If ever anybody had cause to regret the suppression of lotteries, it is
the whole tribe of play-writers and authors. Never will there be found
again a "Deus ex Machina," so serviceable or so unfailing as the lottery.
If your plot wanted a solution, or your intrigue a _denoument_, or your
novel a termination, you could always cut through all your difficulties
by the medium of a lottery-ticket. The virtuous but impoverished hero
became at once a very Croesus, and the worldly-minded parent bestowed his
daughter and his blessing on the successful gambler, who, by the way,
never purchased his own ticket, but always had it bequeathed to him as a
legacy. Alas, lottery-tickets, like wealthy uncles and places under
government, have gone out of date. The fond glance of memory turns in
vain towards the good old times, when the lottery was in its glory. It
is, however, some comfort to reflect, that if, as devout Catholics
assert, the Papacy is eternal, then in Rome, at least, lotteries are
eternal also. In truth, the lottery is a great, I might almost say _the_
great Pontifical institution. It is a trade not only sanctioned, but
actively supported, by the Government. Partly, therefore, as a matter of
literary interest, and partly as a curious feature in the economics of
the Papal States, I have made various personal researches into the
working of the lottery-system, and shall endeavour to give the
theoretical not the practical result of my investigations; the latter
result being, I am afraid, of a negative description.
Murray, who knows everything, states that in Rome alone fifty-five
millions of lottery-tickets are taken annually. Now though I would much
sooner doubt the infallibility of the Pope than that of the author of the
most invaluable of hand-books, I cannot help thinking there is some
strange error in this calculation. The whole population of Rome is under
180,000, and therefore, according to this statement, every living soul in
the city, man, woman, priest and child, must, on an average, take one
ticket a day, to make up the amount stated. If, however, without
examining the strict arithmetical correctness of this statement, you take
it, just as the old Romans used "sex centi" for an indefinite number, as
an expression of the fact, that the number of the lottery-tickets taken
annually in Rome is quite incredible, you will not be far wrong. During
the year 1858 the receipts of the lottery (by which I suppose are meant
the net, not the gross receipts) are officially stated to have been
1,181,000 scudi, or about an eleventh of the whole Pontifical revenue. It
is true the expenses of the Lottery are charged amidst the state
expenditure for the year at 788,987 scudi, but then a large portion of
this expense is directly repaid to the Government, and the remainder is
paid to the lottery-holders, who all have to pay heavily for the
privilege of keeping a lottery-office, and who form also the most devoted
of the Papal adherents, more especially since the liberal party have set
their faces against the lottery. Common estimation too assigns a far
larger profit to the lotteries than Papal returns give it credit for,
and, I own that, from the system on which they are conducted, of which I
shall speak presently, I suspect the profit must be very much beyond the
sum mentioned; anyhow, this source of income is a very important one, and
is guarded jealously as a Government monopoly. Private gambling tables
of any kind are rigidly suppressed. If you want to gamble, you must
gamble at the tables and on the terms of the Government. The very sale
of foreign lottery-tickets is, I believe, forbidden. To this rule there
is one exception, and that is in favour of Tuscany. Between the Grand
Ducal and the Papal Governments there long existed an _entente cordiale_
on the subject of lotteries. There is no bond, cynics say, so powerful
as that of common interest; and this saying seems to be justified in the
present instance. Though the Court of Rome is at variance on every point
of politics and faith with the present revolutionary Government of
Tuscany, yet in matters of money they are not divided; and so the joint
lottery-system flourishes, as of old. The lottery is drawn once a
fortnight at Rome, and once every alternate fortnight at Florence or
Leghorn; and as far as the speculator is concerned, it makes no
difference whether his ticket is drawn for in Rome or in Tuscany, though
the gains and losses of each branch are, I understand, kept separate.
These lotteries are not of the plain, good old English stamp, in which
there were, say, ten thousand tickets, and ten prizes of different value
allotted to the holders of the ten first numbers drawn, while the
remaining nine thousand nine hundred and ninety ticket-holders drew
blanks. The system of speculation in vogue here is far more hazardous
and complicated. To any one acquainted with the German gambling-places
it is enough to say, that the Papal lottery-system is exactly like that
of a _roulette_ table, with the one important exception, that the chances
in the bank's favour, instead of being about thirty-seven to thirty-six,
as they are at Baden or Hamburgh, are in the proportion of three to one.
For the benefit of those to whom these words convey no definite meaning,
I will endeavour to explain the system as simply as I can.
In a Papal or Tuscan lottery there are ninety numbers, from one up to
ninety, and of these numbers, five are drawn at each drawing. You may,
therefore, stake your money on any one or two or three or four or five of
the ninety numbers being drawn, which is termed playing at the "eletto,"
"ambo," "terno," "quaterno," and "tombola" respectively, or you may
finally play "al estratto," that is, you may not only speculate on the
particular numbers drawn, but on the order in which they may happen to be
drawn. Practically, people rarely play upon any except the three first-
named chances, and they will be sufficient for my explanation. Now a
very simple arithmetical calculation will show you, that the chances
against your naming one number out of the five drawn is eighteen to one;
against your predicting two, four hundred to one; and against your
hitting on three, nearly twelve thousand to one. Supposing, therefore,
the game was played with ordinary fairness, and even as much as 25 per
cent. were deducted for profit and working expenses off the winnings, you
ought, if you staked a scudo, for instance, and won an "eletto," "ambo"
or "terno," to win in round numbers 14, 300, and 9000 scudi respectively.
If in reality you did win (a very great "if" indeed), you would not be
paid in these instances more than 4, 25 and 3600 scudi. In fact, if ever
there was invented in this world a game, of which the old saying, "Heads
I win, and tails you lose" held true, it would be of the Papal Lottery.
If the numbers you back do not happen to turn up, you lose the whole of
your stake; if they do, you are docked of more than seventy-five per
cent. of your winnings. For my part, I would sooner play at thimble-rig
on Epsom Downs, or dominoes with Greek merchants, or at "three-cards"
with a casual and communicative fellow-passenger of sporting cast: I
should infallibly be legged, but I should hardly be plundered so
ruthlessly or remorselessly. Still the Vatican, like all gentlemen who
play with loaded dice or marked cards, may have a run of luck against it.
Spiritual infallibility itself cannot determine whether a halfpenny
tossed into the air will come down man or woman, and the law of chances
cannot be regulated by a _motu proprio_. It is possible, though not
probable, that on any one occasion the majority of the gamblers might
stake their money fortuitously on one series of numbers, and if that
series did happen to be drawn, then the loss to the Lottery, even with
all deductions, would be a heavy one, and the Roman exchequer is by no
means in a position to bear a heavy drain. In consequence, measures are
taken to avert this calamity; each office reports daily what sums have
been staked on what numbers; and, if any numbers are regarded with undue
partiality, orders are issued from the head department to receive no more
money on these numbers or series. I have assumed all along that the
numbers are drawn fairly, and, without a very high opinion of the
integrity of our Papal rulers, I am disposed to think they are. In the
first place, any general impression of unfairness would greatly damage
the future profits of the speculation; and, secondly, by the usual rule
of averages it will be found that, on the whole, people stake pretty
equally on one combination as another, and therefore the question, which
particular numbers are drawn, is of less practical importance to the
lottery management than might at first be supposed. In spite, however,
of these abstract considerations, the virtue of the Papal Lotteries,
unlike that of Caesar's wife, is not above suspicion; and I have often
heard Romans remark, that the only possible explanation of there being
one blank day between the closing the lottery-offices and the drawing was
the obvious one, that time was required to calculate, from the state of
the stakes, what combination of winning numbers will be most beneficial,
or least hurtful, to the Papal pockets.
Whatever mathematicians may assert, your regular gamblers always believe
in luck, and therefore it is not surprising that a nation, whose great
excitement is the lottery, should be devout worshippers of the blind
goddess. It may be that some memories of the Pythagorean doctrines still
exist in the land of their birth, but be the cause what it may, it is
certain that in the southern Peninsula a belief in the symbolism of
numbers is a received article of faith. Every thing, name, or event, has
its numerical interpretation. Suppose, for instance, a robbery occurs;
forthwith the numbers or sequences of numbers corresponding to the name
of the robber or the robbed, the day or hour of the crime, the articles
stolen, or a dozen other coincident circumstances, are eagerly sought
after and staked upon in the ensuing lottery. Then there are the _numeri
simpatici_, or the numbers in each month or year which are supposed to be
fortunate, and lists of which are published in the popular almanacs. The
"sympathetic number for instance for the month of March is 88," why or
wherefore I have never been able to discover. Let me assume now, that
having dreamt a dream, or heard of a death, or I care not what, you wish
to stake your money on the arithmetical signification of the occurrence.
You will have no difficulty in discovering a lottery-office; in well nigh
every street there are one or more "Prenditoria di Lotti." In fact,
begging and gambling are the only two trades that thrive in Rome, or are
pushed with enterprise or energy. When the drawing takes place in
Tuscany, the result is communicated at once by the electric telegraph, a
fact unparalleled in any other branch of Roman business. Over each
office are placed the Papal arms, the cross keys of St Peter and the
tiara. Outside their aspects differ, according to the quarter of the
city. In the well-to-do streets, if such an appellation applied to any
street here be not an absurdity, the exterior of the lottery-offices are
neat but not gaudy. A notice, printed in large black letters on a white
placard, that this week the lottery will be drawn for in Rome, or where-
ever it may be, and a simple glass frame over the door, in which are slid
the winning numbers of last week, form the whole outward adornment. In
the poor and populous parts the lotteries flaunt out in all kinds of
shabby finery: the walls about the door are pasted over with puffing
inscriptions; from stands in front of the shop flutter long stripes of
parti-coloured paper, inscribed with all sorts of cabalistic figures. If
you like you may try the "Terno della fortuna," which is certain,
morally, to turn up this week or next. If you are of a philosophical
disposition, you may stake your luck on the numbers 19 and 42, which have
not been drawn for ever so long a time, and must therefore be drawn
sooner--or later; or if you like to cast in your lot with others, you may
back that "ambo" which has "sold" marked against it; at any rate, you
will not be the only fool who stands to lose or win on that chance,
which, after all, is some slight consolation. If none of these
inducements are sufficient, you may fix on your choice by spinning round
the index on the painted dial-plate, and choosing the numbers opposite to
which the spin stops, thus making chance determine chance. Having, at
last, selected your combination somehow or other, you enter the office
with something of that shamefaced feeling which, I suppose, a man must be
conscious of the first time that he ever enters the back-door of a
pawnbroker's establishment.
The interior of these offices is the same throughout. A low, dark room,
with a long ink-stained desk at one side, behind which, pen in ear, is
seated an official, more grimy even, and more snuffy than the run of his
tribe. Opposite the desk there is sure to be a picture of the Madonna
with a small glass lamp before it, wherein a feeble wick floats and
flickers in a pool of rancid oil. On the wall you may read a list of the
virtuous maidens who are to receive marriage portions of from 5 pounds
downwards, on the occasion of the lottery being drawn at some religious
festival. Indeed, throughout, the lottery is conducted on a strictly
religious footing. The _impiegati_, or officials who keep them, are all
men of sound principles and devotional habits, fervent adherents of the
Pope, and habitual communicants. Lotteries too can be defended on
abstract religious grounds, as encouraging a simple faith in providence,
and dispelling any overwhelming confidence in your own unsanctified
exertions. When you have made these reflections, you have only got to
tell the clerk what sum of money you want to stake, and on what numbers.
The smallest contribution (from eleven baiocchi or about sixpence
upwards) will be thankfully received. A long whity-brown slip of paper
is given you, with the numbers written on it, and the sum you may win
marked opposite. No questions whatever, about name or residence or
papers, are asked, as they are whenever you want to transact any other
piece of business in Rome; and all you have to do, is to keep your slip
of paper, and come back on the Saturday to learn whether your numbers
have been drawn or not.
There is, in truth, a ludicrous side to the Papal Lotteries; but there is
also a very sad one. It is sad to see the offices on a Thursday night,
when they are kept open till midnight, hours after every other shop is
closed, and to watch the crowds of common humble people who hurry in, one
after the other; servants and cabmen and clerks and beggars, and, above
all, women of the poorer class, to stake their small savings--too often
their small pilferings--on the hoped-for numbers. When one speaks of the
disgrace and shame that this authorized system of gambling confers on the
Papal Government; of the improvidence and dishonesty and misery it
creates too certainly among the poor, one is always told, by the
advocates of the Papacy, that the people are so passionately attached to
the lottery, that no Government could run the risk of abolishing it. If
this be true, which I do not believe, I can only say--shame upon the
rulers, who have so demoralized their subjects!