous fair ones he spoke of--his great object at this instant
appearing to be the desire to attract every one’s attention towards him,
and to publish his triumph to all beholders. For this, Jack conversed in
a voice audible at some distance off, surveying his victims from time to
time with the look of the Great Mogul; while they, poor girls, only
imagined themselves regarded for their own attractions, which were very
considerable, and believed that the companionship of the distinguished
Jack was the envy of every woman about them. As for the father, he was
deep in the mysteries of a _vol-au-vent_, and perfectly indifferent to
such insignificant trifles as Jack’s blandishments and the ladies’
blushes.
Poor girls! no persuasion in life could have induced them to such an
exhibition in their own country, and in company with one their equal in
class. But the fact of its being Germany, and the escort being an
Honourable, made all the difference in the world; and they who would
have hesitated with maiden coyness at the honourable proposals of one of
their own class, felt no scruple at compromising themselves before
hundreds, to indulge the miserable vanity of a contemptible coxcomb. I
stood for a second or two beside the table, and thought within myself,
‘Is not this as much a case to call for the interference of friendly
caution as that of the gambler yonder?’ But then, how was it possible?
We passed on and reached the play-table, where we found Sir Harry
Wycherley in low and earnest conversation with the young gentleman. I
could only catch a stray expression here and there, but even they
surprised me--the arguments advanced to deter him from gambling being
founded on the inconsiderate plan of his game, rather than on the
immorality and vice of the practice itself.
‘Don’t you see,’ said Sir Harry, throwing his eye over the card all
dotted with pinholes--‘don’t you see it’s a run, a dead run; that you
may bet on red, if you like, a dozen times, and only win once or twice?’
The youth blushed and said nothing.
‘I ‘ve seen forty thousand francs lost that way in less than an hour.’
‘I’ve lost _seventy_ thousand!’ muttered the young man, with a shudder
like one who felt cold all over.
‘Seventy!--not to-night, surely?’
‘Yes, to-night,’ replied he. ‘I won fourteen hundred naps here when I
came first, and didn’t play for three weeks afterwards; but
unfortunately I strolled in here a few nights ago, and lost the whole
back, as well as some hundreds besides; but this evening I came bent on
winning back--that was all I desired--winning back my own.’
As he said these words, I saw Sir Harry steal a glance at Crotty. The
thing was as quick as lightning, but never did a glance reveal more; he
caught my eye upon him, and looking round fully at me said, in a deep,
ominous voice--
‘That’s the confounded part of it; it’s so hard to stop when you ‘re
losing.’
‘Hard!--impossible!’ cried the youth, whose eyes were now riveted on the
table, following every card that fell from the banker’s hands, and
flushing and growing pale with every alternation of the game. ‘See now,
for all you’ve said, look if the red has not won four times in
succession?’
‘So it has,’ replied the baronet coolly; ‘but the previous run on black
would have left your purse rather shallow, or you must have a devilish
deep one, that’s all.’
He took up a pencil as he spoke, and began to calculate on the back of
the card; then holding it over, he said, ‘There’s what you ‘d have lost
if you went on betting.’
‘What!--two hundred and eighty thousand francs?’
‘Exactly! Look here’; and he went over the figures carefully before him.
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough of it to-night?’ said Crotty, with an
insinuating smile; ‘what say you if we all go and sup together in the
Saal?’
‘Agreed,’ said Sir Harry, rising at once. ‘Crotty, will you look at the
carte and do the needful? You may trust him, gentlemen,’ continued he,
turning towards us with a smile; ‘old Crotty has a most unexceptionable
taste in all that regards _cuisine_ and _cave_; save a slight leaning
towards expense, he has not a fault!’
I mumbled out something of an apology, which was unfortunately supposed
by the baronet to have reference to his last remark. I endeavoured to
explain away the mistake, and ended like a regular awkward man by
complying with a request I had previously resolved to decline. The young
man had already given his consent, and so we arose and walked through
the rooms, while Crotty inspected the bill of fare and gave orders about
the wine.
Wycherley seemed to know and be known by every one, and as he
interchanged greetings with the groups that passed, declined several
pressing invitations to sup. ‘The fact is,’ said he to one of his most
anxious inviters, ‘the fact is’--and the words were uttered in a whisper
I could just hear--‘there’s a poor young fellow here who has been
getting it rather sharp at the gold table, and I mustn’t lose sight of
him to-night, or he’ll inevitably go back there.’
These few words dispelled any uneasiness I had already laboured under
from finding myself so unexpectedly linked with two strangers. It was
quite clear that Sir Harry was a fine-hearted fellow, and that his
manly, frank countenance was no counterfeit. As we went along, Wycherley
amused us with his anecdotes of the company, with whose private history
he was conversant in its most minute details; and truly, low as had been
my estimate of the society at first, it fell considerably lower as I
listened to the private memoirs with which he favoured us.
Some were the common narratives of debt and desertion, protested bills,
and so forth; others were the bit-by-bit details of extravagant habits
pushed beyond all limits, and ending in expatriation for ever. There
were faithless husbands, outraging all decency by proclaiming their bad
conduct; there were as faithless wives, parading about in all the
effrontery of wickedness. At one side sat the roué companion of George
the Fourth, in his princely days, now a mere bloated debauchee, with
rouged cheeks and dyed whiskers, living on the hackneyed anecdotes of
his youthful rascality, and earning his daily bread by an affected
epicurism and a Sybarite pretension, which flattered the vulgar vanity
of those who fed him; while the lion of the evening was a newly arrived
earl, whose hunters were that very day sold at Tattersall’s, and whose
beautiful countess, horror-stricken at the ruin so unexpectedly come
upon them, was lying dangerously ill at her father’s house in London.
The young peer, indeed, bore up with a fortitude that attracted the
highest encomiums, and from an audience the greater portion of which
knew in their own persons most of the ills he suffered. He exchanged an
easy nod or a familiar shake of the hand with several acquaintances, not
seen before for many a day, and seemed to think that the severest blow
fortune had dealt him was the miserable price his stud would fetch at
such a time of the year.
‘The old story,’ said Wycherley, as he shook him by the hand, and told
him his address--‘the old story; he thought twenty thousand a year would
do anything, but it won’t though. If men will keep a house in town, and
another in Gloucestershire, with a pack of fox-hounds, and have four
horses in training at Doncaster--not to speak of a yacht at Cowes and
some other fooleries--they must come to the Jews; and when they come to
the Jews, the pace is faster than for the Derby itself. Two hundred per
cent, is sharp practice, and I can tell you not uncommon either; and
then when a man does begin to topple, his efforts to recover always ruin
him. It’s like a fall from your horse--make a struggle, and you ‘re sure
to break your leg or your collar-bone; take it kindly, and the chances
are that you get up all right again, after the first shock.’
I did not like either the tone or the morality of my companion; but I
well knew both were the conventional coinage of his set, and I suffered
him to continue without interruption.
‘There’s Mosely Cranmer,’ said he, pointing to a slight, effeminate-
looking young man, with a most girlish softness about his features. He
was dressed in the very extreme of fashion, and displayed all that array
of jewelry in pins, diamond vest-buttons, and rings, so frequently
assumed by modern dandyism. His voice was a thin reedy treble, scarcely
deep enough for a child.
‘Who is he, and what is he doing here?’ asked I.
‘He is the heir to about eighty thousand per annum, to begin with,’ said
Wycherley, ‘which he has already dipped beyond redemption. So far for
his property. As to what he is doing here, you may have seen in the
_Times_ last week that he shot an officer of the Guards in a duel--
killed him on the spot. The thing was certain--Cranmer’s the best
pistol-shot in England.’
‘Ah, Wycherley, how goes it, old fellow?’ said the youth, stretching out
two fingers of his well-gloved hand. ‘You see Edderdale is come over.
Egad! we shall have all England here soon--leave the island to the Jews,
I think!’
Sir Harry laughed heartily at the conceit, and invited him to join our
party at supper; but he was already, I was rejoiced to find, engaged to
the Earl of Edderdale, who was entertaining a select few at his hotel,
in honour of his arrival.
A waiter now came to inform us that Mr. Crotty was waiting for us, to
order supper, and we immediately proceeded to join him in the Saal.
The baronet’s eulogium on his friend’s taste in _gourmandise_ was well
and justly merited. The supper was admirable--the ‘potage printanière’
seasoned to perfection, the ‘salmi des perdreaux, aux points
d’asperges,’ delicious, and the ‘ortolans à la provençale’ a dish for
the gods; while the wines were of that _cru_ and flavour that only
favoured individuals ever attained to at the hands of a landlord. As
_plat_ succeeded _plat_, each admirably selected in the order of
succession to heighten the enjoyment and gratify the palate of the
guest, the conversation took its natural turn to matters gastronomic,
and where, I must confess, I can dally with as sincere pleasure as in
the discussion of any other branch of the fine arts. Mr. Crotty’s forte
seemed essentially to lie in the tact of ordering and arranging a very
admirable repast. Wycherley, however, took a higher walk; he was
historically _gastronome_, and had a store of anecdotes about the dishes
and their inventors, from Clovis to Louis Quatorze. He knew the
favourite meats of many illustrious personages, and told his stories
about them with an admirable blending of seriousness and levity.
There are excellent people, Arthur, who will call you sensualist for all
this--good souls, who eat like Cossacks and drink like camels in the
desert; before whose masticatory powers joints become beautifully less
in shortest space of time, and who while devouring in greedy silence
think nothing too severe to say of him who, with more cultivated palate
and discriminating taste, eats sparingly but choicely, making the
nourishment of his body the nutriment of his mind, and while he supports
nature, can stimulate his imagination and invigorate his understanding.
The worthy votaries of boiled mutton and turnips, of ribs and roasts,
believe themselves temperate and moderate eaters, while consuming at a
meal the provender sufficient for a family; and when, after an hour’s
steady performance, they sit with hurried breathing and half-closed
eyelids, sullen, stupid, and stertorous, drowsy and dull, saturated with
stout and stuffed with Stilton, they growl out a thanksgiving that they
are not like other men--epicures and wine-bibbers. Out upon them, I say!
Let me have my light meal, be its limits a cress, and the beverage that
ripples from the rock beside me; but be it such, that, while eating,
there is no transfusion of the beast devoured into the man, nor, when
eaten, the semi-apoplectic stupor of a gorged boa!
Sir Harry did the honours of the table, and sustained the burden of the
conversation, to which Crotty contributed but little, the young man and
myself being merely noneffectives; nor did we separate until the
_garçon_ came to warn us that the Saal was about to close for the night.