_GAMBLER'S LUCK._
Pyrmont had a larger concourse of visitors than ever in the summer of18--. The number of rich and illustrious strangers increased from dayto day, greatly exciting the zeal of speculators of all kinds. Hence itwas also that the owners of the faro-bank took care to pile up theirglittering gold in bigger heaps, in order that this, the bait of thenoblest game, which they, like good skilled hunters, knew how to decoy,might preserve its efficacy.
Who does not know how fascinating an excitement gambling is,particularly at watering-places, during the season, where everyvisitor, having laid aside his ordinary habits and course of life,deliberately gives himself up to leisure and ease and exhilaratingenjoyment? then gambling becomes an irresistible attraction. People whoat other times never touch a card are to be seen amongst the most eagerplayers; and besides, it is the fashion, especially in higher circles,for every one to visit the bank in the evening and lose a little moneyat play.
The only person who appeared not to heed this irresistible attraction,and this injunction of fashion, was a young German Baron, whom we willcall Siegfried. When everybody else hurried off to the play-house, andhe was deprived of all means and all prospect of the intellectualconversation he loved, he preferred either to give reins to the flightsof his fancy in solitary walks or to stay in his own room and take up abook, or even indulge in poetic attempts, in writing, himself.
As Siegfried was young, independent, rich, of noble appearance andpleasing disposition, it could not fail but that he was highly esteemedand loved, and that he had the most decisive good-fortune with the fairsex. And in everything that he took up or turned his attention to,there seemed to be a singularly lucky star presiding over his actions.Rumour spoke of many extraordinary love-intrigues which had been forcedupon him, and out of which, however ruinous they would in alllikelihood have been for many other young men, he escaped withincredible ease and success. But whenever the conversation turned uponhim and his good fortune, the old gentlemen of his acquaintance wereespecially fond of relating a story about a watch, which had happenedin the days of his early youth. For it chanced once that Siegfried,while still under his guardian's care, had quite unexpectedly foundhimself so straitened for money on a journey that he was absolutelyobliged to sell his gold watch, which was set with brilliants, merelyin order to get on his way. He had made up his mind that he would haveto throw away his valuable watch for an old song; but as there happenedto be in the hotel where he had put up at a young prince who was justin want of such an ornament, the Baron actually received for it morethan it was really worth. More than a year passed and Siegfried hadbecome his own master, when he read in the newspapers in another placethat a watch was to be made the subject of a lottery. He took a ticket,which cost a mere trifle, and won--the same gold watch set withbrilliants which he had sold. Not long afterwards he exchanged thiswatch for a valuable ring. He held office for a short time under thePrince of G----, and when he retired from his post the Prince presentedto him as a mark of his good-will the very identical gold watch setwith brilliants as before, together with a costly chain.
From this story they passed to Siegfried's obstinacy in never on anyaccount touching a card; why, with his strongly pronounced good-luck hehad all the more inducement to play; and they were unanimous in comingto the conclusion that the Baron, notwithstanding all his otherconspicuous good qualities, was a miserly fellow, far too careful andfar too stingy to expose himself to the smallest possible loss. Thatthe Baron's conduct was in every particular the direct contrary of thatof an avaricious man had no weight with them; and as is so often thecase, when the majority have set their hearts upon tagging aquestioning 'but' on to the good name of a talented man, and aredetermined to find this 'but' at any cost, even though it should be intheir own imagination, so in the present case the sneering allusion toSiegfried's aversion to play afforded them infinite satisfaction.
Siegfried was not long in learning what was being said about him; andsince, generous and liberal as he was, there was nothing he hated anddetested more than miserliness, he made up his mind to put histraducers to shame by ransoming himself from this foul aspersion at thecost of a couple of hundred _Louis d'or_, or even more if need be,however much disgusted he might feel at gambling. He presented himselfat the faro-bank with the deliberate intention of losing the large sumwhich he had put in his pocket; but in play also the good luck whichstood by him in everything he undertook did not prove unfaithful. Everycard he chose won. The cabalistic calculations of seasoned old playerswere shivered to atoms against the Baron's play. No matter whether hechanged his cards or continued to stake on[1] the same one, it was allthe same: he was always a winner. In the Baron they had the singularspectacle of a punter at variance with himself because the cards fellfavourable for him; and notwithstanding that the explanation of hisbehaviour was pretty patent, yet people looked at each othersignificantly and gave utterance in no ambiguous terms to the opinionthat the Baron, carried along by his penchant for the marvellous, mighteventually become insane, for any player who could be dismayed at hisrun of luck must surely be insane.
The very fact of having won a considerable sum of money made itobligatory upon the Baron to go on playing until he should have carriedout his original purpose; for in all probability his large win would befollowed by a still larger loss. But people's expectations were not inthe remotest degree realised, for the Baron's striking good-luckcontinued to attend him.
Without his being conscious of it, there began to be awakened in hismind a strong liking for faro, which with all its simplicity is themost ominous of games; and this liking continued to increase more andmore. He was no longer dissatisfied with his good-luck; gamblingfettered his attention and held him fast to the table for nights andnights, so that he was perforce compelled to give credence to thepeculiar attraction of the game, of which his friends had formerlyspoken and which he would by no means allow to be correct, for he wasattracted to faro not by the thirst for gain, but simply and solely bythe game itself.
One night, just as the banker had finished a _taille_, the Baronhappened to raise his eyes and observed that an elderly man had takenpost directly opposite to him and had got his eyes fixed upon him in aset, sad, earnest gaze. And as long as play lasted, every time theBaron looked up, his eyes met the stranger's dark sad stare, until atlast he could not help being struck with a very uncomfortable andoppressive feeling. And the stranger only left the apartment when playcame to an end for the night. The following night he again stoodopposite the Baron, staring at him with unaverted gaze, whilst his eyeshad a dark mysterious spectral look. The Baron still kept his temper.But when on the third night the stranger appeared again and fixed hiseyes, burning with a consuming fire, upon the Baron, the latter burstout, "Sir, I must beg you to choose some other place. You exercise aconstraining influence upon my play."
With a painful smile the stranger bowed and left the table, and thehall too, without uttering a word.
But on the next night the stranger again stood opposite the Baron,piercing him through and through with his dark fiery glance. Then theBaron burst out still more angrily than on the preceding night, "If youthink it a joke, sir, to stare at me, pray choose some other time andsome other place to do so; and now have the"---- A wave of the handtowards the door took the place of the harsh words the Baron was aboutto utter. And as on the previous night, the stranger, after bowingslightly, left the hall with the same painful smile upon his lips.
Siegfried was so excited and heated by play, by the wine which he hadtaken, and also by the scene with the stranger, that he could notsleep. Morning was already breaking, when the stranger's figureappeared before his eyes. He observed his striking, sharp-cut features,worn with suffering, and his sad deep-set eyes just as he had stared athim; and he noticed his distinguished bearing, which, in spite of hismean clothing, betrayed a man of high culture. And then the air ofpainful resignation with which the stranger submitted to the harshwords flung at him, and fought down
his bitter feelings with an effort,and left the hall! "No," cried Siegfried, "I did him wrong--greatwrong. Is it indeed at all like me to blaze up in this rude,ill-mannered way, like an uncultivated clown, and to offer insults topeople without the least provocation?" The Baron at last arrived at theconviction that it must have been a most oppressive feeling of thesharp contrast between them which had made the man stare at him so;in the moment that he was perhaps contending with the bitterest poverty,he (the Baron) was piling up heaps and heaps of gold with all thesuperciliousness of the gambler. He resolved to find out the strangerthat very morning and atone to him for his rudeness.
And as chance would have it, the very first person whom the Baron sawstrolling down the avenue was the stranger himself.
The Baron addressed him, offered the most profuse apologies for hisbehaviour of the night before, and in conclusion begged the stranger'spardon in all due form. The stranger replied that he had nothing topardon, since large allowances must be made for a player deeply intentover his game, and besides, he had only himself to blame for the harshwords he had provoked, since he had obstinately persisted in remainingin the place where he disturbed the Baron's play.
The Baron went further; he said there were often seasons of momentaryembarrassment in life which weighed with a most galling effect upon aman of refinement, and he plainly hinted to the stranger that he waswilling to give the money he had won, or even more still, if by thatmeans he could perhaps be of any assistance to him.
"Sir," replied the stranger, "you think I am in want, but that is notindeed the case; for though poor rather than rich, I yet have enough tosatisfy my simple wants. Moreover, you will yourself perceive that as aman of honour I could not possibly accept a large sum of money from youas indemnification for the insult you conceive you have offered me,even though I were not a gentleman of birth."
"I think I understand you," replied the Baron starting; "I am ready togrant you the satisfaction you demand."
"Good God!" continued the stranger--"Good God, how unequal a contest itwould be between us two! I am certain that you think as I do about aduel, that it is not to be treated as a piece of childish folly; nor doyou believe that a few drops of blood, which have perhaps fallen from ascratched finger, can ever wash tarnished honour bright again. Thereare many cases in which it is impossible for two particular individualsto continue to exist together on this earth, even though the one livein the Caucasus and the other on the Tiber; no separation is possibleso long as the hated foe can be thought of as still alive. In this casea duel to decide which of the two is to give way to the other on thisearth is a necessity. Between us now, as I have just said, a duel wouldbe fought upon unequal terms, since nohow can my life be valued sohighly as yours. If I run you through, I destroy a whole world of thefinest hopes; and if I fall, then you have put an end to a miserableexistence, that is harrowed by the bitterest and most agonisingmemories. But after all--and this is of course the main thing--I don'tconceive myself to have been in the remotest degree insulted. You bademe go, and I went."
These last words the stranger spoke in a tone which neverthelessbetrayed the sting in his heart. This was enough for the Baron to againapologise, which he did by especially dwelling upon the fact that thestranger's glance had, he did not know why, gone straight to his heart,till at last he could endure it no longer.
"I hope then," said the stranger, "that if my glance did reallypenetrate to your heart, it aroused you to a sense of the threateningdanger on the brink of which you are hovering. With a light glad heartand youthful ingenuousness you are standing on the edge of the abyss ofruin; one single push and you will plunge headlong down without a hopeof rescue. In a single word, you are on the point of becoming aconfirmed and passionate gambler and ruining yourself."
The Baron assured him that he was completely mistaken. He related thecircumstances under which he had first gone to the faro-table, andassured him that he entirely lacked the gambler's characteristicdisposition; all he wished was to lose two hundred _Louis d'or_ or so,and when he had succeeded in this he intended to cease punting. Up tothat time, however, he had had the most conspicuous run of good-luck.
"Oh! but," cried the stranger, "oh! but it is exactly this run ofgood-luck wherein lies the subtlest and most formidable temptationof the malignant enemy. It is this run of good-luck which attendsyour play, Baron,--the circumstances under which you have begun toplay,--nay, your entire behaviour whilst actually engaged in play,which only too plainly betray how your interest in it deepens andincreases on each occasion; all--all this reminds me only too forciblyof the awful fate of a certain unhappy man, who, in many respects likeyou, began to play under circumstances similar to those which you havedescribed in your own case. And therefore it was that I could notkeep my eyes off you, and that I was hardly able to restrain myselffrom saying in words what my glances were meant to tell you. 'Oh!see--see--see the demons stretching out their talons to drag you downinto the pit of ruin.' Thus I should like to have called to you. I wasdesirous of making your acquaintance; and I have succeeded. Let me tellyou the history of the unfortunate man whom I mentioned; you will thenperhaps be convinced that it is no idle phantom of the brain when I seeyou in the most imminent danger, and warn you."
The stranger and the Baron both sat down upon a seat which stood quiteisolated, and then the stranger began as follows:--
"The same brilliant qualities which distinguish you, Herr Baron, gainedChevalier Menars the esteem and admiration of men and made him afavourite amongst women. In riches alone Fortune had not been sogracious to him as she has been to you; he was almost in want; and itwas only through exercising the strictest economy that he was enabledto appear in a state becoming his position as the scion of adistinguished family. Since even the smallest loss would be serious forhim and upset the entire tenor of his course of life, he dare notindulge in play; besides, he had no inclination to do so, and it wastherefore no act of self-sacrifice on his part to avoid the tables. Itis to be added that he had the most remarkable success in everythingwhich he took in hand, so that Chevalier Menars' good-luck became aby-word.
"One night he suffered himself to be persuaded, contrary to hispractice, to visit a play-house. The friends whom he had accompaniedwere soon deeply engaged in play.
"Without taking any interest in what was going forward, the Chevalier,busied with thoughts of quite a different character, first strode upand down the apartment and then stood with his eyes fixed upon thegaming-table, where the gold continued to pour in upon the banker fromall sides. All at once an old colonel observed the Chevalier, and criedout, 'The devil! Here we've got Chevalier Menars and his good-luckamongst us, and yet we can win nothing, since he has declared neitherfor the banker nor for the punters. But we can't have it so any longer;he shall at once punt for me.'
"All the Baron's attempts to excuse himself on the ground of his lackof skill and total want of experience were of no avail; the Colonel wasnot to be denied; the Chevalier must take his place at the table.
"The Chevalier had exactly the same run of fortune that you have, HerrBaron. The cards fell favourable for him, and he had soon won aconsiderable sum for the Colonel, whose joy at his grand thought ofclaiming the loan of Chevalier Menars' steadfast good-luck knew nobounds.
"This good-luck, which quite astonished all the rest of those present,made not the slightest impression upon the Chevalier; nay, somehow, ina way inexplicable to himself, his aversion to play took deeper root,so that on the following morning when he awoke and felt theconsequences of his exertion during the night, through which he hadbeen awake, in a general relaxation both mental and physical, he took amost earnest resolve never again under any circumstances to visit aplay-house.
"And in this resolution he was still further strengthened by the oldColonel's conduct; he had the most decided ill-luck with every card hetook up; and the blame for this run of bad-luck he, with the mostextraordinary infatuation, put upon the Chevalier's shoulders. In animportunate manner he demanded that the Chevali
er should either puntfor him or at any rate stand at his side, so as by his presence tobanish the perverse demon who always put into his hands cards whichnever turned up right. Of course it is well known that there is moreabsurd superstition to be found amongst gamblers than almost anywhereelse. The only way in which the Chevalier could get rid of the Colonelwas by declaring in a tone of great seriousness that he would ratherfight him than play for him, for the Colonel was no great friend ofduels. The Chevalier cursed his good-nature in having complied with theold fool's request at first.
"Now nothing less was to be expected than that the story of the Baron'smarvellously lucky play should pass from mouth to mouth, and also thatall sorts of enigmatical mysterious circumstances should be inventedand added on to it, representing the Chevalier as a man in league withsupernatural powers. But the fact that the Chevalier in spite of hisgood-luck did not touch another card, could not fail to inspire thehighest respect for his firmness of character, and so very muchincrease the esteem which he already enjoyed.
"Somewhere about a year later the Chevalier was suddenly placed in amost painful and embarrassing position owing to the non-arrival of thesmall sum of money upon which he relied to defray his current expenses.He was obliged to disclose his circumstances to his most intimatefriend, who without hesitation supplied him with what he needed, at thesame time twitting him with being the most hopelessly eccentric fellowthat ever was. 'Destiny,' said he 'gives us hints in what way and wherewe ought to seek our own benefit; and we have only our own indolence toblame if we do not heed, do not understand these hints. The HigherPower that rules over us has whispered quite plainly in your ears, Ifyou want money and property go and play, else you will be poor andneedy, and never independent, as long as you live.'
"And now for the first time the thought of how wonderfully fortune hadfavoured him at the faro-bank took clear and distinct shape in hismind; and both in his dreams and when awake he heard the banker'smonotonous _gagne_, _perd_,[2] and the rattle of the gold pieces. 'Yes,it is undoubtedly so,' he said to himself, 'a single night like thatone before would free me from my difficulties, and help me over thepainful embarrassment of being a burden to my friends; it is my duty tofollow the beckoning finger of fate.' The friends who had advised himto try play, accompanied him to the play-house, and gave him twenty_Louis d'or_[3] more that he might begin unconcerned.
"If the Chevalier's play had been splendid when he punted for the oldColonel, it was indeed doubly so now. Blindly and without choice hedrew the cards he staked upon, but the invisible hand of that HigherPower which is intimately related to Chance, or rather actually is whatwe call Chance, seemed to be regulating his play. At the end of theevening he had won a thousand _Louis d'or_.
"Next morning he awoke with a kind of dazed feeling. The gold pieces hehad won lay scattered about beside him on the table. At the firstmoment he fancied he was dreaming; he rubbed his eyes; he grasped thetable and pulled it nearer towards him. But when he began to reflectupon what had happened, when he buried his fingers amongst the goldpieces, when he counted them with gratified satisfaction, and evencounted them through again, then delight in the base mammon shot forthe first time like a pernicious poisonous breath through his everynerve and fibre, then it was all over with the purity of sentimentwhich he had so long preserved intact. He could hardly wait for nightto come that he might go to the faro-table again. His good-luckcontinued constant, so that after a few weeks, during which he playednearly every night, he had won a considerable sum.
"Now there are two sorts of players. Play simply as such affords tomany an indescribable and mysterious pleasure, totally irrespective ofgain. The strange complications of chance occur with the mostsurprising waywardness; the government of the Higher Power becomesconspicuously evident; and this it is which stirs up our spirit to moveits wings and see if it cannot soar upwards into the mysteriouskingdom, the fateful workshop of this Power, in order to surprise it atits labours.
"I once knew a man who spent many days and nights alone in his room,keeping a bank and punting against himself; this man was, according tomy way of thinking, a genuine player. Others have nothing but gainbefore their eyes, and look upon play as a means to getting richspeedily. This class the Chevalier joined, thus once more establishingthe truth of the saying that the real deeper inclination for play mustlie in the individual nature--must be born in it. And for this reasonhe soon found the sphere of activity to which the punter is confinedtoo narrow. With the very large sum of money that he had won bygambling he established a bank of his own; and in this enterprisefortune favoured him to such an extent that within a short time hisbank was the richest in all Paris. And agreeably to the nature of thecase, the largest proportion of players flocked to him, the richest andluckiest banker.
"The heartless, demoralising life of a gambler soon blotted out allthose advantages, as well mental as physical, which had formerlysecured to the Chevalier people's affection and esteem. He ceased to bea faithful friend, a cheerful, easy guest in society, a chivalrous andgallant admirer of the fair sex. Extinguished was all his taste forscience and art, and gone all striving to advance along the road tosound knowledge. Upon his deathly pale countenance, and in his gloomyeyes, where a dim, restless fire gleamed, was to be read the fullexpression of the extremely baneful passion in whose toils he wasentangled. It was not fondness for play, no, it was the most abominableavarice which had been enkindled in his soul by Satan himself. In asingle word, he was the most finished specimen of a faro-banker thatmay be seen anywhere.
"One night Fortune was less favourable to the Chevalier than usual,although he suffered no loss of any consequence. Then a little thin oldman, meanly clad, and almost repulsive to look at, approached thetable, drew a card with a trembling hand, and placed a gold piece uponit. Several of the players looked up at the old man at first greatlyastonished, but after that they treated him with provoking contempt.Nevertheless his face never moved a muscle, far less did he utter asingle word of complaint.
"The old man lost; he lost one stake after another; but the higher hislosses rose the more pleased the other players got. And at last, whenthe new-comer, who continued to double his stake every time, placedfive hundred _Louis d'or_ at once upon a card and this the very nextmoment turned up on the losing side, one of the other players criedwith a laugh, 'Good-luck, Signor Vertua, good-luck! Don't lose heart.Go on staking; you look to me as if you would finish with breaking thebank through your immense winnings.' The old man shot a basilisk-likelook upon the mocker and hurried away, but only to return at the end ofhalf an hour with his pockets full of gold. In the last _taille_ hewas, however, obliged to cease playing, since he had again lost all themoney he had brought back with him.
"This scornful and contemptuous treatment of the old man hadexcessively annoyed the Chevalier, for in spite of all his abominablepractices, he yet insisted on certain rules of good behaviour beingobserved at his table. And so on the conclusion of the game, whenSignor Vertua had taken his departure, the Chevalier felt he hadsufficient grounds to speak a serious word or two to the mocker, aswell as to one or two other players whose contemptuous treatment of theold man had been most conspicuous, and whom the Chevalier had biddenstay behind for this purpose.
"'Ah! but, Chevalier,' cried one of them, 'you don't know old FrancescoVertua, or else you would have no fault to find with us and ourbehaviour towards him; you would rather approve of it. For let me tellyou that this Vertua, a Neapolitan by birth, who has been fifteen yearsin Paris, is the meanest, dirtiest, most pestilent miser and usurer whocan be found anywhere. He is a stranger to every human feeling; if hesaw his own brother writhing at his feet in the agonies of death, itwould be an utter waste of pains to try to entice a single _Louis d'or_from him, even if it were to save his brother's life. He has a heavyburden of curses and imprecations to bear, which have been showereddown upon him by a multitude of men, nay, by entire families, who havebeen plunged into the deepest distress through his diabolicalspeculations. He is hated like poison by
all who know him; everybodywishes that vengeance may overtake him for all the evil that he hasdone, and that it may put an end to his career of iniquity. He hasnever played before, at least since he has been in Paris; and so fromall this you need not wonder at our being so greatly astounded when theold skin-flint appeared at your table. And for the same reasons wewere, of course, pleased at the old fellow's serious losses, for itwould have been hard, very hard, if the old rascal had been favoured byFortune. It is only too certain. Chevalier, that the old fool has beendeluded by the riches of your bank. He came intending to pluck you andhas lost his own feathers. But yet it completely puzzles me how Vertuacould act thus in a way so opposite to the true character of a miser,and could bring himself to play so high. Ah! well--you'll see he willnot come again; we are now quit of him.'
"But this opinion proved to be far from correct, for on the very nextnight Vertua presented himself at the Chevalier's bank again, andstaked and lost much more heavily than on the night preceding. But hepreserved a calm demeanour through it all; he even smiled at times witha sort of bitter irony, as though foreseeing how soon things would betotally changed. But during each of the succeeding nights the old man'slosses increased like a glacier at a greater and greater rate, till atlast it was calculated that he had paid over thirty thousand _Louisd'or_ to the bank. Finally he entered the hall one evening, long afterplay had begun, with a deathly pale face and troubled looks, and tookup his post at some distance from the table, his eyes riveted in a setstare upon the cards which the Chevalier successively drew. At last,just as the Chevalier had shuffled the cards, had had them cut and wasabout to begin the _taille_, the old man cried in such a harsh gratingvoice, 'Stop!' that everybody looked round well-nigh dismayed. Then,forcing his way to the table close up to the Chevalier, he said in hisear, speaking in a hoarse voice, 'Chevalier, my house in the Rue St.Honore, together with all the furniture and all the gold and silver andall the jewels I possess, are valued at eighty thousand francs, willyou accept the stake?' 'Very good,' replied the Chevalier coldly,without looking round at the old man; and he began the _taille_.
"'The queen,' said Vertua; and at the next draw the queen had lost. Theold man reeled back from the table and leaned against the wallmotionless and paralysed, like a rigid stone statue. Nobody troubledhimself any further about him.
"Play was over for the night; the players were dispersing; theChevalier and his croupiers[4] were packing away in the strong box thegold he had won. Then old Vertua staggered like a ghost out of thecorner towards the Chevalier and addressed him in a hoarse, hollowvoice, 'Yet a word with you, Chevalier,--only a single word.'
"'Well, what is it?' replied the Chevalier, withdrawing the key fromthe lock of the strong box and measuring the old man from head to footwith a look of contempt.
"'I have lost all my property at your bank, Chevalier,' went on the oldman; 'I have nothing, nothing left I don't know where I shall lay myhead tomorrow, nor how I shall appease my hunger. You are my lastresource, Chevalier; lend me the tenth part of the sum I have lost toyou that I may begin my business over again, and so work my way up outof the distressed state I now am in.'
"'Whatever are you thinking about,' rejoined the Chevalier, 'whateverare you thinking about, Signor Vertua? Don't you know that afaro-banker never dare lend of his winnings? That's against the oldrule, and I am not going to violate it.'
"'You are right,' went on Vertua again. 'You are right, Chevalier. Myrequest was senseless--extravagant--the tenth part! No, lend me thetwentieth part.' 'I tell you,' replied the Chevalier impatiently, 'thatI won't lend a farthing of my winnings.'
"'True, true,' said Vertua, his face growing paler and paler and hisgaze becoming more and more set and staring, 'true, you ought not tolend anything--I never used to do. But give some alms to a beggar--givehim a hundred _Louis d'or_ of the riches which blind Fortune has thrownin your hands to-day.'
"'Of a verity you know how to torment people, Signor Vertua,' burst outthe Chevalier angrily. 'I tell you you won't get so much as a hundred,nor fifty, nor twenty, no, not so much as a single _Louis d'or_ fromme. I should be mad to make you even the smallest advance, so as tohelp you begin your shameful trade over again. Fate has stamped you inthe dust like a poisonous reptile, and it would simply be villainy forme to aid you in recovering yourself. Go and perish as you deserve.'
"Pressing both hands over his face, Vertua sank on the floor with amuffled groan. The Chevalier ordered his servant to take the strong-boxdown to his carriage, and then cried in a loud voice, 'When will youhand over to me your house and effects, Signor Vertua?'
"Vertua hastily picked himself up from the ground and said in a firmvoice, 'Now, at once--this moment, Chevalier; come with me.'
"'Good,' replied the Chevalier, 'you may ride with me as far as yourhouse, which you shall leave tomorrow for good.'
"All the way neither of them spoke a single word, neither Vertua northe Chevalier. Arrived in front of the house in the Rue St. Honore,Vertua pulled the bell; an old woman opened the door, and on perceivingit was Vertua cried, 'Oh! good heavens, Signor Vertua, is that you atlast? Angela is half dead with anxiety on your account.'
"'Silence,' replied Vertua. 'God grant she has not heard this unluckybell! She is not to know that I have come.' And therewith he took thelighted candle out of the old woman's hand, for she appeared to bequite stunned, and lighted the Chevalier up to his own room.
"'I am prepared for the worst,' said Vertua. 'You hate, you despise me,Chevalier. You have ruined me, to your own and other people's joy; butyou do not know me. Let me tell you then that I was once a gambler likeyou, that capricious Fortune was as favourable to me as she is to you,that I travelled through half Europe, stopping everywhere where highplay and the hope of large gains enticed me, that the piles of goldcontinually increased in my bank as they do in yours. I had a true andbeautiful wife, whom I neglected, and she was miserable in the midst ofall her magnificence and wealth. It happened once, when I had set up mybank in Genoa, that a young Roman lost all his rich patrimony at mybank. He besought me to lend him money, as I did you to-day, sufficientat least to enable him to travel back to Rome. I refused with a laughof mocking scorn, and in the insane fury of despair he thrust thestiletto which he wore right into my breast. At great pains thesurgeons succeeded in saving me; but it was a wearying painful timewhilst I lay on the bed of sickness. Then my wife tended me, comfortedme, and kept up my courage when I was ready to sink under mysufferings; and as I grew towards recovery a feeling began to glimmerwithin me which I had never experienced before, and it waxed everstronger and stronger. A gambler becomes an alien to all human emotion,and hence I had not known what was the meaning of a wife's love andfaithful attachment. The debt of what I owed my wife burned itself intomy ungrateful heart, and also the sense of the villainous conduct towhich I had sacrificed her. All those whose life's happiness, whoseentire existence, I had ruined with heartless indifference were liketormenting spirits of vengeance, and I heard their hoarse hollow voicesechoing from the grave, upbraiding me with all the guilt andcriminality, the seed of which I had planted in their bosoms. It wasonly my wife who was able to drive away the unutterable distress andhorror that then came upon me. I made a vow never to touch a card more.I lived in retirement; I rent asunder all the ties which held me fastto my former mode of life; I withstood the enticements of my croupiers,when they came and said they could not do without me and my good-luck.I bought a small country villa not far from Rome, and thither, as soonas I was recovered of my illness, I fled for refuge along with my wife.Oh! only one single year did I enjoy a calmness, a happiness, apeaceful content, such as I had never dreamt of! My wife bore me adaughter, and died a few weeks later. I was in despair; I railed atHeaven and again cursed myself and my reprobate life, for which Heavenwas now exacting vengeance upon me by depriving me of my wife--she whohad saved me from ruin, who was the only creature who afforded me hopeand consolation. I was driven away from my country villa hither toParis, like the criminal who fear
s the horrors of solitude. Angela grewup the lovely image of her mother; my heart was wholly wrapt up in her;for her sake I felt called upon not so much to obtain a large fortunefor her as to increase what I had already got. It is the truth that Ilent money at a high rate of interest; but it is a foul calumny toaccuse me of deceitful usury. And who are these my accusers?Thoughtless, frivolous people who worry me to death until I lend themmoney, which they immediately go and squander like a thing of no worth,and then get in a rage if I demand inexorable punctuality in repaymentof the money which does not indeed belong to me,--no, but to mydaughter, for I merely look upon myself as her steward. It's not longsince I saved a young man from disgrace and ruin by advancing him aconsiderable sum. As I knew he was terribly poor, I never mentioned asyllable about repayment until I knew he had got together a richproperty. Then I applied to him for settlement of his debt Would youbelieve it, Chevalier? the dishonourable knave, who owed all he had tome, tried to deny the debt, and on being compelled by the court to payme, reproached me with being a villainous miser? I could tell you moresuch like cases; and these things have made me hard and insensible toemotion when I have to deal with folly and baseness. Nay, more--I couldtell you of the many bitter tears I have wiped away, and of the manyprayers which have gone up to Heaven for me and my Angela, but youwould only regard it as empty boasting, and pay not the slightest heedto it, for you are a gambler. I thought I had satisfied the resentmentof Heaven; it was but a delusion, for Satan has been permitted tolead me astray in a more disastrous way than before. I heard of yourgood-luck. Chevalier. Every day I heard that this man and that hadstaked and staked at your bank until he became a beggar. Then thethought came into my mind that I was destined to try my gambler's luck,which had never hitherto deserted me, against yours, that the power wasgiven me to put a stop to your practices; and this thought, which couldonly have been engendered by some extraordinary madness, left me norest, no peace. Hence I came to your bank; and my terrible infatuationdid not leave me until all my property--all my Angela's property--wasyours. And now the end has come. I presume you will allow my daughterto take her clothing with her?'
"'Your daughter's wardrobe does not concern me,' replied the Chevalier.'You may also take your beds and other necessary household utensils,and such like; for what could I do with all the old lumber? But see toit that nothing of value of the things which now belong to me get mixedup with it.'
"Old Vertua stared at the Chevalier a second or two utterly speechless;then a flood of tears burst from his eyes, and he sank upon his kneesin front of the Chevalier, perfectly upset with trouble and despair,and raised his hands crying, 'Chevalier, have you still a spark ofhuman feeling left in your breast? Be merciful, merciful. It is not I,but my daughter, my Angela, my innocent angelic child, whom you areplunging into ruin. Oh! be merciful to _her_; lend _her_, _her_, myAngela, the twentieth part of the property you have deprived her of.Oh! I know you will listen to my entreaty! O Angela! my daughter!' Andtherewith the old man sobbed and lamented and moaned, calling upon hischild by name in the most heart-rending tones.
"'I am getting tired of this absurd theatrical scene,' said theChevalier indifferently but impatiently; but at this moment thedoor flew open and in burst a girl in a white night-dress, herhair dishevelled, her face pale as death,--burst in and ran toold Vertua, raised him up, took him in her arms, and cried, 'Ofather! O father! I have heard all, I know all! Have you really losteverything--everything, really? Have you not your Angela? What needhave we of money and property? Will not Angela sustain you and tendyou? O father, don't humiliate yourself a moment longer before thisdespicable monster. It is not _we_, but _he_, who is poor and miserablein the midst of his contemptible riches; for see, he stands theredeserted in his awful hopeless loneliness; there is not a heart in allthe wide world to cling lovingly to his breast, to open out to him whenhe despairs of his own life, of himself. Come, father. Leave this housewith me. Come, let us make haste and be gone, that this fearful man maynot exult over your trouble.'
"Vertua sank half fainting into an easy-chair. Angela knelt down beforehim, took his hands, kissed them, fondled them, enumerated withchildish loquacity all the talents, all the accomplishments, which shewas mistress of, and by the aid of which she would earn a comfortableliving for her father; she besought him from the midst of burning tearsto put aside all his trouble and distress, since her life would nowfirst acquire true significance, when she had to sew, embroider, sing,and play her guitar, not for mere pleasure, but for her father's sake.
"Who, however hardened a sinner, could have remained insensible at thesight of Angela, thus radiant in her divine beauty, comforting her oldfather with sweet soft words, whilst the purest affection, the mostchildlike goodness, beamed from her eyes, evidently coming from thevery depths of her heart?
"Quite otherwise was it with the Chevalier. A perfect Gehenna oftorment and of the stinging of conscience was awakened within him.Angela appeared to him to be the avenging angel of God, before whosesplendour the misty veil of his wicked infatuation melted away, so thathe saw with horror the repulsive nakedness of his own miserable soul.Yet right through the midst of the flames of this infernal pit that wasblazing in the Chevalier's heart passed a divine and pure ray, whoseemanations of light were the sweetest rapture, the very bliss ofheaven; but the shining of this ray only made his unutterable tormentsthe more terrible to bear.
"The Chevalier had never been in love. The moment in which he sawAngela was the moment in which he was to experience the most ardentpassion, and also at the same time the crushing pain of utterhopelessness. For no man who had appeared before the pure angel-child,lovely Angela, in the way the Chevalier had done, could dream of hope.He attempted to speak, but his tongue seemed to be numbed by cramp. Atlast, controlling himself with an effort, he stammered with tremblingvoice, 'Signor Vertua, listen to me. I have not won anything fromyou--nothing at all. There is my strong box; it is yours,--nay, Imust pay you yet more than there is there. I am your debtor. There,take it, take it!'
"'O my daughter!' cried Vertua. But Angela rose to her feet, approachedthe Chevalier, and flashed a proud look upon him, saying earnestly andcomposedly, *'Chevalier, allow me to tell you that there is somethinghigher than money and goods; there are sentiments to which you are astranger, which, whilst sustaining our souls with the comfort ofHeaven, bid us reject your gift, your favour, with contempt. Keep yourmammon, which is burdened with the curse that pursues you, youheartless, depraved gambler.'
"'Yes,' cried the Chevalier in a fearful voice, his eyes flashingwildly, for he was perfectly beside himself, 'yes, accursed,--accursedwill I be--down into the depths of damnation may I be hurled if everagain this hand touches a card. And if you then send me from you,Angela, then it will be you who will bring irreparable ruin upon me.Oh! you don't know--you don't understand me. You can't help but call meinsane; but you will feel it--you will know all, when you see mestretched at your feet with my brains scattered. Angela! It's now aquestion of life or death! Farewell!'
"Therewith the Chevalier rushed off in a state of perfect despair.Vertua saw through him completely; he knew what change had come overhim; he endeavoured to make his lovely Angela understand that certaincircumstances might arise which would make it necessary to accept theChevalier's present Angela trembled with dread lest she shouldunderstand her father. She did not conceive how it would ever bepossible to meet the Chevalier on any other terms save those ofcontempt. Destiny, which often ripens into shape deep down in the humanheart, without the mind being aware of it, permitted that to take placewhich had never been thought of, never been dreamed of.
"The Chevalier was like a man suddenly wakened up out of a fearfuldream; he saw himself standing on the brink of the abyss of ruin, andstretched out his arms in vain towards the bright shining figure whichhad appeared to him, not, however, to save him--no--but to remind himof his damnation.
"To the astonishment of all Paris, Chevalier Menars' bank disappearedfrom the gambling-house; nobody ever saw him ag
ain; and hence the mostdiverse and extraordinary rumours were current, each of them more falsethan the rest. The Chevalier shunned all society; his love foundexpression in the deepest and most unconquerable despondency. Ithappened, however, that old Vertua and his daughter one day suddenlycrossed his path in one of the dark and lonely alleys of the garden ofMalmaison.[5]
"Angela, who thought she could never look upon the Chevalier withoutcontempt and abhorrence, felt strangely moved on seeing him so deathlypale, terribly shaken with trouble, hardly daring in his shy respect toraise his eyes. She knew quite well that ever since that ill-omenednight he had altogether relinquished gambling and effected a completerevolution in his habits of life. She, she alone had brought all thisabout, she had saved the Chevalier from ruin--could anything be moreflattering to her woman's vanity? Hence it was that, after Vertua hadexchanged the usual complimentary remarks with the Chevalier, Angelaasked in a tone of gentle and sympathetic pity, 'What is the matterwith you, Chevalier Menars? You are looking very ill and full oftrouble. I am sure you ought to consult a physician.'
"It is easy to imagine how Angela's words fell like a comforting ray ofhope upon the Chevalier's heart. From that moment he was not like thesame man. He lifted up his head; he was able to speak in those tones,full of the real inward nature of the man, with which he had formerlywon all hearts. Vertua exhorted him to come and take possession of thehouse he had won.
"'Yes, Signor Vertua,' cried the Chevalier with animation, 'yes, that Iwill do. I will call upon you tomorrow; but let us carefully weigh anddiscuss all the conditions of the transfer, even though it should lastsome months.'
"'Be it so then, Chevalier,' replied Vertua, smiling. 'I fancy thatthere will arise a good many things to be discussed, of which we at thepresent moment have no idea.' The Chevalier, being thus comforted atheart, could not fail to develop again all the charms of manner whichhad once been so peculiarly his own before he was led astray by hisinsane, pernicious passion for gambling. His visits at old Vertua'sgrew more and more frequent; Angela conceived a warmer and warmerliking for the man whose safeguarding angel she had been, until finallyshe thought she loved him with all her heart; and she promised him herhand, to the great joy of old Vertua, who at last felt that thesettlement respecting the property he had lost to the Chevalier couldnow be concluded.
"One day Angela, Chevalier Menars' happy betrothed, sat at her windowwrapped up in varied thoughts of the delights and happiness of love,such as young girls when betrothed are wont to dwell upon. A regimentof _chasseurs_ passed by to the merry sound of the trumpet, bound for acampaign in Spain. As Angela was regarding with sympathetic interestthe poor men who were doomed to death in the wicked war, a young manwheeled his horse quickly to one side and looked up at her, and shesank back in her chair fainting.
"Oh! the _chasseur_ who was riding to meet a bloody death was noneother than young Duvernet, their neighbour's son, with whom she hadgrown up, who had run in and out of the house nearly every day, and hadonly kept away since the Chevalier had begun to visit them.
"In the young man's glance, which was charged with reproaches havingall the bitterness of death in them, Angela became conscious for thefirst time, not only that he loved her unspeakably, but also howboundless was the love which she herself felt for him. Hitherto she hadnot been conscious of it; she had been infatuated, fascinated by theglitter which gathered ever more thickly about the Chevalier. She nowunderstood, and for the first time, the youth's labouring sighs andquiet unpretending homage; and now too she also understood her ownembarrassed heart for the first time, knew what had caused thefluttering sensation in her breast when Duvernet had come, and when shehad heard his voice.
"'It is too late! I have lost him!' was the voice that spoke inAngela's soul. She had courage enough to beat down the feelings ofwretchedness which threatened to distract her heart; and for thatreason--namely, that she possessed the courage--she succeeded.
"Nevertheless it did not escape the Chevalier's acute perception thatsomething had happened to powerfully affect Angela; but he possessedsufficient delicacy of feeling not to seek for a solution of themystery, which it was evident she desired to conceal from him. Hecontented himself with depriving any dangerous rival of his power byexpediting the marriage; and he made all arrangements for itscelebration with such fine tact, and such a sympathetic appreciation ofhis fair bride's situation and sentiments, that she saw in them a newproof of the good and amiable qualities of her husband.
"The Chevalier's behaviour towards Angela showed him attentive to herslightest wish, and exhibited that sincere esteem which springs fromthe purest affection; hence her memory of Duvernet soon vanishedentirely from her mind. The first cloud that dimmed the bright heavenof her happiness was the illness and death of old Vertua.
"Since the night when he had lost all his fortune at the Chevalier'sbank he had never touched a card, but during the last moments of hislife play seemed to have taken complete possession of his soul. Whilstthe priest who had come to administer to him the consolation of theChurch ere he died, was speaking to him of heavenly things, he lay withhis eyes closed, murmuring between his teeth, '_perd_, _gagne_,' whilsthis trembling half-dead hands went through the motions of dealingthrough a _taille_, of drawing the cards. Both Angela and the Chevalierbent over him and spoke to him in the tenderest manner, but it was ofno use; he no longer seemed to know them, nor even to be aware of theirpresence. With a deep-drawn sigh '_gagne_,' he breathed his last.
"In the midst of her distressing grief Angela could not get rid of anuncomfortable feeling of awe at the way in which the old man had died.She again saw in vivid shape the picture of that terrible night whenshe had first seen the Chevalier as a most hardened and reprobategambler; and the fearful thought entered her mind that he might again,in scornful mockery of her, cast aside his mask of goodness and appearin his original fiendish character, and begin to pursue his old courseof life once more.
"And only too soon was Angela's dreaded foreboding to become reality.However great the awe which fell upon the Chevalier at old FrancescoVertua's death-scene, when the old man, despising the consolation ofthe Church, though in the last agonies of death, had not been able toturn his thoughts from his former sinful life--however great was theawe that then fell upon the Chevalier, yet his mind was thereby led,though how he could not explain, to dwell more keenly upon play thanever before, so that every night in his dreams he sat at the faro-bankand heaped up riches anew.
"In proportion as Angela's behaviour became more constrained, inconsequence of her recollection of the character in which she had firstseen the Chevalier, and as it became more and more impossible for herto continue to meet him upon the old affectionate, confidential footingupon which they had hitherto lived, so exactly in the same degreedistrust of Angela crept into the Chevalier's mind, since he ascribedher constraint to the secret which had once disturbed her peace of mindand which had not been revealed to him. From this distrust were borndispleasure and unpleasantness, and these he expressed in various wayswhich hurt Angela's feelings. By a singular cross-action of spiritualinfluence Angela's recollections of the unhappy Duvemet began to recurto her mind with fresher force, and along with these the intolerableconsciousness of her ruined love,--the loveliest blossom that hadbudded in her youthful heart. The strained relations between the paircontinued to increase until things got to such a pitch that theChevalier grew disgusted with his simple mode of life, thought it dull,and was smitten with a powerful longing to enjoy the life of the worldagain. His star of ill omen began to acquire the ascendancy. The changewhich had been inaugurated by displeasure and great unpleasantness wascompleted by an abandoned wretch who had formerly been croupier in theChevalier's faro-bank. He succeeded by means of the most artfulinsinuations and conversations in making the Chevalier look upon hispresent walk of life as childish and ridiculous. The Chevalier couldnot understand at last how, for a woman's sake, he ever came to leave aworld which appeared to him to contain all that made life of any worth.
/>
"It was not long ere Chevalier Menars' rich bank was flourishing moremagnificently than ever. His good-luck had not left him; victim aftervictim came and fell; he amassed heaps of riches. But Angela'shappiness--it was ruined--ruined in fearful fashion; it was to becompared to a short fair dream. The Chevalier treated her withindifference, nay even with contempt. Often, for weeks and monthstogether, she never saw him once; the household arrangements wereplaced in the hands of a steward; the servants were being constantlychanged to suit the Chevalier's whims; so that Angela, a stranger inher own house, knew not where to turn for comfort. Often during hersleepless nights the Chevalier's carriage stopped before the door, theheavy strong-box was carried upstairs, the Chevalier flung out afew harsh monosyllabic words of command, and then the doors of hisdistant room were sent to with a bang--all this she heard, and aflood of bitter tears started from her eyes. In a state of the mostheart-rending anguish she called upon Duvernet time after time, andimplored Providence to put an end to her miserable life of trouble andsuffering.
"One day a young man of good family, after losing all his fortune atthe Chevalier s bank, sent a bullet through his brain in the gambling-house, and in the very same room even in which the bank wasestablished, so that the players were sprinkled by the blood andscattered brains, and started up aghast. The Chevalier alone preservedhis indifference; and, as all were preparing to leave the apartment, heasked whether it was in accordance with their rules and custom to leavethe bank before the appointed hour on account of a fool who had had noconduct in his play.
"The occurrence created a great sensation. The most experienced andhardened gamblers were indignant at the Chevalier's unexampledbehaviour. The voice of the public was raised against him. The bank wasclosed by the police. He was, moreover, accused of false play; and hisunprecedented good-luck tended to establish the truth of the charge. Hewas unable to clear himself. The fine he was compelled to pay deprivedhim of a considerable part of his riches. He found himself disgracedand looked upon with contempt; then he went back to the arms of thewife he had ill-used, and she willingly received him, the penitent,since the remembrance of how her own father had turned aside from thedemoralising life of a gambler allowed a glimmer of hope to rise, thatthe Chevalier's conversion might this time, now that he was older,really have some stamina in it.
"The Chevalier left Paris along with his wife, and went to Genoa,Angela's birthplace. Here he led a very retired life at first. But allendeavours to restore the footing of quiet domesticity with Angela,which his evil genius had destroyed, were in vain. It was not longbefore his deep-rooted discontent awoke anew and drove him out of thehouse in a state of uneasy, unsettled restlessness. His evil reputationhad followed him from Paris to Genoa; he dare not venture to establisha bank, although he was being goaded to do so by a power he couldhardly resist.
"At that time the richest bank in Genoa was kept by a French colonel,who had been invalided owing to serious wounds. His heart burning withenvy and fierce hatred, the Chevalier appeared at the Colonel's table,expecting that his usual good fortune would stand by him, and that heshould soon ruin his rival. The Colonel greeted him in a merry humour,such as was in general not customary with him, and said that now theplay would really be worth indulging in since they had got ChevalierMenars and his good-luck to join them, for now would come the strugglewhich alone made the game interesting.
"And in fact during the first _taille_ the cards fell favourable to theChevalier as they always had done. But when, relying upon hisinvincible luck, he at last cried '_Va banquet_,'[6] he lost a veryconsiderable sum at one stroke.
"The Colonel, at other times preserving the same even temperamentwhether winning or losing, now swept the money towards him with themost demonstrative signs of extreme delight. From this moment fortuneturned away from the Chevalier utterly and completely. He played everynight, and every night he lost, until his property had melted away to afew thousand ducats,[7] which he still had in securities.
"The Chevalier had spent the whole day in running about to get hissecurities converted into ready money, and did not reach home untillate in the evening. So soon as it was fully night, he was about toleave the house with his last gold pieces in his pocket, when Angela,who suspected pretty much how matters stood, stepped in his path andthrew herself at his feet, whilst a flood of tears gushed from hereyes, beseeching him by the Virgin and all the saints to abandon hiswicked purpose, and not to plunge her in want and misery.
"He raised her up and strained her to his heart with painful passionateintensity, saying in a hoarse voice, 'Angela, my dear sweet Angela! Itcan't be helped now, indeed it must be so; I must go on with it, for Ican't let it alone. But to-morrow--to-morrow all your troubles shallbe over, for by the Eternal Destiny that rules over us I swear thatto-day shall be the last time I will play. Quiet yourself, my dear goodchild--go and sleep--dream of happy days to come, of a better life thatis in store for you; that will bring good-luck.' Herewith he kissed hiswife and hurried off before she could stop him.
"Two _tailles_, and the Chevalier had lost all--all. He stood besidethe Colonel, staring upon the faro-table in moody senselessness.
"'Are you not punting any more, Chevalier?' said the Colonel, shufflingthe cards for a new _taille_, 'I have lost all,' replied the Chevalier,forcing himself with an effort to be calm.
"'Have you really nothing left?' asked the Colonel at the next_taille_.
"'I am a beggar,' cried the Chevalier, his voice trembling with rageand mortification; and he continued to stare fiercely upon the tablewithout observing that the players were gaining more and moreadvantages over the banker.
"The Colonel went on playing quietly. But whilst shuffling the cardsfor the following _taille_, he said in a low voice, without looking atthe Chevalier, 'But you have a beautiful wife.'
"'What do you mean by that?' burst out the Chevalier angrily. TheColonel drew his cards without making any answer.
"'Ten thousand ducats or--Angela!' said the Colonel, half turning roundwhilst the cards were being cut.
"'You are mad!' exclaimed the Chevalier, who now began to observe oncoming more to himself that the Colonel continually lost and lostagain.
"'Twenty thousand ducats against Angela!' said the Colonel in a lowvoice, pausing for a moment in his shuffling of the cards.
"The Chevalier did not reply. The Colonel went on playing, and almostall the cards fell to the players' side.
"'Taken!' whispered the Chevalier in the Colonel's ear, as the new_taille_ began, and he pushed the queen on the table.
"In the next draw the queen had lost. The Chevalier drew back from thetable, grinding his teeth, and in despair stood leaning in a window,his face deathly pale.
"Play was over. 'Well, and what's to be done now?' were the Colonel'smocking words as he stepped up to the Chevalier.
"'Ah!' cried the Chevalier, quite beside himself, 'you have made me abeggar, but you must be insane to imagine that you could win my wife.Are we on the islands? is my wife a slave, exposed as a mere _thing_ tothe brutal arbitrariness of a reprobate man, that he may trade withher, gamble with her? But it is true! You would have had to pay twentythousand ducats if the queen had won, and so I have lost all right toraise a protest if my wife is willing to leave me to follow you. Comealong with me, and despair when you see how my wife will repel you withdetestation when you propose to her that she shall follow you as yourshameless mistress.'
"'You will be the one to despair,' replied the Colonel, with a mocking,scornful laugh; 'you will be the one to despair, Chevalier, when Angelaturns with abhorrence from you--you, the abandoned sinner, who havemade her life miserable--and flies into my arms in rapture and delight;you will be the one to despair when you learn that we have been unitedby the blessing of the Church, and that our dearest wishes are crownedwith happiness. You call me insane. Ho! ho! All I wanted to win was theright to claim her, for of Angela herself I am sure. Ho! ho! Chevalier,let me inform you that your wife loves _me_--_me_, with unspeakablelove: l
et me inform you that I am that Duvernet, the neighbour's son,who was brought up along with Angela, bound to her by ties of the mostardent affection--he whom you drove away by means of your diabolicaldevices. Ah! it was not until I had to go away to the wars that Angelabecame conscious to herself of what I was to her; I know all. It wastoo late. The Spirit of Evil suggested to me the idea that I might ruinyou in play, and so I took to gambling--followed you to Genoa,--and nowI have succeeded. Away now to your wife.'
"The Chevalier was almost annihilated, like one upon whose head hadfallen the most disastrous blows of fortune. Now he saw to the bottomof that mysterious secret, now he saw for the first time the fullextent of the misfortune which he had brought upon poor Angela.'Angela, my wife, shall decide,' he said hoarsely, and followed theColonel, who was hurrying off at full speed.
"On reaching the house the Colonel laid his hand upon the latch ofAngela's chamber; but the Chevalier pushed him back, saying, 'My wifeis asleep. Do you want to rouse her up out of her sweet sleep?'
"'Hm!' replied the Colonel. 'Has Angela ever enjoyed sweet sleep sinceyou brought all this nameless misery upon her?' Again the Colonelattempted to enter the chamber; but the Chevalier threw himself at hisfeet and screamed, frantic with despair, 'Be merciful. Let me keep mywife; you have made me a beggar, but let me keep my wife.'
"'That's how old Vertua lay at your feet, you miscreant dead to allfeeling, and could not move your stony heart; may Heaven's vengeanceovertake you for it.' Thus spoke the Colonel; and he again strodetowards Angela's chamber.
"The Chevalier sprang towards the door, tore it open, rushed to the bedin which his wife lay, and drew back the curtains, crying, 'Angela!Angela!' Bending over her, he grasped her hand; but all at once heshook and trembled in mortal anguish and cried in a thundering voice,'Look! look! you have won my wife's corpse.'
"Perfectly horrified, the Colonel approached the bed; no sign oflife!--Angela was dead--dead.
"Then the Colonel doubled his fist and shook it heavenwards, and rushedout of the room uttering a fearful cry. Nothing more was ever heard ofhim."
This was the end of the stranger's tale; and the Baron was so shakenthat before he could say anything the stranger had hastily risen fromthe seat and gone away.
A few days later the stranger was found in his room suffering fromapoplexy of the nerves. He never opened his mouth up to the moment ofhis death, which ensued after the lapse of a few hours. His papersproved that, though he called himself Baudasson simply, he was no lessa person than the unhappy Chevalier Menars himself.
The Baron recognised it as a warning from Heaven, that Chevalier Menarshad been led across his path to save him just as he was approaching thebrink of the precipice; he vowed that he would withstand all theseductions of the gambler's deceptive luck.
Up till now he has faithfully kept his word.
FOOTNOTES TO "GAMBLER'S LUCK":
[Footnote 1: In faro the keeper of the bank plays against all the restof the players (who are called _punters_). He has a full pack; theyhave but a single complete suit. The punters may stake what they pleaseupon any card they please, except in so far as rules may have been madeto the contrary by the banker. After the cards have been cut, thebanker proceeds to take off the two top cards one after the other,placing the first at his right hand, and the second at his left, eachwith the face uppermost. Any punter who has staked a card which bearsexactly the same number of "peeps" as the card turned up on thebanker's right hand loses the stake to the latter; but if it bears thesame number of "peeps" as the card on the banker's left, it is thebanker who has to pay the punter a sum equal to the value of his stake.The twenty-six drawings which a full pack allows the banker to make arecalled a _taille_.
This general sketch will help to make the text intelligible for themost part without going into minor technicalities of the game.]
[Footnote 2: The words "win," "lose," with which the banker places thetwo cards on the table, the first to his right for himself, the secondon his left for the punter.]
[Footnote 3: The new _Louis d'or_ were worth somewhat less than the oldcoins of the time of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. (See note, p. 175.)]
[Footnote 4: The banker's assistants, who shuffle cards for him, changecheques, notes, and make themselves generally useful.]
[Footnote 5: Malmaison is a chateau and park situated about six milesW. of Paris. It once belonged to Richelieu; and there the EmpressJosephine lived, and there she died on the 13th May, 1814.]
[Footnote 6: "_Va bout_" or "_Va banque_" meant a challenge to the bankto the full amount of the highest limit of play, and if the punter wonhe virtually broke the bank.]
[Footnote 7: The first silver ducat is believed to have been struck in1140 by Roger II., Norman king of Sicily; and ducats have been struckconstantly since the twelfth century, especially at Venice (see _Merchantof Venice_). They have varied considerably both in weight and fineness, andconsequently in value, at different times and places. Ducats have beenstruck in both gold and silver. The early Venetian silver ducat was worthabout five shillings. The name is said, according to one account, to havebeen derived from the last word of the Latin legend found on the earliestVenetian gold coins:--_Sit tibi, Christe, datus, quem tu regis, ducatus_(duchy); according to another account it is taken from "_il ducato_," thename generally applied to the duchy of Apulia. (Note, page 98, Vol. I.)]