toward the end of september, while the weather was so hot as to keep away from the south of france all but very determined travellers, an english gentleman, not very beautiful in his outward appearance, was sauntering about the great hall of the gambling-house at monte carlo, in the kingdom or principality of monaco, the only gambling-house now left in europe in which idle men of a speculative nature may yet solace their hours with some excitement. nor is the amusement denied to idle ladies, as might be seen by two or three highly-dressed habituées who at this moment were depositing their shawls and parasols with the porters. the clock was on the stroke of eleven, when the gambling-room would be open, and the amusement was too rich in its nature to allow of the loss of even a few minutes. but this gentleman was not an habitué, nor was he known even by name to any of the small crowd that was then assembled. but it was known to many of them that he had had a great "turn of luck" on the preceding day, and had walked off from the "rouge-et-noir" table with four or five hundred pounds.
the weather was still so hot that but few englishmen were there, and the play had not as yet begun to run high. there were only two or three,—men who cannot keep their hands from ruin when ruin is open to them. to them heat and cold, the dog-star or twenty degrees below zero, make no difference while the croupier is there, with his rouleaux before him, capable of turning up the card. they know that the chance is against them,—one in twenty, let us say,—and that in the long-run one in twenty is as good as two to one to effect their ruin. for a day they may stand against one in twenty, as this man had done. for two or three days, for a week, they may possibly do so; but they know that the doom must come at last,—as it does come invariably,—and they go on. but our friend, the englishman who had won the money, was not such a one as these, at any rate in regard to monaco. yesterday had been his first appearance, and he had broken ground there with great success. he was an ill-looking person, poorly clad,—what, in common parlance, we should call seedy. he had not a scrap of beard on his face, and though swarthy and dark as to his countenance, was light as to his hair, which hung in quantities down his back. he was dressed from head to foot in a suit of cross-barred, light-colored tweed, of which he wore the coat buttoned tight over his chest, as though to hide some deficiency of linen.
the gentleman was altogether a disreputable-looking personage, and they who had seen him win his money,—frenchmen and italians for the most part,—had declared among themselves that his luck had been most miraculous. it was observed that he had a companion with him, who stuck close to his elbow, and it was asserted that this companion continually urged him to leave the room. but as long as the croupier remained at the table he remained, and continued to play through the day with almost invariable luck. it was surmised among the gamblers there that he had not entered the room with above twenty or thirty pieces in his pocket, and that he had taken away with him, when the place was closed, six hundred napoleons. "look there; he has come again to give it all back to madame blanc, with interest," said a frenchman to an italian.
"yes; and he will end by blowing his brains out within a week. he is just the man to do it."
"these englishmen always rush at their fate like mad bulls," said the frenchman. "they get less distraction for their money than any one."
"che va piano va sano," said the italian, jingling the four napoleons in his pocket, which had been six on yesterday morning. then they sauntered up to the englishman, and both of them touched their hats to him. the englishman just acknowledged the compliment, and walked off with his companion, who was still whispering something into his ear.
"it is a gendarme who is with him, i think," said the frenchman, "only the man does not walk erect."
who does not know the outside hall of the magnificent gambling-house at monte carlo, with all the golden splendor of its music-room within? who does not know the lofty roof and lounging seats, with its luxuries of liveried servants, its wealth of newspapers, and every appanage of costly comfort which can be added to it? and its music within,—who does not know that there are to be heard sounds in a greater perfection of orchestral melody than are to be procured by money and trouble combined in the great capitals of europe? think of the trouble endured by those unhappy fathers of families who indulge their wives and daughters at the philharmonic and st. james's hall! think of the horrors of our theatres, with their hot gas, and narrow passages, and difficulties of entrance, and almost impossibility of escape! and for all this money has to be paid,—high prices,—and the day has to be fixed long beforehand, so that the tickets may be secured, and the daily feast,—papa's too often solitary enjoyment,—has to be turned into a painful early fast. and when at last the thing has been done, and the torment endured, the sounds heard have not always been good of their kind, for the money has not sufficed to purchase the aid of a crowd of the best musicians. but at monte carlo you walk in with your wife in her morning costume, and seating yourself luxuriously in one of those soft stalls which are there prepared for you, you give yourself up with perfect ease to absolute enjoyment. for two hours the concert lasts, and all around is perfection and gilding. there is nothing to annoy the most fastidious taste. you have not heated yourself with fighting your way up crowded stairs; no box-keeper has asked you for a shilling. no link-boy has dunned you because he stood useless for a moment at the door of your carriage. no panic has seized you, and still oppresses you, because of the narrow dimensions in which you have to seat yourself for the next three hours. there are no twenty minutes during which you are doomed to sit in miserable expectation. exactly at the hour named the music begins, and for two hours it is your own fault if you be not happy. a railway-carriage has brought you to steps leading up to the garden in which these princely halls are built, and when the music is over will again take you home. nothing can be more perfect than the concert-room at monte carlo, and nothing more charming; and for all this there is nothing whatever to pay.
but by whom;—out of whose pocket are all these good things provided? they tell you at monte carlo that from time to time are to be seen men walking off in the dark of the night or the gloom of the evening, or, for the matter of that, in the broad light of day, if the stern necessity of the hour require it, with a burden among them, to be deposited where it may not be seen or heard of any more. they are carrying away "all that mortal remains" of one of the gentlemen who have paid for your musical entertainment. he has given his all for the purpose, and has then—blown his brains out. it is one of the disagreeable incidents to which the otherwise extremely pleasant money-making operations of the establishment are liable. such accidents will happen. a gambling-house, the keeper of which is able to maintain the royal expense of the neighboring court out of his winnings and also to keep open for those who are not ashamed to accept it,—gratis, all for love,—a concert-room brilliant with gold, filled with the best performers whom the world can furnish, and comfortable beyond all opera-houses known to men must be liable to a few such misfortunes. who is not ashamed to accept, i have said, having lately been there and thoroughly enjoyed myself? but i did not put myself in the way of having to cut my throat, on which account i felt, as i came out, that i had been somewhat shabby. i was ashamed in that i had not put a few napoleons down on the table. conscience had prevented me, and a wish to keep my money. but should not conscience have kept me away from all that happiness for which i had not paid? i had not thought of it before i went to monte carlo, but i am inclined now to advise others to stay away, or else to put down half a napoleon, at any rate, as the price of a ticket. the place is not overcrowded, because the conscience of many is keener than was mine.
we ought to be grateful to the august sovereign of monaco in that he enabled an enterprising individual to keep open for us in so brilliant a fashion the last public gambling-house in europe. the principality is but large enough to contain the court of the sovereign which is held in the little town of monaco, and the establishment of the last of legitimate gamblers which is maintained at monte carlo. if the report of the world does not malign the prince, he lives, as does the gambler, out of the spoil taken from the gamblers. he is to be seen in his royal carriage going forth with his royal consort,—and very royal he looks! his little teacup of a kingdom,—or rather a roll of french bread, for it is crusty and picturesque,—is now surrounded by france. there is nice away to the west, and mentone to the east, and the whole kingdom lies within the compass of a walk. mentone, in france, at any rate, is within five miles of the monarch's residence. how happy it is that there should be so blessed a spot left in tranquillity on the earth's surface!
but on the present occasion monte carlo was not in all its grandeur, because of the heat of the weather. another month, and english lords, and english members of parliament, and english barristers would be there,—all men, for instance, who could afford to be indifferent as to their character for a month,—and the place would be quite alive with music, cards, and dice. at present men of business only flocked to its halls, eagerly intent on making money, though, alas! almost all doomed to lose it. but our one friend with the long light locks was impatient for the fray. the gambling-room had now been opened, and the servants of the table, less impatient than he, were slowly arranging their money and their cards. our friend had taken his seat, and was already resolving, with his eyes fixed on the table, where he would make his first plunge. in his right hand was a bag of gold, and under his left hand were hidden the twelve napoleons with which he intended to commence. on yesterday he had gone through his day's work by twelve, though on one or two occasions he had plunged deeply. it had seemed to this man as though a new heaven had been opened to him, as of late he had seen little of luck in this world. the surmises made as to the low state of his funds when he entered the room had been partly true; but time had been when he was able to gamble in a more costly fashion even than here, and to play among those who had taken his winnings and losings simply as a matter of course.
and now the game had begun, and the twelve napoleons were duly deposited. again he won his stake, an omen for the day, and was exultant. a second twelve and a third were put down, and on each occasion he won. in the silly imagination of his heart he declared to himself that the calculation of all chances was as nothing against his run of luck. here was the spot on which it was destined that he should redeem all the injury which fortune had done him. and in truth this man had been misused by fortune. his companion whispered in his ear, but he heard not a word of it. he increased the twelve to fifteen, and again won. as he looked round there was a halo of triumph which seemed to illuminate his face. he had chained chance to his chariot-wheel and would persevere now that the good time had come. what did he care for the creature at his elbow? he thought of all the good things which money could again purchase for him as he carefully fingered the gold for the next stake. he had been rich, though he was now poor; though how could a man be accounted poor who had an endless sum of six hundred napoleons in his pocket, a sum which was, in truth, endless, while it could be so rapidly recruited in this fashion? the next stake he also won, but as he raked all the pieces which the croupier pushed toward him his mind had become intent on another sphere and on other persons. let him win what he might, his old haunts were now closed against him. what good would money do him, living such a life as he must now be compelled to pass? as he thought of this the five-and-twenty napoleons on the table were taken away from him almost without consciousness on his part.
at that moment there came a voice in his ear,—not the voice of his attending friend, but one of which he accurately knew the lisping, fiendish sound: "ah, captain scarborough, i thought it vas posshible you might be here. dis ish a very nice place." our friend looked round and glared at the man, and felt that it was impossible that this occupation should be continued under his eyes. "yesh; it was likely. how do you like monte carlo? you have plenty of money—plenty!" the man was small, and oily, and black-haired, and beaky-nosed, with a perpetual smile on his face, unless when on special occasions he would be moved to the expression of deep anger. of the modern hebrews a most complete hebrew; but a man of purpose, who never did things by halves, who could count upon good courage within, and who never allowed himself to be foiled by misadventure. he was one who, beginning with nothing, was determined to die a rich man, and was likely to achieve his purpose. now there was no gleam of anger on his face, but a look of invincible good-humor, which was not, however, quite good-humor, when you came to examine it closely.
"oh, that is you, is it, mr. hart?"
"yesh; it is me. i have followed you. oh, i have had quite a pleasant tour following you. but ven i got my noshe once on to the schent then i was sure it was monte carlo. and it ish monte carlo; eh, captain scarborough?"
"yes; of course it is monte carlo. that is to say, monte carlo is the place where we are now. i don't know what you mean by running on in that way." then he drew back from the table, mr. hart following close behind him, and his attendant at a farther distance behind him. as he went he remembered that he had slightly increased the six hundred napoleons of yesterday, and that the money was still in his own possession. not all the jews in london could touch the money while he kept it in his pocket.
"who ish dat man there?" asked mr. hart.
"what can that be to you?"
"he seems to follow you pretty close."
"not so close as you do, by george; and perhaps he has something to get by it, which you haven't."
"come, come, come! if he have more to get than i he mush be pretty deep. there is mishter tyrrwhit. no one have more to get than i, only mishter tyrrwhit. vy, captain scarborough, the little game you wash playing there, which wash a very pretty little game, is as nothing to my game wish you. when you see the money down, on the table there, it seems to be mush because the gold glitters, but it is as noting to my little game, where the gold does not glitter, because it is pen and ink. a pen and ink soon writes ten thousand pounds. but you think mush of it when you win two hundred pounds at roulette."
"i think nothing of it," said our friend captain scarborough.
"and it goes into your pocket to give champagne to the ladies, instead of paying your debts to the poor fellows who have supplied you for so long with all de money."
all this occurred in the gambling-house at a distance from the table, but within hearing of that attendant who still followed the player. these moments were moments of misery to the captain in spite of the bank-notes for six hundred napoleons which were still in his breast coat-pocket. and they were not made lighter by the fact that all the words spoken by the jew were overheard by the man who was supposed to be there in the capacity of his servant. but the man, as it seemed, had a mission to fulfil, and was the captain's master as well as servant. "mr. hart," said captain scarborough, repressing the loudness of his words as far as his rage would admit him, but still speaking so as to attract the attention of some of those round him, "i do not know what good you propose to yourself by following me in this manner. you have my bonds, which are not even payable till my father's death."
"ah, there you are very much mistaken."
"and are then only payable out of the property to which i believed myself to be heir when the money was borrowed."
"you are still de heir—de heir to tretton. there is not a shadow of a doubt as to that."
"i hope when the time comes," said the captain, "you'll be able to prove your words."
"of course we shall prove dem. why not? your father and your brother are very clever shentlemen, i think, but they will not be more clever than mishter samuel hart. mr. tyrrwhit also is a clever man. perhaps he understands your father's way of doing business. perhaps it is all right with mr. tyrrwhit. it shall be all right with me too;—i swear it. when will you come back to london, captain scarborough?"
then there came an angry dispute in the gambling-room, during which mr. hart by no means strove to repress his voice. captain scarborough asserted his rights as a free agent, declaring himself capable, as far as the law was concerned, of going wherever he pleased without reference to mr. hart; and told that gentleman that any interference on his part would be regarded as an impertinence. "but my money—my money, which you must pay this minute, if i please to demand it."
"you did not lend me five-and-twenty thousand pounds without security."
"it is forty-five—now, at this moment."
"take it, get it; go and put it in your pocket. you have a lot of writings; turn then into cash at once. take them to any other jew in london and sell them. see if you can get your five-and-twenty thousand pounds for them,—or twenty-five thousand shillings. you certainly cannot get five-and-twenty pence for them here, though you had all the police of this royal kingdom to support you. my father says that the bonds i gave you are not worth the paper on which they were written. if you are cheated, so have i been. if he has robbed you, so has he me. but i have not robbed you, and you can do nothing to me."
"i vill stick to you like beesvax," said mr. hart, while the look of good-humor left his countenance for a moment. "like beesvax! you shall not escape me again."
"you will have to follow me to constantinople, then."
"i vill follow you to the devil."
"you are likely to go before me there. but for the present i am off to constantinople, from whence i intend to make an extended tour to mount caucasus, and then into thibet. i shall be very glad of your company, but cannot offer to pay the bill. when you and your companions have settled yourselves comfortably at tretton, i shall be happy to come and see you there. you will have to settle the matter first with my younger brother, if i may make bold to call that well-born gentleman my brother at all. i wish you a good-morning, mr. hart." upon that he walked out into the hall, and thence down the steps into the garden in front of the establishment, his own attendant following him.
mr. hart also followed him, but did not immediately seek to renew the conversation. if he meant to show any sign of keeping his threat and of sticking to the captain like beeswax, he must show his purpose at once. the captain for a time walked round the little enclosure in earnest conversation with the attendant, and mr. hart stood on the steps watching them. play was over, at any rate for that day, as far as the captain was concerned.
"now, captain scarborough, don't you think you've been very rash?" said the attendant.
"i think i've got six hundred and fifty napoleons in my pocket, instead of waiting to get them in driblets from my brother."
"but if he knew that you had come here he would withdraw them altogether. of course, he will know now. that man will be sure to tell him. he will let all london know. of course, it would be so when you came to a place of such common resort as monte carlo."
"common resort! do you believe he came here as to a place of common resort? do you think that he had not tracked me out, and would not have done so, whether i had gone to melbourne, or new york, or st. petersburg? but the wonder is that he should spend his money in such a vain pursuit."
"ah, captain, you do not know what is vain and what is not. it is your brother's pleasure that you should be kept in the dark for a time."
"hang my brother's pleasure! why am i to follow my brother's pleasure?"
"because he will allow you an income. he will keep a coat on your back and a hat on your head, and supply meat and wine for your needs." here captain scarborough jingled the loose napoleons in his trousers pocket. "oh, yes, that is all very well but it will not last forever. indeed, it will not last for a week unless you leave monte carlo."
"i shall leave it this afternoon by the train for genoa."
"and where shall you go then?"
"you heard me suggest to mr. hart to the devil,—or else constantinople, and after that to thibet. i suppose i shall still enjoy the pleasure of your company?"
"mr. augustus wishes that i should remain with you, and, as you yourself say, perhaps it will be best."
