The Gaming Table: Its Votaries and Victims (Vol.I&II). Andrew Steinmetz
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, inasmuch 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 compartments, 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 (a 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 expense 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)
(73) City of the Fountains, or Baden-Baden. By R. H. Whitelocke. Carlsruhe, 1840.
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.
(74) Originally published in the 'Welcome Guest.'
Whilst I write there is exhibited at the Egyptian Hall, London, Dore'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 Dore 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 blase. 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 Dore 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 habituee 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)
(75) 'Illustrated Times.'
'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