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Frascati's
Morning Post Friday 12 November 1830 Frascati's. — It has been well observed that this novel has at least one very sound test of a good book — it gradually gains upon the reader until its close; when its utility, as well as its entertainment, are impressed upon the mind with a strength not easily to be forgotten. Like a second *Diable Boiteux,” the author of Frascali's unroofs the houses of a busy capital, and shews us the secrets of every place of human resort. There is, however, a mansion more difficult to 'expose as in a mirror,' and it is this which the author makes us thoroughly acquainted with — the human breast — the mansions of the ‘pas-don*, which are here drawn in all their variety, from the repose of maiden virtue and loveliness, in the duties and affections of private life, to the agitations created by an indulgence in the worst vices of society.” Northern Whig Thurs 04 April 1839 PARISlAN GAMBLING-HOUSES. The salon of the “Rue Manivaux” deserves some mention. Here there was but one roulette table, and a small reading-room the whole air of the place breathing a species of peace and quietude, strangely at variance with its more frequented rivals. The salon had all the easy domesticity of a private house, and was hard to believe, that one was not playing famille. Ihe chatted familiarly with the betters; gave them prudent counsels, smiled their winnings, and looked unhappy when they lost; fact, you half expected, when your last louis had followed its predecessors, that theY would come forward, and restore your losses. The two great gambling-homes of Paris occupied the extremity of the Rue Richelieu, next the Boulevard. “The salon,” as one of these was distinctly called, was frequented all the great play-men the world. Here might be seen, thick confuSion crowding*’—Deputes, Cortes, Lords of Parliament, Peers of France, exiled Kings, and millionaire bankers. Herr, Don Carlos, upon the only night of his appearing, lost five thousand C irlists ; and here Don Miguel ” invested’’all the gold he had brought with him from the banks of the Tigris. Four Generals of the Queen Christina left their last napoleon ; and the richest banker of Germany, who had come expressly to combat foot to foot with fortune, here became beggar. English, without number, followed this train of ruin and not nation of the Continent but had contributed its victims at the salon. The supper was served at midnight, and nothing was wanting to complete its enjoyment, save the gold you had lost, while waiting for it. Nothing was spared, which could tempt the appetite of the guests; and the first delicacies of the season appeared here, before they had made their appearance upon the table Royalty. Frascati possessed also its crowds; but they were of somewhat inferior order: yet, scarcely a gambling-house Paris exists, within whose walls many eventful tales of gain and loss have been told. Here it was, that, in the latter part of the year 1827, the well-known Mr. B fell dead at the table, the dico-box in his hand. He had never missed a night, since the year 1814, excepting during the revolution of July; when, for three evenings, Frascati was closed. During this, to him. melancholy interval, he never ceased to bewail the state of affairs, in which, alone, he could see the interruption to play; in fact, he recognised but one barrier in Paris—that one which blockaded the end of the Rue Richelieu. our return from a tour to Germany, had strolled Frascati’s, one evening, rather with the hope of meeting some acquaintance than with any intention of play. Unsuccessful in our search, we were about to leave the salon, when we were struck by the haggard air and disturbed look of young man who sat at the table, and scarcely looked up from the card he was marking with a pin, to place his money upon the table. We watched him, for nearly an hour, during which time, he bet almost every deal, and nearly as constantly lost. At length, as a new deal was commencing, he hurriedly placed before him all his remaining gold, and scarcely was it done when he lost; he now remained for some minutes motionless; at length, rising from his seat, he passed round the table till he reached the back of the croupier’s chair, and, whispering a few words in his ear, waited for an answer. The nature of the demand was evident enough, for he immediately after returned to his place, his hand full of billets de banque. For some time, he did not bet, but sat steadily regarding the table, his eyes following the ratteen of the banker, he raked in or gave out the shining gold. At last, with a trembling hand, he placed a note upon the rouge, and lost, another and another quickly followed, still without any change of fortune—his look, each loss, becoming more and more fixed, and his features, already pale as death, becoming hardened like those of a marble statue—his bloodshot eye and loose straggling hair giving a terrific expression to the otherwise stern composure of his face. His neck was bare, and his bands played restlessly in the folds of his neckcloth which lay upon the table before him. lost again, and a larger sum than before—at last, as if he were impatient at the lingering torture of his fate, he seized all the billets which remained, and threw them recklessly on the table, saying, at the same time, ”Hint millet rouge.' n Ilonge i>erd, noir gagne,” said the banker, in the same instant, raking the money, with his usual careless and passionless look. A short thick laugh broke from the young man, whose features, however, never changed. rose from the table, and leisurely replaced his neckcloth. His place was immediately occupied by another, and even oursclve«, although the only ones who had taken any interest his proceedings soon lost sight of him in the scene which ensued. It having struck some of the players, that the banker had miscounted the cards, dispute arose as to whether the rovge or the noir had won ; fortunately, the cards still remained upon the table, and, amid a considerable uproar of voices eagerly raised on either side, the banker proceeded again to count them. Trente-sept rouge.’ 1 **Trente-neuf noir.' 1 I was wrong, the rouge has won,’’said he, in some astonishment. The money of the betters on the red was immediately paid over to them, some of whom took it up. others preferring to let it remain upon the table for another roup. It would appear, that the young man vre had been watching preferred this latter course, for his money remained where the banker placed it, and it was with sense of grest anxiety waited for the deal upon which bis fate was now to be decided. It won, —the money still remained, and again won—the sum now upon the table amounting 64,000 francs, being rather above the limit the Bauk, the croupier asked who was the owner of that sum, and bow much he proposed to bet. No answer was given to this question, and some surprise was excited in the room. Again, the croupier spoke, but no explanation followed, and a general silence in the room proclaimed the interest that nil took in so strange circumstance, when, suddenly, heavy crash was heard, succeeded a low, faint groan, and all was still. The assembly rose, and rushing to the antechamber, found the window open, and, on looking out, perceived that the unfortunate gambler had long observed, had thrown himself down a height of about fifty feet, and lay dead at the bottom. His skull bad been fractured in the fall, and his death must have been almost instantaneous. was but too plain, he had believed the statement of the banker, and hurried on to suicide, as the only resource left him his misery. Had lived one moment longer, lie must have learnt the mistake, and found himself the winner of thousands —Continental Gossipings, in The Dublin University Magazine.xt goes here... Morning Post Friday 12 November 1830 Frascati's. — It has been well observed that this novel has at least one very sound test of a good book — it gradually gains upon the reader until its close; when its utility, as well as its entertainment, are impressed upon the mind with a strength not easily to be forgotten. Like a second *Diable Boiteux,” the author of Frascali's unroofs the houses of a busy capital, and shews us the secrets of every place of human resort. There is, however, a mansion more difficult to 'expose as in a mirror,' and it is this which the author makes us thoroughly acquainted with — the human breast — the mansions of the ‘pas-don*, which are here drawn in all their variety, from the repose of maiden virtue and loveliness, in the duties and affections of private life, to the agitations created by an indulgence in the worst vices of society.” Northern Whig Thurs 04 April 1839 PARISlAN GAMBLING-HOUSES. The salon of the “Rue Manivaux” deserves some mention. Here there was but one roulette table, and a small reading-room the whole air of the place breathing a species of peace and quietude, strangely at variance with its more frequented rivals. The salon had all the easy domesticity of a private house, and was hard to believe, that one was not playing famille. Ihe chatted familiarly with the betters; gave them prudent counsels, smiled their winnings, and looked unhappy when they lost; fact, you half expected, when your last louis had followed its predecessors, that theY would come forward, and restore your losses. The two great gambling-homes of Paris occupied the extremity of the Rue Richelieu, next the Boulevard. “The salon,” as one of these was distinctly called, was frequented all the great play-men the world. Here might be seen, thick confuSion crowding*’—Deputes, Cortes, Lords of Parliament, Peers of France, exiled Kings, and millionaire bankers. Herr, Don Carlos, upon the only night of his appearing, lost five thousand C irlists ; and here Don Miguel ” invested’’all the gold he had brought with him from the banks of the Tigris. Four Generals of the Queen Christina left their last napoleon ; and the richest banker of Germany, who had come expressly to combat foot to foot with fortune, here became beggar. English, without number, followed this train of ruin and not nation of the Continent but had contributed its victims at the salon. The supper was served at midnight, and nothing was wanting to complete its enjoyment, save the gold you had lost, while waiting for it. Nothing was spared, which could tempt the appetite of the guests; and the first delicacies of the season appeared here, before they had made their appearance upon the table Royalty. Frascati possessed also its crowds; but they were of somewhat inferior order: yet, scarcely a gambling-house Paris exists, within whose walls many eventful tales of gain and loss have been told. Here it was, that, in the latter part of the year 1827, the well-known Mr. B fell dead at the table, the dico-box in his hand. He had never missed a night, since the year 1814, excepting during the revolution of July; when, for three evenings, Frascati was closed. During this, to him. melancholy interval, he never ceased to bewail the state of affairs, in which, alone, he could see the interruption to play; in fact, he recognised but one barrier in Paris—that one which blockaded the end of the Rue Richelieu. our return from a tour to Germany, had strolled Frascati’s, one evening, rather with the hope of meeting some acquaintance than with any intention of play. Unsuccessful in our search, we were about to leave the salon, when we were struck by the haggard air and disturbed look of young man who sat at the table, and scarcely looked up from the card he was marking with a pin, to place his money upon the table. We watched him, for nearly an hour, during which time, he bet almost every deal, and nearly as constantly lost. At length, as a new deal was commencing, he hurriedly placed before him all his remaining gold, and scarcely was it done when he lost; he now remained for some minutes motionless; at length, rising from his seat, he passed round the table till he reached the back of the croupier’s chair, and, whispering a few words in his ear, waited for an answer. The nature of the demand was evident enough, for he immediately after returned to his place, his hand full of billets de banque. For some time, he did not bet, but sat steadily regarding the table, his eyes following the ratteen of the banker, he raked in or gave out the shining gold. At last, with a trembling hand, he placed a note upon the rouge, and lost, another and another quickly followed, still without any change of fortune—his look, each loss, becoming more and more fixed, and his features, already pale as death, becoming hardened like those of a marble statue—his bloodshot eye and loose straggling hair giving a terrific expression to the otherwise stern composure of his face. His neck was bare, and his bands played restlessly in the folds of his neckcloth which lay upon the table before him. lost again, and a larger sum than before—at last, as if he were impatient at the lingering torture of his fate, he seized all the billets which remained, and threw them recklessly on the table, saying, at the same time, ”Hint millet rouge.' n Ilonge i>erd, noir gagne,” said the banker, in the same instant, raking the money, with his usual careless and passionless look. A short thick laugh broke from the young man, whose features, however, never changed. rose from the table, and leisurely replaced his neckcloth. His place was immediately occupied by another, and even oursclve«, although the only ones who had taken any interest his proceedings soon lost sight of him in the scene which ensued. It having struck some of the players, that the banker had miscounted the cards, dispute arose as to whether the rovge or the noir had won ; fortunately, the cards still remained upon the table, and, amid a considerable uproar of voices eagerly raised on either side, the banker proceeded again to count them. Trente-sept rouge.’ 1 **Trente-neuf noir.' 1 I was wrong, the rouge has won,’’said he, in some astonishment. The money of the betters on the red was immediately paid over to them, some of whom took it up. others preferring to let it remain upon the table for another roup. It would appear, that the young man vre had been watching preferred this latter course, for his money remained where the banker placed it, and it was with sense of grest anxiety waited for the deal upon which bis fate was now to be decided. It won, —the money still remained, and again won—the sum now upon the table amounting 64,000 francs, being rather above the limit the Bauk, the croupier asked who was the owner of that sum, and bow much he proposed to bet. No answer was given to this question, and some surprise was excited in the room. Again, the croupier spoke, but no explanation followed, and a general silence in the room proclaimed the interest that nil took in so strange circumstance, when, suddenly, heavy crash was heard, succeeded a low, faint groan, and all was still. The assembly rose, and rushing to the antechamber, found the window open, and, on looking out, perceived that the unfortunate gambler had long observed, had thrown himself down a height of about fifty feet, and lay dead at the bottom. His skull bad been fractured in the fall, and his death must have been almost instantaneous. was but too plain, he had believed the statement of the banker, and hurried on to suicide, as the only resource left him his misery. Had lived one moment longer, lie must have learnt the mistake, and found himself the winner of thousands —Continental Gossipings, in The Dublin University Magazine.
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