THE CAFÉ DE LA RÉGENCE.
Were I called upon to name the central spot in this whirling sphere, the point round which all other points revolve, I should say—The Café de la Régence.
Probably many of my readers will not think so, but that does not alter the fact. I name that café, not as a chess player, but from more general reasons. Take a bowl of water or any other liquid—punch will do—and, prior to drinking, experiment upon it. Turn it round and round until the liquid revolves quickly, and mark: there is one spot in the centre, a bubble, or mass of foam, which appears stationary, and all the other bubbles are circling and converging spirally towards it. So with my café.
In Paris, every other house is a café. The inhabitants are divided into two classes:—waiters at the café, and—frequenters of the café. Paris never existed until coffee was introduced. Paris is merely a big café, and is a product of the Mocha berry.
Every café has its speciality. At Paul Niquet's, for instance, the chiffoniers congregate, and at Tortoni's, speculators and politicians. Not one of these establishments, throughout the city, but has its mark, by which to distinguish it from its fellows, in the same way as an ugly woman consoles herself with the belief that she has one quality at least which will captivate admirers. But the Café de la Régence stands out peculiar from the rest; it is what they are, and more too. It is an epitome of all.
Now the reader must not suppose I am going to enter on a lengthy history of this far-famed trysting spot of men of all countries, more particularly as Mr. George Walker anticipated me many years ago. Everybody knows that the Café de la Régence and the Café Procope are the two oldest in Paris; that the former is so named after the famous Regent Duke of Orleans; that Voltaire, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Duke of Richelieu, Marshall Saxe, Franklin, Robespierre, Napoleon, etc., etc., etc., made it their place of frequent resort for the purpose of playing at chess. I am about to give a daguerreotype of the Régence as Morphy and I found it, and as any one will find it at the present day.
The first thing we caught sight of, on entering, was a dense cloud of tobacco smoke, the product of tabac de Caporal and cigars de la Régie. The second object was a massive individual, with Titanic shoulders, whom we afterwards learned was Monsieur Morel, or, as they call him there, "Le père Morel," and "The Rhinoceros." Having turned the flank of this gentleman, and our eyes becoming used to the peculiar atmosphere, we observed that tables were placed as close to each other as would admit of one's passing between them, and that chess was being played on some, draughts, cards, and dominoes on others. In a second room, two billiard-tables were in full action, surrounded by still other chess and card parties, whilst the unceasing hubbub arising from the throng seemed to render mental abstraction an impossibility. At a table in the first room, a small crowd was watching the contest between two amateurs of "ye noble game of chesse playe," and Morphy's attention was immediately arrested. I stepped up to the dame du comptoir and made inquiries as to who was then in the room, and learned from her that one of the two players Morphy was watching was Monsieur Journoud, "un de nos plus forts," the lady added, as though aware I was a stranger. She informed me that Mr. Harrwitz was then at Valenciennes, but intended to return to Paris at the end of the week, in order to meet Mr. Morphy. On my not expressing any surprise at the mention of the latter's name, she volunteered the information that Mr. Morphy was a celebrated American player, who had beaten everybody he had played with, and that they expected him yesterday. The lady was pleasingly voluble, and I encouraged her; this induced her to add that Monsieur Arnoux de Rivière had just received a letter from a friend in London, apprising him that our hero had left the English capital, and was en route for Paris.
Having learned as much as the dame du comptoir was able to communicate, I rejoined Morphy, and we took a second look round the room. Sounds of all European languages saluted our ears, and types of different races our eyes. In one corner, a knot of Italians talked, amicably no doubt, in their rapid, quarrelsome manner. At one of the billiard tables, a party of Russians were having it their own way, without fear of listeners; Americans and English, Germans, Danes, Swedes, Greeks, Spaniards, etc., jabbered together regardless of bystanders, making the café a very Babel. Scores of journals were lying here and there—the leading newspapers, in fact, throughout Europe—so that every visitor, no matter what his nationality, could obtain news of home.
The crowd seemed, as it always does, to represent every rank of society. There were military men, from colonels to privates; one or two priests, who seemed somewhat out of their element; well-dressed, aristocratic-looking individuals, who kept together in knots in different corners; and the invariable pillier de café, who passes half his existence in such establishments, and the other half in bed. The Café de la Régence opens at eight o'clock in the morning, but little or nothing is done until noon, barring the daily visit of some three or four patrons who drink their coffee in silence, and are not seen again until early next day. But at noon men begin to drop in quickly, and, by two o'clock, the room is as full as it can conveniently hold, and so continues until midnight.
The Café de la Régence has only existed on its present site for a few years; in fact, since Louis Napoleon has made the many magnificent alterations in the French capital. Previously, it was next door, in a locale not half so convenient as the present one. The café is separated into two rooms on the Rue St. Honoré; in the larger one, which we have already described, smoking is permitted to a frightful extent; in the other, it is strictly forbidden. The latter chamber is well fitted up, and the ceiling, which is massive, contains four shields in the cornices, bearing the names of Philidor, Deschappelles, and Labourdonnais. The fourth bears the date of the café's foundation, and the proprietor has stated his intention of placing therein the name Morphy. Perhaps it is already done.
At the time of our arrival in Paris, the Cercle des Echecs, or in other words, the Chess Club, met in rooms over the café. The association had three rooms set apart for chess, and one for billiards, and Saint Amant, Devinck, Guibert, Préti, Doazan, Delannoy, Seguin and Lecrivain were amongst the members. But the great room down stairs prevented their receiving any accession of numbers, and the rent being very high, and funds very low, they gave up their quarters at the end of last year, and are now to be found in the café below.
Morphy would not announce his arrival on his first visit, preferring to postpone it until the following day. When it was known that the so much looked-for player was in Paris, the excitement was great; Frenchmen live for excitement. M. de Rivière had not been there lately, but we found Messrs. Lecrivain, Journoud, Guibert, and numbers of knight and rook-players. The first-named gentleman, by general request, offered himself as the initiatory sacrifice, accepting the odds of pawn and two moves, and managed to score some two games to Morphy's six or seven. Then M. de Rivière arrived, and getting the move, played the Ruy Lopez, which eventuated in "a draw;" and he was subsequently followed by M. Journoud, who, though one of the best French players, failed to score a victory. Morphy had made his mark, and everybody looked forward to the arrival of Herr Harrwitz, when they hoped to see fun.