ROYAL GAMESTERS

Gambling, under one form or another, has always been a fashionable diversion at Court. Plutarch tells a story of Parysatis, mother of Cyrus, who played with the King, her husband, for the slave who had slain her son, and, as she excelled at playing a certain game with dice, she won him. History abounds in anecdotes of this kind, and we know how popular gambling was in the old days of the Roman Empire. Augustus, for instance, had the reputation of being fond of gambling, and Domitian, indeed, like most of the emperors, rarely passed a day without indulging in some gambling game.

Coming down to modern times, we find the practice more or less prevalent in most European Courts, having naturally met with greater patronage from some monarchs than others. Thus Alfonso of Castille tried to prevent gambling by founding orders of chivalry in which it was forbidden; and later, John of Castille, attempted to do the same by edict.

In spite of several lukewarm attempts to prevent it, gambling ever throve in France. Charles VI. lost one day five thousand livres to his brother, and in the reign of that monarch flourished the HÔtel de Nesle, which was notorious for its terrible gambling scandals, where—

It is recorded how Philibert de Chalon, Prince d’Orange, who was in command at the siege of Florence, under the Emperor Charles V., actually gambled away the money which had been confided to him for the pay of the soldiers, and “was compelled, after a struggle of eleven months, to capitulate with those whom he might have forced to surrender.” But when so much encouragement was given to gambling by royalty, it is by no means surprising that the vice prevailed almost everywhere, and was not confined to any one country, especially when many of the French kings were said to patronise and applaud well-known cheats at the gaming-table.[82]

The so-called cards of Charles VI., which are now in the BibliothÈque du Roi of Paris, are in all probability the most ancient of any that are preserved in the various public collections of Europe. They are but seventeen, painted on a gold ground, and surrounded by a silver border, in which is a ribbon rolled spirally round done in points.

It was at Bourges, in the ChÂteau du Berri, that the game of piquet was invented, as tradition tells us, by Lahire, as a pastime for Charles VII.

In an old account-book of the monarchs of France, we find that in 1392 there was paid about £8 of our present money for three packs; and the accounts of the jeweller to Queen Marie of Anjou contain this entry: “On the 1st of October, 1454, to William Bouchier, merchant, two games of cards and two hundred pins, delivered to Monsieur Charles of France, to play with, and amuse himself, five sals tournois.”

Henry IV. was an inveterate gambler, and, although not a skilful player, he is said to have been “greedy of gain, timid in high stakes, and ill-tempered when he lost.” In his reign gambling became the rage, and it appears from his Majesty’s letters to Sully that he sometimes played on credit, e.g. “I have lost at play 22,000 pistoles (220,000 livres); I beg you to pay them directly to Faideau, that he may distribute them to the persons to whom I owe them.”

“August 20, 1609.—Pay M. Edouard, Portuguese, 51,000 livres on account of what I owe him at play.”[83]

L’Estoile, referring to this period, says that an Italian named Pimentello gained more than a hundred thousand crowns in the Court circle, to which the King contributed 340,000 livres. It was this Pimentello who one day boasted to Sully of having frequently played with Henry IV., whereupon Sully indignantly replied: “By heavens! so you are the Italian blood-sucker who is every day winning the King’s money! You have fallen into the wrong box, for I neither like nor wish to have anything to do with such fellows.”

At this remark Pimentello got warm, but Sully, giving him a push, added, “Go about your business, your infernal gibberish will not alter my resolve. Go!” There can be no doubt that this Pimentello was a discreditable character, for, in order to aid his dishonesty, he is said to have induced the dice-sellers in Paris to substitute loaded dice instead of fair ones.

But, as Henry disliked losing, those who played with him had either to lose their money, or to offend his Majesty by beating him. On one occasion the Duke of Savoy, in order to humour Henry, dissimulated his game, thus sacrificing about £28,000. And so great was this king’s passion for the gaming-table that once when it was whispered to him that a certain princess whom he loved was in danger of falling into other arms, he said to Bassompierre, one of his courtiers, “Take care of my money, and keep up the game, whilst I am absent on particular business.”

One day when Henry IV. was dining with Sully, the latter had brought in at the close of the repast cards and dice, together with two purses of 4000 pistoles each, one for the King, the other to lend to the lords of his suite. Whereupon his Majesty exclaimed: “Great master, come and let me embrace you, for I love you as you deserve. I feel so comfortable here that I shall sup and stay the night.” But it has been suggested that the whole affair was by the King’s order. At last, if we are to believe the following anecdote, he was cured of gambling. After losing a large sum of money, he requested Sully to send him the amount, who hesitated for some time. Eventually, spreading it out before the King, he exclaimed, “There’s the sum.”

Henry fixed his eyes on the vast amount—sufficient to purchase Amiens from the Spaniards, who then held it—and then he sorrowfully said, “I am corrected; I will never again lose my money at gaming.”

A gaming quarrel was the cause of a slap in the face given by the Duc RenÉ to Louis XII., then Duc d’Orleans. This slap was the origin of a ligue which was termed “the mad war.” The resentment of the outraged prince was not appeased till he mounted the throne, when he uttered these memorable words: “A King of France does not avenge insults offered to a Duke of Orleans.” Similarly, on one occasion Casimir II., King of Poland, received a blow from a Polish subject, named Konarski, who had lost all he possessed in play. Thereupon he took to flight, and on being captured he was condemned to lose his head. But when brought before Casimir, his Majesty thus addressed him: “You, I perceive, are sorry for your fault; that is sufficient. Take your money again, and let us renounce gaming for ever.” And turning to his courtiers, the King added, “I am the only one to blame in this matter, for I ought not by my example to encourage a pernicious practice which may be the ruin of my nobility.”

Louis XIII. was adverse to gambling in any form, but Louis XIV. gave it every encouragement. Madame de SevignÉ thus describes a gaming party at which she was present: “I went on Saturday with Villars to Versailles. I need not tell you of the Queen’s toilette, the mass, the dinner—you know it all; but at three o’clock the King rose from table, and he, the Queen, monsieur, madame, mademoiselle, all the princes and princesses, Madame de Montespan, all her suite, all the courtiers, all the ladies, in short, what we call the Court of France, were assembled in that beautiful apartment which you know.” She then describes how “a table of reversi (a compound of loo and commerce) gives a form to the crowd, and a place to every one. The King is next to Madame de Montespan, who deals; the Duke of Orleans, the Queen, and Madame de Soubise; Dangeau & Co., LangÉe & Co.; a thousand louis are poured out on the cloth—there are no such other counters.... There is always music going on, which has a very good effect; the King listens to the music, and chats to the ladies about him. At last, at six o’clock, they stop playing; they have no trouble in settling their reckonings; there are no counters—the lowest pools are five, six, seven hundred louis, the great ones a thousand, or twelve hundred. They put in five each at first, that makes one hundred, and the dealer puts in ten more—then they give four louis each to whoever has Quinola (the knave of hearts). Some pass, others play; but whenever you play without winning the pool, you must pay in sixteen to teach you how to play rashly; they talk altogether, and forever, and of everything.”

This was the kind of amusement which characterised what Madame de SevignÉ has termed “the iniquitous Court,” and well she might tremble at the idea of her son joining such a company. She says, “He tells me he is going to play with his young master—the Dauphin. I shudder at the thought. Four hundred pistoles are very easily lost.”

Numerous anecdotes have been handed down of the disputes which arose at Court owing to the high play. On one occasion, when excessive gambling was going on at Cardinal Mazarin’s, the Chevalier de Rohan lost a large sum to the King. It had been arranged that the money was to be paid only in louis d’ors, and the Chevalier, after counting out seven or eight hundred, proposed to pay the remainder in Spanish pistoles.

“But you promised me louis d’ors, and not pistoles,” said the King.

“Since your Majesty refuses them,” replied the Chevalier, “I don’t want them either,” and thereupon he flung them out of the window.

The King, annoyed, complained to the Cardinal, who promptly answered, “The Chevalier de Rohan has played the King, and you the Chevalier de Rohan.”

Quite recently at Paris a jeu de Loye, made for the amusement of Louis XIV., in marqueterie of ivory, ebony, and coloured woods, fetched £9; the Grand Monarque’s game of chance having realised a higher price than the curls sold at the same auction, and which had once adorned the mistress of his predecessor on the throne.

At the death of Louis XIV., it is said that three-fourths of the nation thought of nothing but gambling, and incidentally may be noticed a little Court occurrence associated with Louis XV. At the royal card-table M. de Chauvelin was seized with a fit of apoplexy, of which he died. On seeing him fall, some one exclaimed, “M. de Chauvelin is ill!”

“Ill?” said the King, coldly turning round and looking at him; “he is dead. Take him away; spades are trumps, gentlemen!”

During the reign of Louis XVI. gambling “kept pace if it did not outstrip every other licentiousness of that epoch.” But Louis XVI. hated high play, and very often showed displeasure when the loss of large sums was mentioned. Bachaumont, in his Memoirs (tom. xii. p. 189), speaks of the singular precautions taken at play at his Court: “The bankers at the Queen’s table, in order to prevent the mistakes which daily happen, have obtained permission from his Majesty that, before beginning to play, the table shall be bordered by a ribbon entirely round it, and that no other money than that upon the cards beyond the ribbon shall be considered as staked.”[84]

But Marie Antoinette’s love of high play was almost a vice, and her gaming-table often witnessed scenes far from creditable to her sex or rank. Le Comte de Mercy informs us that the Emperor Joseph II.—not too severe a moralist—once sent a message to the Queen to the effect that “the play at the Queen’s table at Fontainebleau was like that in a common gambling-house; people of all kinds were there, and mingled without decorum; the Comte d’Artois and the Duc de Chartres displayed there every day some fresh trait of folly, and great scandal was caused by the fact that several ladies cheated.... Those who held the bank arrived on the 30th of October; they acted as tellers all night and during the morning of the 31st in the apartments of the Princess de Lamballe. The Queen remained till five o’clock in the morning. In the evening the Queen directed the play to begin again, and continued playing until late in the morning of the 1st of November—All Saints’ Day.” It is not surprising that frivolity and dissipation of this kind were much commented upon, and gave to slanderers much scope for their attacks on her conduct. In order, also, to manage the high play at the Queen’s faro tables, it was necessary to have a banker provided with large sums of money.

Charles X. was an habitual whist-player, and on the eve of his deposition enjoyed his “rubber”; and when as an exile the ex-king was the guest of Cardinal Weld at Lulworth Castle, near Wareham, his principal occupation was whist. Later on, during his sojourn at Prague, at eight, after dinner, the whist-table was prepared, “where the tranquillity of the evening was not disturbed unless Charles found himself with an indifferent partner. He could lose a crown by his own fault with great reluctance, but to lose a trick by the stupidity of his partner was beyond his patience.” But his equanimity was only temporarily ruffled, and then he was full of redundant apology.

Strange and pathetic is a well-known anecdote told of the great Napoleon. As “the prisoner of Europe” he arrived at his last dwelling-place on the 15th of October, and exactly one year before he had been playing at cards with his mother in his little saloon in the island of Elba; and as the illustrious lady was about to rise after losing the game, her imperial son said to her laughingly, “Pay your debts, madam, pay your debts!” Since that time, as Dr. Doran writes, “Napoleon had played a most serious game against a host of adversaries, and had been defeated. The winners called upon him to pay the penalty.”

But although Napoleon gambled with kingdoms, he did not do so with cards. Indeed, he despised gamblers, and it is said that when Las Casas in exile admitted that he had played, Napoleon declared that he was glad he had not known it, as gamblers were always ruined in his estimation. A story, however, has been told of his having sent Junot in 1796 to play in order to accumulate funds for the Italian campaign, a statement which there is every reason to disbelieve.

Catherine II. of Russia enjoyed a game of whist at ten roubles the rubber. And at one period she would admit the Chamberlain Tchertkof to make up the party, whose presence generally afforded some amusement. This individual, it is said, generally got into a rage, reproached her imperial majesty with not playing fair, and sometimes in vexation he threw the cards in her face, an outburst of temper which she invariably took good-humouredly.

An amusing story is told of one of the German sovereigns. A stranger, plainly dressed, took his seat at a faro-table when the bank was richer than usual. After looking on for a short time he challenged the bank, and tossed his pocket-book to the banker that he might be satisfied of his financial position. It was found to contain bills to a large amount, and on the banker showing reluctance to accept the challenge, the stranger sternly demanded that he should comply with the laws of the game. The card soon turned up which decided the ruin of the banker.

“Heavens!” exclaimed an old infirm Austrian officer who had sat next to the stranger, “the twentieth part of your gains would make me the happiest man in the universe!” Whereupon the stranger answered, “You shall have it then,” and quitted the room. A servant speedily returned, and presented the officer with the twentieth part of the bank, adding, “My master, sir, requires no answer.” The successful stranger was soon discovered to be no other than the King of Prussia in disguise.

Henry VIII.’s losses at cards and dice are said to have been enormous, but Anne Boleyn appears to have been a more fortunate gamester. A game much played at Court was Pope Julius’s game, or as it is sometimes called in the Privy Purse Expenses of Henry VIII., “Pope July’s game.” On the 20th of November 1532 we find this entry in the Privy Purse Expenses:—“Delivered to the King’s grace at Stone, £9, 6s. 8d., which his grace lost at ‘Pope Julius’s game’ to my lady marques [Anne Boleyn], Mr. Bryan, and Maister Weston.” On the 25th Henry lost twenty crowns to the same party at the same game, and the following day £18, 13s. 4d. On the 28th Anne wins £11, 13s. 4d. in a single-handed game of cards with her royal lover, and on the next day Henry loses £4 at Pope Julius’s game. Henry was an inveterate gamester, and Erasmus in some emphatic words addressed to him bears witness that his queen, Catherine of Aragon, did not suffer such vain pursuits to divert her mind from duties. “Your noble wife,” says he, “spends that time in reading the sacred volume which other princesses occupy in cards and dice.” Henry VIII. gambled away the famous Jesus Campanile bell at St. Paul’s with the great folk-mote bell which summoned the assemblies of the citizens with a throw of the dice at hazard to Sir Miles Patridge, who pulled it down. “But,” adds Spelman in his “History of Sacrilege,” “in the fifth year of King Edward VI. the gamester had worse fortune when he lost his life, being executed on Tower Hill.”

Queen Mary in her young days was fond of betting and wagers, and many items of high play and of money lost by her have been preserved. She lost a frontlet, for instance, in a wager with her cousin, Lady Margaret Douglas, for which she paid four pounds. It is said that the Princess Mary not only pledged caps but lost breakfasts at bowls, which was then a fashionable amusement; “and to counterbalance these vanities she paid for the education of a poor child and the expense of binding him apprentice.”[85] The frontlets referred to above were the ornamented edges of coifs or caps, some of which were edged with gold lace and others with pearls and diamonds. Hence they were occasionally very expensive and cost a high price, and on this account they might easily be given in payment of wagers, or losses incurred through high play.

Through the evil influence of the Duchesses of Portsmouth and Mazarine, excessive gambling became one of the prevailing vices of the Court of Charles II., although his Majesty was not addicted to deep playing, or pursued cards otherwise than as an amusement. Queen Catherine was fond of ombre—which was probably introduced by her into this country—and quadrille, and if she played it was for the sake of the diversion rather than the stake. But the Duchess of Portsmouth had been known to lose five thousand guineas at a sitting, and on the evening of February 1, 1685—the last Sunday that Charles II. was permitted to spend on earth—“the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were playing at basset round a large table, with a bank of at least two thousand pounds before them. The king though not engaged in the game was to the full as scandalously occupied,”[86] “sitting,” writes Evelyn, “in open dalliance with three of the shameless women of the Court, the Duchesses of Portsmouth, Morland, and Mazarine, and others of the same stamp, while a French boy was singing love-songs in that glorious gallery. Six days after,” he adds, “all was in the dust.”

Pepys, too, alludes to the practice of card-playing on Sunday initiated by Catherine into the English Court, and writes: “This evening, going to the queen’s side to see the ladies, I did find the queen, the Duchess of York, and another at cards, with the room full of ladies and great men, which I was amazed to see on a Sunday, having not believed, but contrarily flatly denied the same a little while to my cousin.”

In the ensuing reign, basset and other gambling games were in high vogue in Court and fashionable society. Mary Beatrice, consort of James II., disliked cards, and was frightened at the idea of high play; but, it seems, her ladies told her she must do as others did, or she would become unpopular. Accordingly her reluctance was overcome by their importunities, and soon she was to be seen at the card-table, losing, time after time, large sums of money at a game in playing which she found no pleasure. In after years she was apt to say: “I suffered great pain from my losses at play, and all for the want of a little firmness in not positively refusing to comply with a custom which those who were so much older than myself told me I was not at liberty to decline. I shall always regret my weakness, since it deprived me of the means of doing the good I ought to have done at that time.” Such was the acknowledgment made nearly forty years afterwards of what she always regarded as an inexcusable error on her part.

Like her sister Anne, Mary II. was in her early life a constant card-player, and, not satisfied with devoting her week-day evenings to this diversion, she played on the Sabbath. In after years she maintained her love for cards, and we find her playing at basset, a game much in request throughout the Courts of Europe, and at which vast sums were won and lost. After the peace of Mimeguen, the Marquis d’Avaux, the ambassador from Louis XIV., sent word on the morning of December 3, 1680, to Monsieur Odyke—an official in the household of the princess—that he would wait on her that evening. But he forgot to give the notice, so that when the French Ambassador arrived he found the princess had commenced her gambling. She rose and asked him if he would play; he made no answer, and she resumed her game, the ambassador sitting down and looking on. After a while he joined in the game, and the Prince of Orange, who arrived shortly afterwards, did the same. According to strict etiquette, however, as the visit of the ambassador had been previously announced, the basset tables should not have been set till his arrival.

William III., too, was much given to gambling. He passed whole days on the race-ground, and in the evenings he gambled, losing at one sitting, it is said, four thousand guineas at basset. The following morning, in a state of exasperated temper, he gave a gentleman a stroke with his horsewhip for riding in front of him on the race-ground. The proceeding was the subject of much comment, and was satirised by a bon-mot, declaring “that it was the only blow he had struck for supremacy in his kingdoms.” William appears to have lost enormous sums at the basset-table, and his inveterate habit of gambling, added to the passion of his princess for cards, caused, as might be expected, the scandalmongers of the period to scatter broadcast the most derogatory stories respecting their Sunday gambling parties, a practice which brought down the most unsparing remonstrances of the Church of England clergymen, and caused Mary’s old tutor, Dr. Lake, the greatest concern.

It would seem that the game of basset occupied a considerable portion of Queen Anne’s time, “breaking into her hours by day as well as by night.” At the basset-table the players so closely crowded her Majesty that she could scarcely “put her hand in her pocket,” an obligation, it is said, not infrequent, since she was usually unfortunate at play. Allusions to the game occur in her correspondence, as, for instance, in a letter to the Duchess of Marlborough, written in 1703, dated “Monday night,” and which runs thus: “Just as I came from basset I received my dear Mrs. Freeman’s letter, and though it is very late, I cannot be content with myself without thanking you for it.” It is not surprising that there was a great and constant drain on the privy-purse when so much was drawn out of it to meet the demands for play-money.

At the period of George II.’s reign there were cards everywhere. “Gaming has become so much the fashion,” writes Seymour, the author of the “Court Gamester,” “that he who in company should be ignorant of the games in vogue, would be reckoned low-bred and hardly fit for conversation.” On Twelfth Day it was customary for the Court to play in state. “This being Twelfth-day his Majesty, the Prince of Wales, and the Knights Companions of the Garter, Thistle, and Bath appeared in the collars of their respective orders. Their Majesties, the Prince of Wales, and three eldest Princesses went to the Chapel Royal, preceded by the heralds. The Duke of Manchester carried the Sword of State. The King and Prince made offerings at the altar of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, according to the annual custom. At night their Majesties played at hazard with the nobility, for the benefit of the groom-porter; and ’twas said the King won 600 guineas; the Queen, 360; Princess Amelia, twenty; Princess Caroline, ten; the Duke of Grafton and the Earl of Portmore, several thousands.”

George II. was once seated at a card-table, when the Countess of Deloraine, who usually formed one of his intimate society, happened to be one of the party at the game. In the midst of the play one of the Princesses quietly glided behind Lady Deloraine, and suddenly drawing the chair from under her caused her to fall on the ground. The King, by his excessive laughter, showed himself highly amused at the occurrence, which so enraged Lady Deloraine that, some time afterwards seizing the King’s chair, she occasioned him the same mishap which she had experienced herself.

But George, says Horace Walpole, “like Louis XIV., was mortal in the part which touched the ground.” Diverted as he had been when the misfortune occurred to another, he regarded the insult as unpardonable when offered to himself, and henceforth Lady Deloraine was banished the Court.[87]

The Princess Amelia Sophia, daughter of George II., was fond of the card-table, and Horace Walpole, who was frequently invited to her card-parties, has given many a graphic picture of the Princess on these occasions. She was a great snuff-taker, and on one occasion, when playing at cards in the public rooms at Bath, a general officer took a pinch from her box, the Princess showing her sense of the liberty he had taken by ordering an attendant to throw the contents of the box into the fire.

But the Princess’s addiction to play was the cause of comment even in the royal circle. Doddington was once conversing with the widow of Frederick Prince of Wales respecting the tastes of her eldest son—afterwards George III.—when “she began by saying that she liked the Prince should now and then amuse himself at small play, but that princes should never play deep, both for example, and because it did not become them to win great sums.” From thence, says Doddington, she told me that “it was highly improper the manner in which the Princess —— behaved at Bath; that she played publicly all the evening very deep.” I asked, with whom? She said, “With the Duke and Duchess of Bedford; that it was prodigious what work she made with Lord Chesterfield; that when his lordship was at Court she would speak to him; but that now at Bath she sent to inquire of his coming before he arrived; and when he came she sent her compliments to him, expecting him at all her parties at play, and that he should always sit by her in the public rooms that he might be sure of a warm place.” Numerous anecdotes of this kind have been recorded illustrative of the gambling tastes of the Princess; and yet notwithstanding the prosecution of her favourite occupation, which frequently kept her from rest till a very late hour, she continued an early riser throughout her life.[88]

George IV., when Prince of Wales, surpassed all his predecessors in his gambling propensities, having lost, it is said, not much less than £800,000 before he was twenty-one years of age—a habit which he probably contracted through his intimacy with Fox. “It was with the view,” it is said, “and in the hope that marriage would cure his love of the gaming table, that his father was so anxious to see him united to Caroline; and it was solely on account of his marriage with that princess constituting the only condition of his debts being paid by the country that he agreed to marry her.” Indeed, George IV. was, as Thackeray says,[89] “a famous pigeon for the play-men;” they lived upon him. EgalitÉ Orleans, it was believed, punished him severely. A noble lord is said to have mulcted him in immense sums. He frequented the clubs where play was almost universal, and, as it was known his debts of honour were sacred, whilst he was gambling, Jews waited outside to purchase his notes of hand.

Wraxall, in the “Memoirs of his own Time,” describing the royal residence at Luneville, of the ex-Polish monarch, Stanislaus Leczinski, says that during the last years of his life he withdrew every night at nine o’clock, when his departure constituted the signal for commencing faro. All the persons of both sexes, comprising his Court and household, joined in the game, which was continued to a late hour. But, as Dr. Doran says, “a circumstance seemingly incredible is that the rage for it became such as to attract by degrees to the table all the domestics of the palace, down to the very turnspits or scullions, who, crowding round, staked their Écus on the cards over the heads of the company.” Such a fact, according to Wraxall, proves the relaxation of manners which prevailed at the Court of Lorraine under Stanislaus.