Part 2

Occasionally men of this stamp have been known to have accumulated a fortune, more often a respectable competency, at play. If they had been interrogated as to the exact means by which they had made their success, they would, had they been desirous of speaking the truth, have replied in the words of the wife of the Maréchal d'Ancre, who, when she was asked what charm she had made use of to fascinate the mind of the queen, "The charm," she replied, "which superior abilities always exercise over weaker minds."

The minor forms of gambling, which serve to gratify the speculative instincts of ordinary mortals, have generally possessed little attraction for great men, whose minds would seem to have been occupied by more ambitious, though perhaps in essence not less speculative, designs. Napoleon, for example, was a very poor card-player, and from all accounts never indulged in any serious gambling. The great Duke of Wellington, though he was once accused of being much addicted to playing hazard, would also seem to have entertained no particular fondness for play. In the course of a letter which he wrote in 1823 to a Mr. Adolphus, who had publicly referred to his supposed love of play, the great Captain wrote "that never in the whole course of his life had he ever won or lost £20 at any game, and that he had never played at hazard or any game of chance in any public place or club, nor been for some years at all at any such place." Nevertheless, the Duke became an original member of Crockford's in 1827, though there is no record of his ever having played there.

Another great soldier, on the other hand, repeatedly lost large sums at play. This was Blücher, who was inordinately fond of gambling. Much to his disgust this passion was inherited by his son, who had often to be rebuked by his father for his visits to the gaming-table, and was given many a wholesome lecture upon his youth and inexperience, and the consequent certainty of loss by coming in contact with older and more practised gamblers. One morning, however, young Blücher presented himself before his father, and exclaimed with an air of joy, "Sir, you said I knew nothing about play, but here is proof that you have undervalued my talents," pulling out at the same time a bag of roubles which he had won the preceding night. "And I said the truth," was the reply; "sit down there, and I'll convince you." The dice were called for, and in a few minutes old Blücher won all his son's money; whereupon, after pocketing the cash, he rose from the table observing, "Now you see that I was right when I told you that you would never win."

If, however, it would seem to be the case that few, if any, of the world's very greatest minds have been addicted to gambling, it is no less true that outside this select band all classes have been, and are, equally subject to the passion. Nothing, indeed, is more extraordinary than the fact that it has been observed to exercise the same fascination on men of the most diverse characters and dispositions--on rich and poor, educated and uneducated, young and old, learned and ignorant.

Moreover, unlike other passions, the love of gambling generally remains unimpaired by age, and instances of people of advanced years expending their few remaining energies at the card-table are not rare. There is the story of the venerable old north-country lady whom a visitor found looking very red-eyed and weary. "I fear you are suffering from a bad cold?" he inquired, solicitously. "Eh, I'se gat na cauld," was the reply; "some friends kem from Kendal on Tuesday that love a game a whist dearly, and I'se bin carding the morn and e'en, the e'en an' the morn, twa days." "Indeed, and what might you have won?" "Eh," she replied, with considerable satisfaction, "it mun be a shilling."

At first sight, also, one would think that avarice and passion for play were absolutely incompatible; yet there are not a few striking instances of the two vices being combined--by men to whom the spending of a few shillings was agony, but who would risk thousands at cards with comparative equanimity. Such an one was the celebrated Mr. Elwes, who combined a passion for gambling with habits of the greatest penury. He was originally a Mr. Meggot, the name of Elwes being assumed under the terms of the will of his uncle. Sir Harvey Elwes.

Sir Harvey was himself the perfect type of a miser. Timid, shy, and diffident in the extreme, he kept his household, which consisted of one man and two maid-servants, chiefly upon game from his own land and fish from his own ponds; the cows which grazed before his door furnished milk, cheese, and butter for the establishment; and what fuel he burned his own woods supplied. As he had no acquaintances and no books, the hoarding-up and the counting of his money was his greatest delight. Next to that came partridge catching--or setting, as it was then called--at which he was so great an adept that he was known to take five hundred brace of birds in one season. What partridges were not consumed by his household he turned out again, as he never gave anything away. At all times he wore a black velvet cap much over his face, a worn-out, full-dress suit of clothes, and an old great-coat, with worsted stockings drawn up over his knees. He rode a thin thoroughbred horse, and the horse and his rider looked as if a gust of wind would have blown them away together.

At the time Mr. Meggot succeeded to the name and fortune of his uncle he was over forty, having for about fifteen years previously been well-known in the most fashionable circles of the West End. He was a gambler at heart, and only late in life did he succeed in obtaining any mastery over his passion for play. His losses were great, but this was mainly because while he himself always paid when he lost, his opponents were not always so scrupulous, and it was notorious that the sums owed to him in this way were very considerable. But he professed the quixotic theory that "it was impossible to ask a gentleman for money"; and to his honour, but financial disadvantage, he adhered strictly to this rule throughout his life.

The acquaintances which he had formed at Westminster School and at Geneva, together with his own large fortune, all conspired to introduce Mr. Elwes (then Mr. Meggot) into whatever society he best liked. He was at once admitted a member of the club at Arthur's, and of various other similar institutions; and as a proof of his notoriety as a gambler, it may be mentioned that he, Lord Robert Bertie, and some others, are noticed in a scene in _The Adventures of a Guinea_ for the frequency of their midnight orgies. Few men, even on his own acknowledgment, had played deeper than himself, or with such varying success. He once played two days and a night without intermission; and the room being a small one, the company were nearly up to their knees in cards. He lost some thousands at that sitting. The Duke of Northumberland was of the party--another man who never would quit the gaming-table while any hope of winning remained.

Even at this period, Mr. Elwes' passion for gaming was equalled by his avarice, and in a curious manner he contrived to mingle small attempts at saving with pursuits of the most unbounded dissipation. After sitting up a whole night playing for thousands with the most fashionable and profligate men of the time--in ornate and brilliantly-lighted salons, with obsequious waiters attendant upon his call--he would walk out about four in the morning, not towards his home, but into Smithfield, to meet his own cattle, which were coming up to market from Thaydon Hall, a farm of his in Essex. There would this same man, forgetful of the scenes he had just left, stand in the cold or rain, haggling with a carcass butcher for a shilling. Sometimes when the cattle did not arrive at the hour he expected, he would walk on in the mire to meet them; and more than once he actually trudged the whole way to his farm, seventeen miles from London--a tedious walk after sitting up the whole of the night at play!

Though he never engaged personally upon the Turf, Mr. Elwes was in the habit of making frequent excursions to Newmarket, and a kindness which he once performed there is worthy of recollection. Lord Abingdon, who was slightly known to Mr. Elwes, had made a match for £7000 which it was supposed he would be obliged to forfeit from an inability to produce the sum--though the odds were greatly in his favour. Unsolicited, Mr. Elwes made him an offer of the money; he accepted it, and won the engagement.

On the day this match was to be run a clerical neighbour had agreed to accompany Mr. Elwes to Newmarket. As was the latter's custom they set out on their journey at seven in the morning, and, with the hope of a substantial breakfast at Newmarket, the clergyman took no refreshment before starting. They reached Newmarket about eleven, and Mr. Elwes busied himself in inquiries and conversation till twelve, when the match was decided in favour of Lord Abingdon. The divine then fully expected that they should move off to the town for breakfast; but Elwes still continued riding about on one business or another. Eventually four o'clock arrived; and by this time his reverence had become so impatient that he murmured something about the "keen air of Newmarket heath" and the comforts of a good dinner. "Very true," replied Elwes, "have some of this," offering him at the same time a piece of old, crushed pancake from his great-coat pocket. He added that he had brought it from his house at Marcham two months before, but "that it was as good as new." The sequel of the story was that they did not reach home till nine in the evening, when the clergyman was so tired that he gave up all other refreshment for rest. On the other hand, Elwes, who had hazarded seven thousand pounds in the morning, retired happily to bed with the pleasing recollection of having saved three shillings.

In later life Mr. Elwes was elected to Parliament, where he proved himself an independent country member and exhibited great conscientiousness. During this time he had the greatest admiration for Mr. Pitt, and was wont to declare that in all the statesman's words there were "pounds, shillings, and pence." When he quitted Parliament, he was, in the common phrase, "a fish out of water." He had for some years been a member of a card-club, at the Mount Coffee-House, and it was there that he consoled himself for the loss of his seat. The play was moderate, and he enjoyed the fire and candles which were provided at the expense of the Club; but fortune seemed resolved to force from him that money which no power could persuade him to bestow. He still retained his fondness for play, and imagined that he had no small skill at piquet. It was his ill-luck on one occasion to meet a gentleman who had the same idea of his own powers in this direction, and on much better grounds; for after a contest of two days and a night, in which Elwes continued with the perseverance which avarice will sometimes inspire, he rose the loser of no less than three thousand pounds. The debt was paid by a draft on Messrs. Hoare, which was duly honoured the next morning.

This is said to have been the last bout of gaming indulged in by Mr. Elwes, and not long afterwards he retired to his country seat at Stoke, remarking that "he had lost a great deal of money very foolishly, but that a man grew wiser by time." After this no gleam of pleasure or amusement broke through the gloom of a penurious life, and his insatiable desire of saving became uniform and systematic. He still rode about the country on an old brood mare (which was all he had left); but then he rode her very economically, on the soft turf adjoining the road, so as to avoid the cost of shoes. His household expenses were reduced to a minimum, his few wants being attended to by a man who became almost as celebrated as his master. This extraordinary servant acted as butler, coachman, gardener, huntsman, groom, and valet; and was, according to Mr. Elwes, "a d----d idle rascal" into the bargain.

Mr. Elwes died in 1789 and left an enormous fortune for that day, about five hundred thousand pounds being divided between his two natural sons.

Mr. Elwes' record of having played piquet for two days and a night (thirty-six successive hours) was a remarkable one, for the physical strain involved by playing for such a long period is very considerable. Yet the fascination of remaining at the gaming-table for a long stretch of time frequently takes possession of those addicted to play. As a rule it is not by any means caused solely by the consideration of the stakes played for; it would rather seem that the players become mere automatic gaming machines, the mechanism of which runs steadily on. Several years ago a noticeable instance of this occurred in a London Club, where, on a certain evening, a small party had been playing écarté for fairly moderate stakes. The game began about eleven o'clock; some three or four hours later only two players remained. As the time went on, fine after fine was incurred by this couple, but still they continued playing--until they passed the hour when expulsion was the penalty exacted from any member still remaining in the Club-house. They were still playing when morning broke, and though horrified and sleepy-eyed waiters informed them that they could no longer continue, their only answer was to stop the clock, an irritating reminder of the fleeting hours. In this fashion they continued till one o'clock the next afternoon, when, having realised that their escapade was a serious one, they strolled through a crowd of outraged members into the brilliant sunlight which, as if in irony, chanced that morning to be flooding the street. It should be added that before leaving the Club-house--for ever, as it turned out--the two culprits prudently wrote out their resignations. The curious thing was that the stakes during this sitting were by no means high, and the sums which changed hands were consequently comparatively small.

Rowlandson, the artist, who was a well-known figure at most of the fashionable gaming-houses of his time, frequently played through a night and the next day. On one occasion he remained at the hazard table for thirty-six hours without a break, the only refreshment which he took being brought to him in the gambling-room. Rowlandson, who was a most honourable man, was generally unlucky, and lost several legacies at play. His imperturbability was remarkable, and he never exhibited the slightest emotion whether he won or lost.

At the Roxburgh Club in St. James's Square--at the time when it was kept by Raggett, the well-known proprietor of White's--Hervey Combe, Tippoo Smith, Mr. Ward (a member of Parliament), and the distinguished Indian General, Sir John Malcolm, once sat from Monday evening till Wednesday morning at eleven o'clock, playing whist. Even then, they would very likely have continued playing, had not Hervey Combe been obliged to attend the funeral of one of his partners. Combe, who had won thirty thousand pounds from Sir John Malcolm, jocularly told him that he could have his revenge whenever he liked. "Thank you," replied Sir John, "another sitting like this would oblige me to return to India again!"

In all probability, however, the longest duel at cards which ever took place occurred in the eighteenth century at Sulzbach, where the famous adventurer, Casanova, made the acquaintance of an officer, d'Entragues by name, who was very fond of piquet. For four or five days in succession the Venetian and this officer played after dinner. At the end of that time, however, Casanova declined to play any more, having come to the conclusion that his opponent made a regular practice of rising from the table directly he had won ten or twelve louis. He adhered to this resolution for a day or two, but d'Entragues became quite importunate in offers to give him his revenge.

"I do not care to play," was the reply of Casanova, given with some effrontery. "We are not the same kind of gamblers. I play only for my pleasure and because the game amuses me, whilst you play merely to win."

"If I understand you rightly," was the retort, "this is deliberate rudeness!"

"I did not mean to be rude; but every time we have played you have left me in the lurch at the end of an hour."

"A proof of my solicitude for your pocket, for as you are a worse player than I, you would have lost a great deal had we continued."

"Possibly, but I don't believe it."

Eventually it was agreed that they should resume their contest, but that the player who was the first to rise from the piquet-table should forfeit fifty louis to his opponent. The stakes were five louis a hundred points, ready money only to be played for.

The game began at three in the afternoon; at nine d'Entragues proposed supper. Casanova said he was not hungry; whereupon his opponent laughed, and the game was continued. The onlookers, who were fairly numerous, went to supper, afterwards returning to remain till midnight, when the players were left alone with a croupier who attended to the accounts, the only utterances heard being those connected with the game.

From six in the morning, when the visitors who were taking the Sulzbach waters began to be about, the contest excited the greatest public interest. Casanova was now losing a hundred louis, though his luck had not been very bad.

At nine o'clock a lady, Madame Saxe by name, to whom d'Entragues was very devoted, arrived upon the scene and persuaded each of the combatants to partake of a cup of chocolate. D'Entragues was the first to consent to this; he believed that his opponent was near to giving in.

"Let us agree," he proposed, "that whoever asks for food, leaves the room for more than a quarter of an hour, or goes to sleep in his chair, shall be deemed the loser."

"I take you at your word," was Casanova's reply; "and shall be ready to hold to any other irritating conditions you may suggest."

The game proceeded. At twelve o'clock another meal was announced, but both players still declared that they were not hungry; at four, however, they took some soup. Towards supper-time the onlookers began to think that matters were going too far. Madame Saxe then made a suggestion that the stakes should be divided, but to this proposal Casanova firmly declined to consent. At this moment d'Entragues might have risen from the table a winner even after having paid the forfeit, for besides being the better player luck had favoured him. Nevertheless, his pride prevented him from abandoning what had degenerated into a mere contest of endurance. His appearance had become that of a corpse which had been disinterred, in striking contrast to the still normal looks of Casanova, who, to the remonstrances of Madame Saxe, replied that he would only give up the struggle by falling down dead.

The night wore on, and once more the players were left alone. By this time d'Entragues was showing evident signs of complete exhaustion, which was increased by an altercation about some trifling point raised by Casanova with the express purpose of further weakening his opponent's resistance.

At nine o'clock next morning Madame Saxe arrived to find her lover losing, and so dazed that he could hardly shuffle the cards, count, or properly discard. Once more she appealed to Casanova, pointing out to him that he could now rise a winner. In a tone of great gallantry the latter replied that he would agree to abandon the struggle if the forfeit were declared void, a condition to which d'Entragues declined to assent. The latter, though very weak, showed considerable annoyance at the manner in which Casanova had spoken to Madame Saxe, and declared that for his part he should not leave the table till either he or his opponent lay dead upon the floor.

In due course of time soup was again brought to the players, but d'Entragues, who was now in the last stage of weakness, fell down in a dead faint almost immediately after the cup had been raised to his lips, and in this condition he was carried away to bed. On the other hand, Casanova, after having given half a dozen louis to the croupier (who had been awake for forty-two consecutive hours), leisurely put the gold he had won in his pockets, and strolled out to a chemist's where he purchased a mild emetic. He then went to bed and slept lightly for a few hours, getting up about three o'clock in the afternoon with an excellent appetite. His opponent did not appear till the next day, when, much to his credit, he told Casanova that he bore him no ill-will, and was on the contrary grateful to him for a lesson which he should remember all the days of his life.

Casanova was not always as successful as this in his gambling enterprises, which indeed occasionally involved him in unpleasant situations; but like most adventurers of his type and age he was seldom depressed by losses. He would appear to have generally dominated other gamesters whom he met--a state of affairs which was probably not unconnected with the Venetian's well-known truculence. Besides, he was, as a rule, not over-burdened with money, a circumstance which perhaps made him the more ready to engage in a contest. People who are over-prosperous are not given to exhibiting any particular spirit in such affairs. A gentleman, who had been fortunate at cards, was asked to be a second in a duel, at a period when the seconds engaged as heartily as the principals. "I am not," replied he, "the man for your purpose at this time; but go and apply to a friend of mine from whom I won a thousand guineas last night, and I warrant you he will fight like any devil!"

Though ready to resent any slight, and tenacious of keeping up a reputation for being "cock of the walk" in the circles in which he moved, Casanova was possessed of great self-control, and always made a point of being urbane, even whilst sustaining a severe reverse--a pleasing characteristic which, he declared, obtained him access to much pleasant society. It was his constant practice to hold a bank at the various resorts of the pleasure-loving world which he visited during his adventurous career. At Aix in Savoy (which is still a place in high favour with the votaries of chance owing to its two Casinos), Casanova was once particularly successful. He himself, with all a gambler's superstition, attributed his good fortune on this occasion to the appearance of three Englishmen--one of them Fox (then on the threshold of his career), who borrowed fifty louis of the great adventurer, whom he had previously met at Geneva.

From his earliest years Charles James Fox had been accustomed to gambling, having been elected a member of Brooks's when but sixteen years old. At that time the Club in question, now so decorous and staid, was the head-quarters of the fashionable London gamester, and the high-spirited youth fully availed himself of the excellent opportunities for dissipating a fortune which were here at easy command. On one occasion Fox sat playing at hazard for twenty-two consecutive hours, with the result that he rose the loser of eleven thousand pounds. At twenty-five he was a ruined man, his father having paid for him one hundred and forty thousand pounds out of his own property.