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The Gaming Table-Vol.2-Part5_Andrew Steinmetz(1816-1877)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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At Hazard, they used 'low or high dice,' that is, with only



certain numbers on them, high or low,--a pair of which every

sharper always had in his possession, changing them with great



dexterity. They also used 'cramped' boxes, by which they

'cogged' or fastened the dice in the box as they dropped them IN,



and so could drop them OUT with the required face upwards.

CHAPTER III.



ANECDOTES OF THE PASSIONS AND VICISSITUDES OF GAMESTERS.

Although all the motives of human action have long been known--



although psychology, or the science of soul and sentiment, has

ceased to present us with any new facts--it is quite certain that



our edifice of Morals is not quite built up. We may rest assured

that as long as intellectual man exists the problem will be



considered unsolved, and the question will be agitated. Future

generations will destroy what we establish, and will fashion a



something according to their advancement, and so on; for if there

be a term which, of all others, should be expunged from the



dictionaries of all human beings, it seems to be Lord Russell's

word FINALITY. Something NEW will always be wanted. 'Sensation'



is the very life of humanity; it is motion--the reverse of

'death'--which we all abhor.



The gamester lives only for the 'sensation' of gaming. Menage

tells us of a gamester who declared that he had never seen any



luminary above the horizon but the moon. Saint Evremond, writing

to the Count de Grammont, says--'You play from morning to night,



or rather from night to morning. All the rays of the gamester's

existence terminate in play; it is on this centre that his very



existence depends. He enjoys not an hour of calm or serenity.

During the day he longs for night, and during the night he dreads



the return of day.'

Being always pre-occupied, gamesters are subject to a ridiculous



absence of mind. Tacitus tells us that the Emperor Vitellius was

so torpid that he would have forgotten he was a prince unless



people had reminded him of it from time to time.[8] Many

gamesters have forgotten that they were husbands and fathers.



During play some one said that the government were about to levy

a tax on bachelors. 'Then I shall be ruined!' exclaimed one of



the players absorbed in the game. 'Why, man, you have a wife and

five children,' said the speaker.



[8] Tanta torpedo invaserat animum Vitellii, ut si principem eum

fuisse non meminissent, ipse oblivisceretur. Hist., lib. iii.



This infatuation may be simply ridiculous; but it has also a

horrible aspect. A distracted wife has rushed to the gaming



table, imploring her husband, who had for two entire days been

engaged at play, to return to his home.



'Only let me stay one moment longer--only one moment. . . . . I

shall return perhaps the day after to-morrow,' he stammered out



to the wretched woman, who retired. Alas! he returned sooner

than he had promised. His wife was in bed, holding the last of



her children to her breast.

'Get up, madam,' said the ruined gambler" target="_blank" title="n.赌徒">gambler, 'the bed on which you



lie belongs to us no longer!' . . .

When the gamester is fortunate, he enjoys his success elsewhere;



to his home he brings only consternation.

A wife had received the most solemn promise from her husband that



he would gamble no more. One night, however, he slunk out of

bed, rushed to the gaming table, and lost all the money he had



with him. He tried to borrow more, but was refused. He went

home. His wife had taken the precaution to lock the drawer that



contained their last money. Vain obstacle! The madman broke it

open, carried off two thousand crowns--to take his revenge, as he



said, but in reality to lose the whole as before.

But it is to the gaming room that we must go to behold the



progress of the terrible drama--the ebb and flow of opposite

movements--the shocks of alternate hope and fear, infinitely



varied in the countenance, not only of the actors, but also of

the spectators. What is visible, however, is nothing in



comparison to the secret agony. It is in his heart that the

tempest roars most fiercely.



Two players once exhibited their rage, the one by a mournful

silence, the other by repeated imprecations. The latter, shocked



at the sang-froid of his neighbour, reproached him for enduring,

without complaint, such losses one after the other. 'Look here!'






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