University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.
GAMBLING AT THE GERMAN BATHING-PLACES.

BADEN AND ITS CONVERSATION HOUSE.

BADEN-BADEN in the season is full of the most exciting contrasts — gay restaurants and brilliant saloons, gaming-tables, promenades, and theatres crammed with beauty and rank, in the midst of lovely natural scenery, and under the shade of the pine-clad heights of the Hercynian or Black Forest — the scene of so many weird tales of old Germany — as for instance of the charming Undine of De la Mothe Fouqué.

But among the seducing attractions of Baden-Baden, and of all German bathing-places, the Rouge-et-noir and Roulette-table hold a melancholy pre-eminence, — being at once a shameful source of revenue to the prince, — a rallying point for the gay,

the beautiful, the professional blackleg, the incognito duke or king, — and a vortex in which the student, the merchant, and the subaltern officer are, in the course of the season, often hopelessly and irrevocably ingulfed. Remembering the gaming excitement of the primitive Germans, we can scarcely be surprised to find that the descendants of these northern races poison the pure stream of pleasure by the introduction of this hateful occupation. It is, however, rather remarkable that all foreign visitors, whether Dutch, Flemish, Swede, Italian, or even English, of whatever age or disposition or sex, `catch the frenzy' during the (falsely so-called) Kurzeit, that is, Cure-season, at Baden, Ems, and Aix.

Princes and their subjects, fathers and sons, and even, horrible to say, mothers and daughters, are hanging, side by side, for half the night over the green table; and, with trembling hands and anxious eyes, watching their chance-cards, or thrusting francs and Napoleons with their rakes to the red or the black cloth.

No spot in the whole world draws together a more distinguished society than may be met at Baden; its attractions are felt and acknowledged by

every country in Europe. Many of the élite of each nation may yearly be found there during the months of summer, and, as a natural consequence, many of the worst and vilest follow them, in the hope of pillage.

Says Mrs Trollope: — `I doubt if anything less than the evidence of the senses can enable any one fully to credit and comprehend the spectacle that a gaming-table offers. I saw women distinguished by rank, elegant in person, modest, and even reserved in manner, sitting at the Rouge-et-noir table with their râteaux, or rakes, and marking-cards in their hands; — the former to push forth their bets, and draw in their winnings, the latter to prick down the events of the game. I saw such at different hours through the whole of Sunday. To name these is impossible; but I grieve to say that two English women were among them.'

The Conversationshaus, where the gambling takes place, is let out by the Government of Baden to a company of speculators, who pay, for the exclusive privilege of keeping the tables, £11,000 annually, and agree to spend in addition 250,000 florins (£25,000) on the walks and buildings, making altogether about £36,000. Some idea may

be formed from this of the vast sums of money which must be yearly lost by the dupes who frequent it. The whole is under the direction of M. Benazet, who formerly farmed the gambling houses of Paris.

`How shall I describe,' says Mr Whitelocke, `to my readers in language sufficiently graphic, one of the resorts the most celebrated in Europe; a place, if not competing with Crockford's in gorgeous magnificence and display, at least surpassing it in renown, and known over a wider sphere? The metropolitan pump-room of Europe, conducted on the principle of gratuitous admittance to all bearing

the semblance of gentility and conducting themselves with propriety, opens its Janus doors to all the world with the most laudable hospitality and with a perfect indifference to exclusiveness, requiring only the hat to be taken off upon entering, and rejecting only short jackets, cigar, pipe, and meerschaum. A room of this description, a temple dedicated to fashion, fortune, and flirtation, requires a pen more current, a voice more eloquent, than mine to trace, condense, vivify, and depict.* * * Taking everything, therefore, for granted, let us suppose a vast saloon of regular proportions, rather longer than broad, at either end garnished by a balcony; beneath, doors to the right and left, and opposite to the main entrance, conduct to other apartments, dedicated to different purposes. On entering the eye is at once dazzled by the blaze of lights from chandeliers of magnificent dimensions, of lamps, lustres, and sconces. The ceiling and borders set off into compartments, showered over with arabesques, the gilded pillars, the moving mass of promenaders, the endless labyrinth of human beings assembled from every region in Europe, the costly dresses, repeated by a host of mirrors, all this combined, which the eye conveys to the brain at a single glance, utterly fails in description. As with the eye, so it is with the ear; at every step a new language falls upon it, and every tongue with different intonation, for the high and the low, the prince, peer, vassal, and tradesman, the proud beauty, the decrepit crone, some fresh budding into the world, some standing near the grave, the gentle and the stern, the sombre and the gay, in short, every possible antithesis that the eye, ear, heart can perceive, hear, or respond to, or that the mind itself can imagine, is here to be met with in two minutes. And yet all this is no Babel; for all, though concentrated, is admirably void of confusion; and evil or strong passions, if they do exist, are religiously suppressed — a necessary consequence, indeed, where there can be no sympathy, and where contempt and ridicule would be the sole reciprocity. In case, however, any such display should take place, a gendarme keeps constant watch at the door, appointed by government, it is true, but resembling our Bow-street officers in more respects than one.

`Now that we have taken a survey of the brilliant and moving throng, let us approach the stationary crowd to the left hand, and see what it

is that so fascinates and rivets their attention. They are looking upon a long table covered with green cloth, in the centre of which is a large polished wooden basin with a moveable rim, and around it are small compartments, numbered to a certain extent, namely 38, alternately red and black in irregular order, numbered from one to 36, a nought or zero in a red, and a double zero upon the black, making up the 38, and each capable of holding a marble. The moveable rim is set in motion by the hand, and as it revolves horizontally from east to west round its axis, the marble is caused by a jerk of the finger and thumb to fly off in a contrary movement. The public therefore conclude that no calculation can foretell where the marble will fall, and I believe they are right, in-asmuch as the bank plays a certain and sure game, however deep, runs no risk of loss, and consequently has no necessity for superfluously cheating or deluding the public. It also plays double, that is, on both sides of the wheel of fortune at once.

`When the whirling of both rim and marble cease, the latter falls, either simultaneously or after some coy uncertainty, into one of the com-partments, and the number and colour, &c., are

immediately proclaimed, the stakes deposited are dexterously raked up by the croupier, or increased by payment from the bank, according as the colour wins or loses. Now, the two sides or tables are merely duplicates of one another, and each of them is divided something like a chess-board into three columns of squares, which amount to 36; the numbers advance arithmetically from right to left, and consequently there are 12 lines down, so as to complete the rectangle; as one, therefore, stands at the head, four stands immediately under it, and so on. At the bottom lie three squares, with the French marks 12 p — 12 m — 12 d, that is, first, middle, third dozen. The three large meadows on either side are for red and black, pair and odd, miss and pass — which last signify the division of the numbers into the first and second half, from 1 to 18, and from 19 to 36, inclusive. If a number be staked upon and wins, the stake is increased to six times its amount, and so on, always less as the stake is placed in different positions, which may be effected in the following ways — by placing the piece of gold or silver on the line (à cheval, as it is called), partly on one and partly on its neighbour, two numbers are represented, and should one win, the piece is augmented to eighteen times the sum; three numbers are signified upon the stroke at the end or beginning of the numbers that go across; six, by placing the coin on the border of a perpendicular and a horizontal line between two strokes; four, where the lines cross within; twelve numbers are signified in a two-fold manner, either upon the column where the figures follow in the order of one, four, seven, and so on, or on the side-fields mentioned above; these receive the stake trebled; and those who stake solely upon the colour, the two halves, or equal and odd, have their stake doubled when they win. Now, the two zeros, that is, the simple and compound, stand apart and may be separately staked upon; should either turn up, the stake is increased in a far larger proportion.

`To render the game equal, without counting in the zeros and other trifles, the winner ought to receive the square of 36, instead of 36.

`It is a melancholy amusement to any rational being not infatuated by the blind rage of gold, to witness the incredible excitement so repeatedly made to take the bank by storm, sometimes by surprise, anon by stealth, and not rarely by digging a mine, laying intrenchments and opening a fire of

field-pieces, heavy ordnance, and flying artillery; but the fortress, proud and conscious of its superior strength, built on a rock of adamant, laughs at the fiery attacks of its foes, nay, itself invites the storm.

`For those classes of mankind who possess a little more prudence, the game called Trente-et-un, and Quarante, or Rouge et Noir are substituted.

`The lord of the temple or establishment pays, I believe, to government a yearly sum of 35,000 florins (about £3000) for permission to keep up the establishment. He has gone to immense ex-pense in decorating the building; he pays a crowd of croupiers at different salaries, and officers of his own, who superintend and direct matters; he lights up the building, and he presides over the festivities of the town — in short, he is the patron of it all. With all this liberality he himself derives an enormous revenue, an income as sure and determined as that of my Lord Mayor himself.'[73]

The Baden season begins in May; the official opening takes place towards the close of the spring quarter, and then the fashionable world begins to arrive at the rendezvous.

It cannot be denied that everything is right well regulated, and apart from the terrible dangers of gambling, the place does very great credit to the authorities who thrive on the nefarious traffic. Perfect order and decency of deportment, with all the necessary civilities of life, are rigorously insisted on, and summary expulsion is the consequence of any intolerable conduct. If it so happens that any person becomes obnoxious in any way, whatever may be his or her rank, the first intimation will be — `Sir, you are not in your place here;' or, `Madame, the air of Baden does not suit you.' If these words are disregarded, there follows a summary order — `You must leave Baden this very day, and cross the frontiers of the Grand Duchy within twenty-four hours.'

Mr Sala, in his novel `Make your Game,'[74] has given a spirited description of the gambling scenes at Baden.

Whilst I write there is exhibited at the Egyptian Hall, London, Doré's magnificent picture of the Tapis Vert, or Life in Baden-Baden, of which the following is an accurate description: —

`The Tapis Vert is a moral, and at the same

time an exceedingly clever, satire. It is illustrative of the life, manners, and predilections and pursuits of a class of society left hereafter to enjoy the manifold attractions of fashionable watering-places, without the scourge that for so many years held its immoral and degrading sway in their sumptuous halls.

`In one of these splendid salons the fashionable crowd is eagerly pressing round an oblong table covered with green cloth (le tapis vert), upon which piles of gold and bank-notes tell the tale of “noir perd et la couleur gagne,&” and vice versa. The principal group, upon which Doré has thrown one of his powerful effects of light, is lifelike, and several of the actors are at once recognized. Both croupiers are well-known characters. There is much life and movement in the silent scene, in which thousands of pounds change hands in a few seconds. To the left of the croupier (dealer), who turns up the winning card, sits a finely-dressed woman, who cares for little else but gold. There is a remarkable expression of eagerness and curiosity upon the countenance of the lady who comes next, and who endeavours, with the assistance of her eye-glass, to find out the state of affairs. The gentleman next

to her is an inveterate blasé. The countenance of the old man reckoning up needs no description. Near by stands a lady with a red feather in her hat, and whose lace shawl alone is worth several hundred pounds — for Doré made it. The two female figures to the left are splendidly painted. The one who causes the other croupier to turn round seems somewhat extravagantly dressed; but these costumes have been frequently worn within the last two years both at Baden and Hombourg. The old lady at the end of the table, to the left, is a well-known habituée at both places. The bustling and shuffling eagerness of the figures in the background is exceedingly well rendered.

`As a whole, the Tapis Vert is a very fine illustration of real life, as met with in most of the leading German watering-places.'[75]

`At the present moment,' says another authority, writing more than a year ago, `there are three very bold female gamblers at Baden. One is the Russian Princess — — , who plays several hours every day at Rouge et Noir, and sometimes makes what in our money would be many hundreds, and at others goes empty away. She wins calmly

enough, but when luck is against her looks anxious. The second is the wife of an Italian ex-minister, who is well known both as an authoress and politician. She patronizes Roulette, and at every turn of the wheel her money passes on the board. She is a good gambler — smirking when she wins, and smirking when she loses. She dresses as splendidly as any of the dames of Paris. The other night she excited a flutter among the ladies assembled in the salons of the “Conversation&” by appearing in a robe flaming red with an exaggerated train which dragged its slow length along the floor. But the greatest of the feminine players is the Leonie Leblanc. When she is at the Rouge et Noir table a larger crowd than usual is collected to witness her operation. The stake she generally risks is 6000 francs (£240), which is the maximum allowed. Her chance is changing: a few days back she won £4000 in one sitting; some days later she lost about £2000, and was then reduced to the, for her, indignity of playing for paltry sums — £20 or thereabouts.'

Among the more recent chronicles, the Figaro gives the following account of the close of the campaign of a gaming hero, M. Edgar de la Charme,

who, for a number of days together, never left the gaming-room without carrying off the sum of 24,000 francs.

`The day before yesterday, M. de la Charme, reflecting that there must be an end even to the greatest run of luck, locked his portmanteau, paid his bill, and took the road to the railway station, accompanied by some of his friends. On reaching the wicket he found it closed; there were still three-quarters of an hour to pass before the departure of the train. “I will go and play my parting game,&” he exclaimed, and, turning to the coachman, bade him drive to the Kursaal. His friends surrounded him, and held him back; he should not go, he would lose all his winnings. But he was resolute, and soon reached the Casino, where his travelling dress caused a stir of satisfaction among the croupiers. He sat down at the Trente-et-quarante, broke the bank in 20 minutes, got into his cab again, and seeing the inspector of the tables walking to and fro under the arcades, he said to him, in a tone of exquisite politeness, “I could not think of going away without leaving, you my P.P.C.&” '

SPA.

`The gambling houses of Spa are in the Redoute, where Rouge et Noir and Roulette are carried on nearly from morning to night. The profits of these establishments exceed £40,000 a year. In former times they belonged to the Bishop of Liege, who was a partner in the concern, and derived a considerable revenue from his share of the ill-gotten gains of the manager of the establishment, and no gambling tables could be set up without his permission.'[76]

`The gambling in Spa is in a lower style than elsewhere. The croupiers seem to be always on the look-out for cheating. You never see here a pile of gold or bank notes on the table, as at Hombourg or Wiesbaden, with the player saying, “Cinquante louis aux billet,&” “Cent-vingt louis à la masse,&” and the winnings scrupulously paid, or the losings raked carefully away from the heap. They do not allow that at Spa; there is an order against it on the wall. They could not trust the people that play, I suppose, and it is doubtful if the people could trust the croupiers. The ball spins more

slowly at Roulette — the cards are dealt more gingerly at Trente-et-quarante here than elsewhere. Nothing must be done quickly, lest somebody on one side or other should try to do somebody else. Altogether Spa is not a pleasant place to play in, and as, moreover, the odds are as great against you as at Ems, it is better to stick to the promenade de sept heures and the ball-room, and leave the two tables alone. Outside it is cheery and full of life. The Queen of the Belgians is here, the Duke of Aumale, and other nice people. The breeze from the hills is always delicious; the Promenade Meyerbeer as refreshing on a hot day as a draught of iced water. But the denizens, male and female, of the salons de jeu are often obnoxious, and one wishes that the old Baden law could be enforced against some of the gentler sex.

`By way of warning to any of your readers who propose to visit the tables this summer, will you let me tell a little anecdote, from personal experience, of one of these places — which one I had perhaps better not say. I took a place at the Roulette table, and had not staked more than once or twice, when two handsomely dressed ladies placed themselves one on either side of me, and commenced

playing with the smallest coins allowed, wedging me in rather unpleasantly close between them. At my third or fourth stake I won on both the colour and a number, and my neighbour on the right quietly swept up my coins from the colour the instant they were paid. I remonstrated, and she very politely argued the point, ending by restoring my money. But during our discussion my far larger stake, paid in the mean while, on the winning number, had disappeared into the pocket of my neighbour on the left, who was not so polite, and was very indignant at my suggestion that the stake was mine. An appeal to the croupier only produced a shrug of the shoulders and regret that he had not seen who staked the money, an offer to stop the play, and a suggestion that I should find it very difficult to prove it was my stake. The “plant&” between the two women was evident. The whole thing was a systematically-planned robbery, and very possibly the croupier was a confederate. I detected the two women in communica-tion, and I told them that I should change my place to the other side of the table where I would trouble them not to come. They took the hint very mildly, and could afford to do so, for they had got my money. The affair was very neatly managed, and would succeed in nearly every case, especially if the croupier is, as is most probable, always on the side of the ladies.'

HOMBOURG.

`In 1842 Hombourg was an obscure village, consisting of the castle of the Landgraf, and of a few hundred houses which in the course of ages had clustered around it. Few would have known of its existence except from the fact of its being the capital of the smallest of European countries. Its inhabitants lived poor and contented — the world forgetting, by the world forgot. It boasted only of one inn — the “Aigle&” — which in summer was frequented by a few German families, who came to live cheaply and to drink the waters of a neighbouring mineral spring. That same year two French brothers of the name of Blanc arrived at Frankfort. They were men of a speculative turn, and a recent and somewhat daring speculation in France, connected with the old semaphore telegraph, had rendered it necessary for them to withdraw for a time from their native land. Their stock-in-trade consisted in a Roulette wheel,

a few thousand francs, and an old and skilful croupier of Frascati, who knew a great deal about the properties of cards. The authorities of the town of Frankfort, being dull traders, declined to allow them to initiate their townsmen into the mysteries of cards and Roulette, so hearing that there were some strangers living at Hombourg, they put themselves into an old diligence, and the same evening disembarked at the “Aigle.&” The next day the elder brother called upon the prime minister, an ancient gentleman, who, with a couple of clerks, for some £60 a year governed the Landgrafate of Hombourg to his own and the general satisfaction. After a private interview with this statesman the elder Blanc returned poorer in money, but with a permission in his pocket to put up his Roulette wheel in one of the rooms of the inn. In a few months the money of the innocent water-drinkers passed from their pockets into those of the brothers Blanc. The ancient man of Frascati turned the wheel, and no matter on what number the water-drinkers risked their money, that number did not turn up. At the close of the summer season a second visit was made to the prime minister, and the Blancs returned to Frankfort with an exclusive concession to establish games of hazard within the wide spreading dominions of the Landgraf. For this they had agreed to build a kursaal, to lay out a public garden, and to pay into the national exchequer 40,000 florins (a florin is worth one shilling and eight-pence) per annum. Having obtained this concession, the next step was to found a company. Frankfort abounds in Hebrew speculators, who are not particular how they make money, and as the speculation appeared a good one, the money was soon forthcoming. It was decided that the nominal capital was to be 400,000 florins, divided into shares of 100 florins each. Half the shares were subscribed for by the Hebrew financialists, and the other half was credited to the Blancs as the price of their concession. During the winter a small kursaal was built and a small garden planted; the mineral well was deepened, and flaming advertisements appeared in all the German newspapers announcing to the world that the famous waters of Hombourg were able to cure every disease to which flesh is heir, and that to enable visitors to while away their evenings agreeably a salon had been opened, in which they would have an opportunity to win fabulous sums by risking their money either at the game of Trente et Quarante or at Roulette. From these small beginnings arose the “company&” whose career has been so notorious. It has enjoyed uninterrupted good fortune. During the twenty-six years that have elapsed since its foundation, a vast palace dedicated to gambling has been built, the village has become a town, well paved, and lighted with gas; the neighbouring hills are covered with villas; about eighty acres have been laid out in pleasure-grounds; roads have been made in all directions through the surrounding woods; the visitors are numbered by tens of thousands; there are above twenty hotels and many hundred excellent lodging-houses.'[77]

`Let those who are disposed to risk their money inquire what is the character of the managers, and be on their guard. The expenses of such an enormous and splendid establishment amount to £10,000, and the shares have for some years paid a handsome dividend — the whole of which must be paid out of the pockets of travellers and visitors.'[78]

Mr Sala in his interesting work, already quoted, furnishes the completest account of Hom

bourg, its Kursaal, and gambling, which I have condensed as follows: —

`In Hombourg the Kursaal is everything, and the town nothing. The extortionate hotel-keepers, the “snub-nosed rogues of counter and till,&” who overcharge you in the shops, make their egregious profits from the Kursaal. The major part of the Landgrave's revenue is derived from the Kursaal; he draws £5000 a year from it. He and his house are sold to the Kursaal; and the Board of Directors of the Kursaal are the real sovereigns and land-graves of Hesse Hombourg. They have metamorphosed a miserable mid-German townlet into a city of palaces. Their stuccoed and frescoed palace is five hundred times handsomer than the mouldy old Schloss, built by William with the silver leg. They have planted the gardens; they have imported the orange-trees; they have laid out the park, and enclosed the hunting-grounds; they board, lodge, wash, and tax the inhabitants; and I may say, without the slightest attempt at punning, that the citizens are all Kursed.

`In the Kursaal is the ball or concert-room, at either end of which is a gallery, supported by pillars of composition marble. The floors are

inlaid, and immense mirrors in sumptuous frames hang on the walls. Vice can see her own image all over the establishment. The ceiling is superbly decorated with bas-reliefs in carton-pierré, like those in Mr Barry's new Covent Garden Theatre; and fresco paintings, executed by Viotti, of Milan, and Conti, of Munich; whilst the whole is lighted up by enormous and gorgeous chandeliers. The apart-ment to the right is called the Salle Japanese, and is used as a dining-room for a monster table d'hôte, held twice a day, and served by the famous Chevet of Paris.

`There is a huge Café Olympique, for smoking and imbibing purposes, private cabinets for parties, the monster saloon, and two smaller ones, where *from eleven in the forenoon to eleven at night, Sundays not excepted, all the year round, and year after year — (the “administration&” have yet a “jouissance&” of eighty-five years to run out, guaranteed by the incoming dynasty of Hesse Darmstadt), knaves and fools, from almost every corner of the world, gamble at the ingenious and amusing games of Roulette, and Rouge et Noir, otherwise Trente et Quarante.

`There is one table covered with green baize,

tightly stretched as on a billiard-field. In the midst of the table there is a circular pit, coved inwards, but not bottomless, and containing the Roulette wheel, a revolving disc, turning with an accurate momentum on a brass pillar, and divided at its outer edge into thirty-seven narrow and shallow pigeon-hole compartments, coloured alternately red and black, and numbered — not consecutively — up to thirty-six. The last is a blank, and stands for Zero, number Nothing. Round the upper edge, too, run a series of little brass hoops, or bridges, to cause the ball to hop and skip, and not at once into the nearest compartment. This is the regimen of Roulette. The banker sits before the wheel, — a croupier, or payer-out of winnings to and raker in of losses from the players, on either side. Crying in a voice calmly sonorous, “Faites le Jeu, Messieurs,&” — “Make your game, gentlemen!&” the banker gives the wheel a dexterous twirl, and ere it has made one revolution, casts into its Maelstrom of black and red an ivory ball. The interval between this and the ball finding a home is one of breathless anxiety. Stakes are eagerly laid; but at a certain period of the revolution the banker calls out — “Le Jeu est fait. Rien ne va plus,&” — and after that intimation it is useless to lay down money. Then the banker, in the same calm and impassable voice, declares the result. It may run thus: — “Vingt-neuf, Noir, Impair, et Passe,&” “Twenty-nine, Black, Odd, and Pass the Rubicon&” (No. 18); or, “Huit, Rouge, Pair, et Manque,&” “Eight, Red, Even, and *not Pass the Rubicon.&”

`Now, on either side of the wheel, and extending to the extremity of the table, run, in duplicate, the schedule of *mises or stakes. The green baize first offers just thirty-six square compartments, marked out by yellow threads woven in the fabric itself, and bearing thirty-six consecutive numbers. If you place a florin (one and eight-pence) — and no lower stake is permitted — or ten florins, or a Napoleon, or an English five-pound note, or any sum of money not exceeding the maximum, whose multiple is the highest stake which the bank, if it loses, can be made to pay, in the midst of compartment 29, and if the banker, in that calm voice of his, has declared that 29 has become the resting place of the ball, the croupier will push towards you with his rake exactly thirty-three times the amount of your stake, whatever it might have been. You must bear in mind, however, that the bank's loss

on a single stake is limited to eight thousand francs. Moreover, if you have placed another sum of money in the compartment inscribed, in legible yellow colours, “Impair,&” or Odd, you will receive the equivalent to your stake — twenty-nine being an odd number. If you have placed a coin on Passe, you will also receive this additional equivalent to your stake, twenty-nine being “Past the Rubicon,&” or middle of the table of numbers — 18. Again, if you have ventured your money in a compartment bearing for device a lozenge in outline, which represents black, and twenty-nine being a black number, you will again pocket a double stake, that is, one in addition to your original venture. More, and more still, — if you have risked money on the columns — that is, betted on the number turning up corresponding with some number in one of the columns of the tabular schedule, and have selected the right column — you have your own stake and two others; — if you have betted on either of these three eventualities, douze premier, douze milieu, or douze dernier, otherwise “first dozen,&” “middle dozen,&” or “last dozen,&” as one to twelve, thirteen to twenty-four, twenty-five to thirty-six, all inclusive, and have chanced to select douze dernier, the division in which No. 29 occurs, you also obtain a treble stake, namely, your own and two more which the bank pays you, your florin or your five-pound note — benign fact! — metamorphosed into three. But, woe to the wight who should have ventured on the number “eight,&” on the red colour (compartment with a crimson lozenge), on “even,&” and on “not past the Rubicon;&” for twenty-nine does not comply with any one of these conditions. He loses, and his money is coolly swept away from him by the croupier's rake. With reference to the last chances I enumerated in the last paragraph, I should mention that the number *eight would lie in the second column — there being three columns, — and in the first dozen numbers.

`There are more chances, or rather subdivisions of chances, to entice the player to back the “numbers;&” for these the stations of the ball are as capricious as womankind; and it is, of course, extremely rare that a player will fix upon the particular number that happens to turn up. But he may place a piece of money à cheval, or astride, on the line which divides two numbers, in which case (either of the numbers turning up) he receives

sixteen times his stake. He may place it on the cross lines that divide four numbers, and, if either of the four wins, he will receive eight times the amount of his stake. A word as to Zero. Zero is designated by the compartment close to the wheel's diameter, and zero, or blank, will turn up, on an average, about once in seventy times. If you have placed money in zero, and the ball seeks that haven, you will receive thirty-three times your stake.'

The twin or elder brother of Roulette, played at Hombourg, Rouge et Noir, or Trente et Quarante, is thus described by Mr Sala: —

`There is the ordinary green-cloth covered table, with its brilliant down-coming lights. In the centre sits the banker, gold and silver in piles and rouleaux, and bank-notes before him. On either hand, the croupier, as before, now wielding the rakes and plying them to bring in the money, now balancing them, now shouldering them, as soldiers do their muskets, half-pay officers their canes, and dandies their silk umbrellas. The banker's cards are, as throughout all the Rhenish gaming-places, of French design; the same that were invented, or, at least, first used in Europe, for crazy Charles

the Simple. These cards are placed on an inclined plane of marble, called a talon.

`The dealer first takes six packs of cards, shuffles them, and distributes them in various parcels to the various punters or players round the table, to shuffle and mix. He then finally shuffles them, and takes and places the end cards into various parts of the three hundred and twelve cards, until he meets with a court card, which he must place upright at the end. This done, he presents the pack to one of the players to cut, who places the pictured card where the dealer separates the pack, and that part of the pack beyond the pictured card he places at the end nearest him, leaving the pictured card at the bottom of the pack.

`The dealer then takes a certain number of cards, about as many as would form a pack, and, looking at the first card, to know its colour, puts it on the table with its face downwards. He then takes two cards, one red and the other black, and sets them back to back. These cards are turned, and displayed conspicuously, as often as the colour varies, for the information of the company.

`The gamblers having staked their money on either of the colours, the dealer asks, “Votre jeu

est-il fait?&” “Is your game made?&” or, “Votre jeu est-il piêt?&” “Is your game ready?&” or, “Le jeu est prêt, Messieurs,&” “The game is ready, gentle-men.&” He then deals the first card with its face upwards, saying “Noir;' and continues dealing until the cards turned exceed thirty points or pips in number, which number he must mention, as “Trente-et-un,&” or “Trente-six,&” as the case may be.

`As the aces reckon but for one, no card after thirty can make up forty; the dealer, therefore, does not declare the tens after thirty-one, or upwards, but merely the units, as one, two, three; if the number of points dealt for Noir are thirty-five he says “Cinq.&”

`Another parcel is then dealt for rouge, or red, and with equal deliberation and solemnity; and if the players stake beyond the colour that comes to thirty-one or nearest to it, he wins, which happy eventuality is announced by the dealer crying — “Rouge gagne,&” “Red wins,&” or “Rouge perd,&” “Red loses.&” These two parcels, one for each colour, make a coup. The same number of parcels being dealt for each colour, the dealer says, “Après,&” “After.&” This is a “doublet,&” called in the amiable French tongue, “un refait,&” by which neither

party wins, unless both colours come to thirty-one, which the dealer announces by saying, “Un refait Trente-et-un, and he wins half the stakes posted on both colours. He, however, does not take the money, but removes it to the middle line, and the players may change the venue of their stakes if they please. This is called the first “prison,&” or la première prison, and, if they win their next event, they draw the entire stake. In case of another “refait,&” the money is removed into the third line, which is called the second prison. So you see that there are wheels within wheels, and Lord Chancellor King's dictum, that walls can be built higher, but there should be no prison within a prison, is sometimes reversed. When this happens the dealer wins all.

`The cards are sometimes cut for which colour shall be dealt first; but, in general, the first parcel is for black, and the second for red. The odds against a “refait&” turning up are usually reckoned as 63 to 1. The bankers, however, acknowledge that they expect it twice in three deals, and there are generally from twenty-nine to thirty-two coups in each deal. The odds in favour of winning several times are about the same as

in the game of Pharaon, and are as delusive. `He who goes to Hombourg and expects to see any melodramatic manifestation of rage, disappointment, and despair in the losing players, reckons without his host. Winners or losers seldom speak above a whisper; and the only sound that is heard above the suppressed buzz of conversation, the muffled jingle of the money on the green cloth, the “sweep&” of the croupiers' rakes, and the ticking of the very ornate French clocks on the mantel-pieces, is the impassibly me-tallic voice of the banker, as he proclaims his “Rouge perd,&” or “Couleur gagne.&” People are too genteel at Hombourg-von-der-Höhe to scream, to yell, to fall into fainting fits, or go into convulsions, because they have lost four or five thousand francs or so in a single coup.

`I have heard of one gentleman, indeed, who, after a ruinous loss, put a pistol to his head, and discharging it, spattered his brains over the Roulette wheel. It was said that the banker, looking up calmly, called out — `Triple Zero,' `Treble Nothing,' — a case as yet unheard of in the tactics of Roulette, but signifying annihilation, — and that, a cloth being thrown over the ensanguined wheel, the

bank of that particular table was declared to be closed for the day. Very probably the whole story is but a newspaper canard, devised by the proprietors of some rival gaming establishment, who would have been delighted to see the fashionable Hombourg under a cloud.

`When people want to commit suicide at Hombourg, they do it genteelly; early in the morning, or late at night, in the solitude of their own apartments at the hotels. It would be reckoned a gross breach of good manners to scandalize the refined and liberal administration of the Kursaal by undisguised felo-de-se. The devil on two croupes at Hombourg is the very genteelest of demons imaginable. He ties his tail up with cherry-coloured ribbon, and conceals his cloven foot in a patent-leather boot. All this gentility and varnish, and elegant veneering of the sulphurous pit, takes away from him, if it does not wholly extinguish, the honour and loathing for a common gaming-house, with which the mind of a well-nurtured English youth has been sedulously imbued by his parents and guardians. He has very probably witnessed the performance of the “Gamester&” at the theatre, and been a spectator of the remorseful

agonies of Mr Beverly, the virtuous sorrows of Mrs B., and the dark villanies of Messieurs Dawson and Bates.

`The first visit of the British youth to the Kursaal is usually paid with fear and trembling. He is with difficulty persuaded to enter the accursed place. When introduced to the saloons — delusively called de conversation, he begins by staring fixedly at the chandeliers, the ormolu clocks, and the rich draperies, and resolutely averts his eyes from the serried ranks of punters or players, and the Pactolus, whose sands are circulating on the green cloth on the table. Then he thinks there is no very great harm in looking on, and so peeps over the shoulder of a moustached gamester, who perhaps whispers to him in the interval between two coups, that if a man will only play carefully, and be content with moderate gains, he may win sufficient — taking the good days and the evil days in a lump — to keep him in a decent kind of affluence all the year round. Indeed, I once knew a croupier — we used to call him Napoleon, from the way he took snuff from his waistcoat pocket, who was in the way of expressing a grave conviction that it was possible to make a capital

living at Roulette, so long as you stuck to the colours, and avoided the Scylla of the numbers and the Charybdis of the Zero. By degrees, then, the shyness of the neophyte wears off. Perhaps in the course of his descent of Avernus, a revulsion of feeling takes place, and, horror-struck and ashamed, he rushes out of the Kursaal, determined to enter its portals no more. Then he temporizes; remembers that there is a capital reading-room, provided with all the newspapers and periodicals of civilized Europe, attached to the Kursaalian premises. There can be no harm, he thinks, in glancing over “Galignani&” or the “Charivari,&” although under the same roof as the abhorred Trente et Quarante; but, alas! he finds Galignani engaged by an acrid old lady of morose countenance, who has lost all her money by lunch-time, and is determined to “take it out in reading,&” and the Charivari slightly clenched in one hand by the deaf old gentleman with the dingy ribbon of the Legion of Honour, and the curly brown wig pushed up over one ear, who always goes to sleep on the soft and luxurious velvet couches of the Kursaal reading-room, from eleven till three, every day, Sundays not excepted. The disappointed student of home or foreign news wanders back to one of the apartments where play is going, on.* * * * In fact, he does not know what to do with himself until table-d'hôte time. You know what the moral bard, Dr Watts says: —

The unfledged gamester watches the play more narrowly. A stout lady in a maroon velvet mantle, and a man with a bald head, a black patch on his occiput, and gold spectacles, obligingly makes way for him. He finds himself pressed against the very edge of the table. Perhaps a chair — one of those delightfully comfortable Kursaal chairs — is vacant. He is tired with doing nothing, and sinks into the emolliently-cushioned fauteuil. He fancies that he has caught the eye of the banker, or one of the gentlemen of the croupe, and that they are meekly inviting him to try his luck. “Well, there can't be much harm in risking a florin,&” he murmurs. He stakes his silver-piece on a number or a colour. He wins, we will say, twice or thrice. Perhaps he quadruples his stake, nay, perchance, hits on the lucky number. It turns up, and he receives thirty-five times the amount of his mise. Thenceforth it

is all over with that ingenuous British youth. The Demon of Play has him for his own, and he may go on playing and playing until he has lost every florin of his own, or as many of those belonging to other people as he can beg or borrow. Far more fortunate for him would it be in the long run, if he met in the outset with a good swinging loss. The burnt child *does dread the fire as a rule; but there is this caprici-ous, almost preternatural, feature of the physiology of gaming, that the young and inexperienced generally win in the first instance. They are drawn on and on, and in and in. They begin to lose, and continue to lose, and by the time they have cut their wise teeth they have neither sou nor silver to make their dearly-bought wisdom available.

`At least one-half of the company may be assumed to be arrant rascals — rascals male and rascals female — chevaliers d'industrie, the offscourings of all the shut-up gambling-houses in Europe, demireps and lorettes, single and married women innumerable.'

In the course of the three visits he has paid to Hombourg, Mr Sala has observed that `nine-tenths of the English visitors to the Kursaal, play;' and he does not hesitate to say that the moths who

flutter round the garish lamps at the Kursaal Van der Höhe, and its kindred Hades, almost invariably singe their wings; and that the chaseer at Roulette and Rouge, generally turn out edged tools, with which those incautious enough to play with them are apt to cut their fingers, sometimes very dangerously.

The season of 1869 in Hombourg is thus depicted in a high class newspaper.

`Never within the memory of the oldest inhabitant (who in this instance must undoubtedly be that veteran player Countess Kisselef) has the town witnessed such an influx of tourists of every class and description. Hotels and lodging-houses are filled to overflowing. Every day imprudent travellers who have neglected the precaution of securing rooms before their arrival return disconsolately to Frankfort to await the vacation of some apartment which a condescending landlord has promised them after much negotiation for the week after next. The morning promenade is a wonderful sight; such a host of bilious faces, such an endless variety of eccentric costumes, such a Babel of tongues, among which the shrill twang of our fair American cousins is peculiarly prominent,

could be found in no other place in the civilized world. A moralist would assuredly find here abundant food for reflection on the wonderful powers of self-deception possessed by mankind. We all get up at most inconvenient hours, swallow a certain quantity of a most nauseous fluid, and then, having sacrificed so much to appearances, soothe our consciences with the unfounded belief that a love of early rising and salt water was our real reason for coming here, and that the gambling tables had nothing whatever to do with it. Perhaps, in some few instances, this view may be the correct one; some few invalids, say one in a hundred, may have sought Hombourg solely in the interest of an impaired digestion, but I fear that such cases are few and far between; and, as a friend afflicted with a mania for misquotation remarked to me the other day, even “those who come to drink remain to play.&”

`Certainly the demon of Rouge et Noir has never held more undisputed sway in Hombourg than in the present season; never have the tables groaned under such a load of notes and rouleaux. It would seem as if the gamblers, having only two or more years left in which to complete their ruin, were

hurrying on with redoubled speed to that desirable consummation, and where a stake of 12,000 francs is allowed on a single coup the pace can be made very rapid indeed. High play is so common that unless you are lucky enough to win or rich enough to lose a hundred thousand francs at least, you need not hope to excite either envy or commiseration. One persevering Muscovite, who has been punting steadily for six weeks, has actually succeeded in getting rid of a million of florins. As yet there have been no suicides to record, owing probably to the precautionary measures adopted by a paternal Administration. As soon as a gambler is known to be utterly cleared out he at once receives a visit from one of M. Blanc's officials, who offers him a small sum on condition he will leave the town forthwith; which viaticum, however, for fear of accidents, is only handed to him when fairly seated in the train that bears him away, to blow out his brains, should he feel so inclined, elsewhere. One of the most unpleasant facts connected with the gambling is the ardour displayed by many ladies in this very unfeminine pursuit: last night out of twenty-five persons seated at the Roulette table I counted no fewer than fifteen ladies, in cluding an American lady with her two daughters!

`The King of Prussia has arrived, and, with due deference to the official editors who have described in glowing paragraphs the popular demonstrations in his honour, I am bound to assert that he was received with very modified tokens of delight. There was not even a repetition of the triumphal arch of last year; those funereal black and white flags, whose sole aspect is enough to repress any exuberance of rejoicing, were certainly flapping against the hotel windows and the official flagstaffs, but little else testified to the joy of the Hombourgers at beholding their Sovereign. They manage these things better in France. Any French préfet would give the German authorities a few useful hints concerning the cheap and speedy manufacture of loyal enthusiasm. The foreigners, however, seem determined to atone amply for any lack of proper feeling on the part of the townspeople. They crowd round his Majesty as soon as he appears in the rooms or gardens, and mob the poor old gentleman with a vigour which taxes all the energies of his aides-de-camp to save their Royal master from death by suffocation. Need I

add that our old friend the irrepressible “'Arry&” is ever foremost in these gentlemanlike demonstrations?

`Of course the town swarms with well-known English faces; indeed, the Peers and M.P.s here at present would form a very respectable party in the two Houses. We are especially well off for dukes; the Fremdenliste notifies the presence of no fewer than five of those exalted personages. A far less respectable class of London society is also, I am sorry to say, strongly represented: I allude to those gentlemen of the light-fingered persuasion whom the outer world rudely designate as pickpockets. This morning two gorgeously arrayed members of the fraternity were marched down to the station by the police, each being decorated with a pair of bright steel handcuffs; seventeen of them were arrested last week in Frankfort at one fell swoop, and at the tables the row of lookers-on who always surround the players consists in about equal proportions of these gentry and their natural enemies — the detectives. Their booty since the beginning of the season must be reckoned by thousands. Mustapha Fazyl Pasha had his pocket picked of a purse containing £600, and a Russian

lady was lately robbed of a splendid diamond brooch valued at 75,000 francs.[79]

But the days of the Kursaal are numbered, and the glories or infamies of Hombourg are doomed.

`The fiat has gone forth. In five years[80] from this time the “game will be made&” no longer — the great gambling establishment of Hombourg will be a thing of the past. The town will be obliged to contend on equal terms with other watering-places for its share of the wool on the backs of summer excursionists.

`As most of the townspeople are shareholders in this thriving concern, and as all of them gain either directly or indirectly by the play, it was amusing to watch the anxiety of these worthies during the war between Austria and Prussia. Patriotism they had none; they cared neither for Austrian nor Prussian, for a great Germany nor for a small Germany. The “company&” was their god and their country. All that concerned them was to know whether the play was likely to be suppressed. When they were annexed to Prussia, at first they could not believe that Count Bismarck, whatever he might do with kings, would venture

to interfere with the “bank.&” It was to them a divine institution — something far superior to dynasties and kingdoms. . . .

`For a year the Hombourgers were allowed to suppose that their “peculiar institution&” was indeed superior to fate, to public opinion, and to Prussia; but at the commencement of the present year they were rudely awakened from their dreams of security. The sword that had been hanging over them fell. The directors of the company were ordered to appear before the governor of the town, and they were told that they and all belonging to them were to cease to exist in 1872, and that the following arrangement was to be made respecting the plunder gained until that date. The shareholders were to receive 10 per cent. on their money; 5000 shares were to be paid off at par each year, and if this did not absorb all the profits, the surplus was to go towards a fund for keeping up the gardens after the play had ceased. By this means, as there are now 36,000 shares, 25,000 will be paid off at par, and the remaining 11,000 will be represented by the buildings and the land belonging to the company, which it will be at liberty to sell to the highest bidder. Since this decree has been

promulgated the Hombourgers are in despair. The croupiers and the clerks, the Jews who lend money at high interest, the Christians who let lodgings, all the rogues and swindlers who one way or another make a living out of the play, fill the air with their complaints.

`Although no doubt individuals will suffer by the suppression of public play here, it is by no means certain that the town itself will not be a gainer by it. Holiday seekers must go somewhere. The air of Hombourg is excellent; the waters are invigorating; the town is well situated and easy of access by rail; living is comparatively cheap — a room may be had for about 18s. a week, an excellent dinner for 2s.; breakfast costs less than a shilling. Hombourg is now a fixed fact, and if the townspeople take heart and grapple with the new state of things — if they buy up the Kursaal, and throw open its salons to visitors; if they keep up the opera, the cricket club, and the shooting; if they have good music, and balls and concerts for those who like them, there is no reason why they should not attract as many visitors to their town as they do now.'[81]

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.

The gaming at Aix-la-Chapelle is equally desperate and destructive. `A Russian officer of my acquaintance,' says a writer in the Annual Register for 1818, `was subject, like many of his countrymen whom I have known, to the infatuation of play to a most ridiculous excess. His distrust of himself under the assailments which he anticipated at a place like Aix-la-Chapelle, had induced him to take the prudent precaution of paying in advance at his hotel for his board and lodging, and at the bathing-house for his baths, for the time he intended to stay. The remaining contents of his purse he thought fairly his own; and he went of course to the table all the gayer for the license he had taken of his conscience. On fortune showing him a few favours, he came to me in high spirits, with a purse full of Napoleons, and a resolute determination to keep them by venturing no more; but a gamester can no more be stationary than the tide of a river, and on the evening he was put out of suspense by having not a Napoleon left, and nothing to console but congratulation on his

foresight, and the excellent supper which was the fruit of it.'

Towards the end of the last century Aix-la-Chapelle was a great rendezvous of gamblers. The chief banker there paid a thousand louis per annum for his license. A little Italian adventurer once went to the place with only a few louis in his pocket, and played crown stakes at Hazard. Fortune smiled on him; he increased his stakes progressively; in twenty-four hours won about £4000. On the following day he stripped the bank entirely, pocketing nearly £10,000. He continued to play for some days, till he was at last reduced to a single louis! He now obtained from a friend the loan of £30, and once more resumed his station at the gaming table, which he once more quitted with £10,000 in his pocket, and resolved to leave it for ever. The arguments of one of the bankers, however, who followed him to his inn, soon prevailed over his resolution, and on his return to the gaming table he was stripped of his last farthing. He went to his lodgings, sold his clothes, and by that means again appeared at his old haunt, for the half-crown stakes, by which he honourably repaid his loan of £30. His end was unknown to the

relater of the anecdote, but `ten to one,' it was ruin.

At the same place, in the year 1793, the heir-apparent of an Irish Marquis lost at various times nearly £20,000 at a billiard table, partly owing to his antagonist being an excellent calculator, as well as a superior player.

A French emigrant at Aix-la-Chapelle, who carried a basket of tarts, liqueurs, &c., for regaling the gamesters, put down twenty-five louis at Rouge et Noir. He lost. He then put down fifteen, and lost again; at the third turn he staked ten; but while the cards were being shuffled, seeming to recollect himself, he felt all his pockets, and at length found two large French crowns, and a small one, which he also ventured. The deal was determined at the ninth card; and the poor wretch, who had lost his all, dashed down his basket, started from his seat, overturning two chairs as he forced the circle, tore off his hair, and with horrid blasphemies, burst the folding doors, and rushing out like a madman, was seen no more.

Another emigrant arrived here penniless, but meeting a friend, obtained the loan of a few crowns, nearly his all. With these he went to the rooms,

put down his stake, and won. He then successively doubled his stakes till he closed the evening with a hundred louis in his pocket. He went to his friend, and with mutual congratulations they resolved to venture no more, and calculated how long their gains would support them from absolute want, and thus seemed to strengthen their wise resolution.

The next night, however, the lucky gambler returned to the room --but only to be a spectator, as he firmly said. Alas! his resolution failed him, and he quitted the tables indebted to a charitable bystander for a livre or two, to pay for his petty refreshments.

It is said that the annual profit to the bankers was 120,000 florins, or £14,000.

`The very name of Aix-la-Chapelle,' says a traveller, `makes one think (at least, makes me think) of cards and dice, — sharks and pigeons. It has a “professional odour&” upon it, which is certainly not that of sanctity. I entered the Redoute with my head full of sham barons, German Catalinas, and the thousand-and-one popular tales of renowned knights of the green cloth, — their seducing confederates, and infatuated dupes.

`The rooms are well distributed; the saloons

handsome. A sparkling of ladies, apparently (and really, as I understood) of the best water, the élite, in short, of Aix-la-Chapelle, were lounging on sofas placed round the principal saloon, or fluttering about amidst a crowd of men, who filled up the centre of the room, or thronged round the tables that were ranged on one side of it.

`The players continued their occupation in death-like silence, undisturbed by the buzz or the gaze of the lookers-on; not a sound was heard but the rattle of the heaped-up money, as it was passed from one side of the table to the other; nor was the smallest anxiety or emotion visible on any countenance.

`The scene was unpleasing, though to me curious from its novelty. Ladies are admitted to play, but there were none occupied this morning. I was glad of it; indeed, though English travellers are accused of carrying about with them a portable code of morality, which dissolves or stiffens like a soap-cake as circumstances may affect its consistency, yet I sincerely believe that there are few amongst us who would not feel shocked at seeing one of the gentler sex in so unwomanly a position.'[82]

WIESBADEN.

The gambling here in 1868 has been described in a very vivid manner.

`Since the enforcement of the Prussian Sunday observance regulations, Monday has become the great day of the week for the banks of the German gambling establishments. Anxious to make up for lost time, the regular contributors to the company's dividends flock early on Monday forenoon to the play-rooms in order to secure good places at the tables, which, by the appointed hour for commencing operations (eleven o'clock), are closely hedged round by persons of both sexes, eagerly waiting for the first deal of the cards or the initial twist of the brass wheel, that they may try another fall with Fortune. Before each seated player are arranged precious little piles of gold and silver, a card printed in black and red, and a long pin, wherewith to prick out a system of infallible gain. The croupiers take their seats and unpack the strong box; rouleaux — long metal sausages composed of double and single florins, — wooden bowls brimming over with gold Frederics and Napoleons,

bank notes of all sizes and colours, are arranged upon the black leather compartment, ruled over by the company's officers; half-a-dozen packs of new cards are stripped of their paper cases, and swiftly shuffled together; and when all these preliminaries, watched with breathless anxiety by the surrounding speculators, have been gravely and carefully executed, the chief croupier looks round him — a signal for the prompt investment of capital on all parts of the table — chucks out a handful of cards from the mass packed together convenient to his hand — ejaculates the formula, “Faites le jeu!&” and, after half a minute's pause, during which he delicately moistens the ball of his dealing thumb, exclaims “Le jeu est fait, rien ne va plus,&” and proceeds to interpret the decrees of fate according to the approved fashion of Trente et Quarante. A similar scene is taking place at the Roulette table — a goodly crop of florins, with here and there a speck of gold shining amongst the silver harvest, is being sown over the field of the cloth of green, soon to be reaped by the croupier's sickle, and the pith ball is being dropped into the revolving basin that is partitioned off into so many tiny black and red niches. For the next twelve hours the processes in question are carried on swiftly and steadily, without variation or loss of time; relays of croupiers are laid on, who unobtrusively slip into the places of their fellows when the hours arrive for relieving guard; the game is never stopped for more than a couple of minutes at a time, viz., when the cards run out and have to be re-shuffled. This brief interruption is commonly considered to portend a break in the particular vein which the game may have happened to assume during the deal — say a run upon black or red, an alternation of coups (in threes or fours) upon either colour, two reds and a black, or vice versâ, all equally frequent eccentricities of the cards; and the heavier players often change their seats, or leave the table altogether for an hour or so at such a conjuncture. Curiously enough, excepting at the very commencement of the day's play, the habitués of the Trente et Quarante tables appear to entertain a strong antipathy to the first deal or two after the cards have been “re-made.&” I have been told by one or two masters of the craft that they have a fancy to see how matters are likely to go before they strike in, as if it were possible to deduce the future of the game from its past! That it is possible appears to be an article of faith with the old stagers, and, indeed, every now and then odd coincidences occur which tend to confirm them in their creed. I witnessed an occurrence which was either attributable (as I believe) to sheer chance, or (as its hero earnestly assured me) to instinct. A fair and frail Magyar was punting on numbers with immense pluck and uniform ill fortune. Behind her stood a Viennese gentleman of my acquaintance, who enjoys a certain renown amongst his friends for the faculty of prophecy, which, however, he seldom exercises for his own benefit. Observing that she hesitated about staking her double florin, he advised her to set it on the number 3. Round went the wheel, and in twenty seconds the ball tumbled into compartment 3 sure enough. At the next turn she asked his advice, and was told to try number 24. No sooner said than done, and 24 came up in due course, whereby Mdlle L. C. won 140 odd gulden in two coups, the amount risked by her being exactly four florins. Like a wise girl, she walked off with her booty, and played no more that day at Roulette. A few minutes later I saw an Englishman go through the performance of losing four thousand francs by experimentalizing on single numbers. Twenty times running did he set ten louis-d'ors on a number (varying the number at each stake), and not one of his selection proved successful. At the “Thirty and Forty&” I saw an eminent diplomatist win sixty thousand francs with scarcely an intermission of failure; he played all over the table, pushing his rouleaux backwards and forwards, from black to red, without any appearance of system that I could detect, and the cards seemed to follow his inspiration. It was a great battle; as usual, three or four smaller fish followed in his wake, till they lost courage and set against him, much to their discomfiture and the advantage of the bank; but from first to last — that is, till the cards ran out, and he left the table — he was steadily victorious. In the evening he went in again for another heavy bout, at which I chanced to be present; but fortune had forsaken him; and he not only lost his morning's winnings, but eight thousand francs to boot. I do not remember to have ever seen the tables so crowded — outside it was thundering, lightening, and raining as if the world were coming to an end, and the whole floating population of Wiesbaden was driven into the Kursaal by the weather. A roaring time of it had the bank; when play was over, about which time the rain ceased, hundreds of hot and thirsty gamblers streamed out of the reeking rooms to the glazed-in terrace, and the next hour, always the pleasantest of the twenty-four here and in Hombourg — at Ems people go straight from the tables to bed, — was devoted to animated chat and unlimited sherry— cobbler; all the “events&” of the day were passed in review, experiences exchanged, and confessions made. Nobody had won; I could not hear of a single great success — the bank had had it all its own way, and most of the “lions,&” worsted in the fray, had evidently made up their minds to “drown it in the bowl.&” The Russian detachment — a very strong one this year — was especially hard hit; Spain and Italy were both unusually low-spirited; and there was an extra solemnity about the British Isles that told its own sad tale. Englishmen, when they have lost more than they can afford, generally take it out of themselves in surly, brooding self-reproach. Frenchmen give vent to their disgust and annoyance by abusing the game and its myrmidons. You may hear them, loud and savage, on the terrace, “Ah! le salle jeu! comment peut-on se laisser éplucher par des brigands de la sorte! Tripôt, infâme, va! je te donne ma malédiction!&” Italians, again, endeavour to conceal their discomfiture under a flow of feverish gaiety. Germans utter one or two “Gotts donnerwetterhimmelsapperment!&” light up their cigars, drink a dozen or so “hocks,&” and subside into their usual state of ponderous cheerfulness. Russians betray no emotion whatever over their calamities, save, perhaps, that they smoke those famous little `Laferme' cigarettes a trifle faster and more nervously than at other times; but they are excellent winners and magnificent losers, only to be surpassed in either respect by their old enemy the Turk, who is facile princeps in the art of hiding his feelings from the outer world.

`The great mass of visitors at Wiesbaden this season, as at Hombourg, belong to the middle and lower middle classes, leavened by a very few celebrities and persons of genuine distinction. There are a dozen or two eminent men here, not to be seen in the play-rooms, who are taking the waters — Lord Clarendon, Baron Rothschild, Prince Sou-varof, and a few more — but the general run of guests is by no means remarkable for birth, wealth, or respectability; and we are shockingly off for

ladies. As a set-off against this deficiency, it would seem that all the aged, broken-down courtesans of Paris, Vienna, and Berlin have agreed to make Wiesbaden their autumn rendezvous. Arrayed in all the colours of the rainbow, painted up to the roots of their dyed hair, shamelessly décolletées, prodigal of “free&” talk and unseemly gesture, these ghastly creatures, hideous caricatures of youth and beauty, flaunt about the play-rooms and gardens, levying black-mail upon those who are imprudent enough to engage them in “chaff&” or badinage, and desperately endeavouring to hook themselves on to the wealthier and younger members of the male community. They poison the air round them with sickly perfumes; they assume titles, and speak of one another as “cette chère comtesse;&” their walk is something between a prance and a wriggle; they prowl about the terrace whilst the music is playing, seeking whom they may devour, or rather whom they may inveigle into paying for their devouring: and, bon Dieu! how they do gorge themselves with food and drink when some silly lad or aged roué allows himself to be bullied or wheedled into paying their scot! Their name is legion; and they constitute the very worst feature of a place which, naturally a Paradise, is turned into a seventh hell by the uncontrolled rioting of human passions. They have no friends — no “protectors;&” they are dependent upon accident for a meal or a piece of gold to throw away at the tables; they are plague-spots upon the face of society; they are, as a rule, crassly ignorant and horribly cynical; and yet there are many men here who are proud of their acquaintance, always ready to entertain them in the most expensive manner, and who speak of them as if they were the only desirable companions in the world!

`Amongst our notabilities of the eccentric sort, not the least singular in her behaviour is the Countess C — — o. an aged patrician of immense fortune, who is as constant to Wiesbaden as old Madame de K — — f is to Hombourg on the Heights. Like the last-named lady, she is daily wheeled to her place in the Black and Red temple, and plays away for eight or nine hours with wonderful spirit and perseverance. She has with her a suite of eight domestics; and when she wins (which is not often), on returning to her hotel at night, she presents each member of her retinue with — twopence! “not,&” as she naïvely avows, “from a feeling of

generosity, but to propitiate Fortune.&” When she loses, none of them, save the man who wheels her home, get anything but hard words from her; and he, happy fellow, receives a donation of six kreutzers. She does not curse the croupiers loudly for her bad luck, like her contemporary, the once lovely Russian Ambassadress; but, being very far advanced in years, and of a tender disposition, sheds tears over her misfortunes, resting her chin on the edge of the table. An edifying sight is this venerable dame, bearing an exalted title, as she mopes and mouths over her varying luck, missing her stake twice out of three times, when she fain would push it with her rake into some particular section of the table! She is very intimate with one or two antediluvian diplomatists and warriors, who are here striving to bolster themselves up for another year with the waters, and may be heard crowing out lamentations over her fatal passion for play, interspersed with bits of moss-grown scandal, disinterred from the social ruins of an age long past: Radetzky, Wratislaw (le beau sabreur), the two Schwarzenbergs (he of Leipsic, and the former Prime Minister), Paul Eszterhazy, Wrangel, and Blücher were friends of her youth; judging from her appearance, one would not be surprised to hear that she had received a “poulet&” from Baron Trenck, or played whist with Maria Theresa. She has outlived all human friendships or affections, and exists only for the chink of the gold as it jingles on the gaming table. I cannot help fancying that her last words will be “Rien ne va plus!&” She is a great and convincing moral, if one but interpret her rightly.'[83]

The doom of the German gaming houses seems to be settled. They will all be closed in 1872, as appears by the following announcement: —

`The Prussian government, not having been able to obtain from the lessees of the gaming tables at Wiesbaden, Ems, and Hombourg their consent to their cancelling of their contracts, has resolved to terminate their privileges by a legislative measure. It has presented a bill to the Chamber of Deputies at Berlin, fixing the year 1872 as the limit to the existence of these establishments, and even authorizing the government to suppress them at an earlier period by a royal ordinance. No indemnity is to be allowed to the persons holding concessions.' — Feb. 23, 1868.

A London newspaper defends this measure in a very successful manner.

`Prussia has declared her purpose to eradicate from the territories subject to her increased sway, and from others recognizing her influence, the disgrace of the Rouge et Noir and the Roulette table as public institutions. Her reasoning is to the effect that they bring scandal upon Germany; that they associate with the names of its favourite watering-places the appellation of “hells;&” that they attract swindlers and adventurers of every degree; and that they have for many a year past been held up to the opprobrium of Europe. For why should this practice be a lawful practice of Germany and of no other country in Europe? Why not in France, in Spain, in Italy, in the Northern States, in Great Britain itself? Let us not give to this last proposition more importance than it is worth. The German watering-places are places of leisure, of trifling, of ennui. That is why, originally, they were selected as encampments by the tribes which fatten upon hazards. But there was another reason: they brought in welcome revenues to needy princes. Even now, in view of the contemplated expurgation, Monaco is named,

with Geneva, as successor to the perishing glories of Hombourg, Wiesbaden, and the great Baden itself. That is to say, the gamblers, or, rather, the professionals who live upon the gambling propensities of others, having received from Prussia and her friends notice to quit, are in search of new lodgings.

`The question is, they being determined, and the accommodation being not less certainly ready for them than the sea is for the tribute of a river, will the reform designed be a really progressive step in the civilization of Europe? Prussia says — decidedly so; because it will demolish an infamous privilege. She affirms that an institution which might have been excusable under a landgrave, with a few thousand acres of territory, is inconsistent with the dignity and, to quote continental phraseology, the mission of a first-class state. Here again the reasoning is incontrovertible. Of one other thing, moreover, we may feel perfectly sure, that Prussia having determined to suppress these centres and sources of corruption, they will gradually disappear from Europe. Concede to them a temporary breathing-time at Monaco; the time left for even a nominally independent exist

ence to Monaco is short: imagine that they find a fresh outlet at Geneva; Prussia will have represented the public opinion of the age, against which not even the Republicanism of Switzerland can long make a successful stand. Upon the whole, history can never blame Prussia for such a use either of her conquests or her influence. Say what you will, gambling is an indulgence blushed over in England; abroad, practised as a little luxury in dissipation, it may be pardoned as venial; habitually, however, it is a leprosy. And as it is by habitual gamblers that these haunts are made to flourish, this alone should reconcile the world of tourists to a deprivation which for them must be slight; while to the class they imitate, without equalling, it will be the prohibition of an abomin-able habit.'[84]