Reminiscences of Prince Talleyrand, Volume 2 (of 2)

by active 19th century M. Colmache

“It was evident that this state of things could not last long; the murmurs of the players, the manifest terror of the bankers, were beginning to disturb the game, when presently one of the croupiers came between the friends, and with pale and trembling lips whispered in the ear of the winner a few words which made him start. A warm conversation, still in the same mysterious whisper, was for a few moments carried on between them; and finally, after various signs of supplication on the part of the croupier, and of doubt and hesitation on the part of the chevalier, it was announced to the assembled players that M. de Fénélon would retire from the contest upon payment of the sum still left in the bank, which could be subscribed among them, and thus diminish the loss to each so as to be scarcely felt by any.

“This singular proposition, unheard of in the annals of the gaming-table, was received with the most profound indignation and astonishment on the part of the losers, but Fénélon himself undertook to prove that they could not lose, but must be the gainers, as his reine would most assuredly break the bank at the next roll of the balls. After some few uncouth exclamations on the part of the gentlemen, and a little pouting on the part of the ladies, the matter was carried. Fénélon was ‘paid off’ by a subscription, and dismissed with many a muttered curse from the honest and reputable assembly.

“Upon leaving the gaming-house, the chevalier’s joy became uproarious, and he trod the silent streets, reeling with laughter at the whimsical trick which Dame Fortune had condescended to play him. He chinked the gold in his pockets until it rang again, and made his companion dread lest the sound should be overheard by any of those nocturnal marauders with whom the streets of Paris at that time abounded. He even threw a handful of the coin down the grating of a cellar, for the sake of wondering what the occupants of the miserable hole would think of such good luck when they should awake the next morning. M. de Talleyrand, who never could endure any kind of midnight brawling, was right glad when they had reached the residence of his friend, and wished him good night with hearty good-will, content to be rid of his uncouth laughter and joyless gaiety.

“But Fénélon was not at all disposed to acquiesce in his friend’s desire for rest and quiet. The excess of good fortune had wrought the same effect as an excess of wine. He was as much excited as though he had been drinking the whole night; and when it came to the parting at his own door, he would not hear of M. de Talleyrand’s returning without recruiting his strength for the remainder of his walk by a libation in honour of the propitious fates. Had it been daylight, he would have immediately laid out the whole of his winnings in some wild and fanciful gala to his friends. M. de Talleyrand needed some little pressing to enter. He was tired and sleepy; giddy, too, with the noise and rattle of his companion, and longed to be at home and to be at rest. However, there was no resistance possible, and before he could even form an excuse for retiring, he found himself comfortably seated in the roué’s own private sanctum, whither few of his sex, and certainly none of his calling, had ever penetrated before. Champagne was now called for; the rouleaux were displayed in piles upon the table; every taper in the girandoles was lighted; a roaring fire was soon kindled on the hearth; the clock on the mantelpiece, which marked two, was stopped by a jerk from the chevalier’s finger; and the cards were brought from the drawer of a book-case in the corner of the chimney.

“M. de Talleyrand was but little prepared for the excitement of cards; the very sight of them was sickening, after the long hours spent at the tripot, and he at once declined the game, expressing his intention of withdrawing without further delay, as he had much business to transact in the morning. But Fénélon laughed, as well he might, for none ever escaped who had once fallen into his clutches, and he filled the glasses with champagne, all the while sorting and dealing the cards for piquet, as if his friend had not uttered a word; then looked at his game, called out “seven for a point,” and tossed off a bumper, while he waited for the answer. This sang-froid was irresistible. M. de Talleyrand, although grumbling at his own fatigue and the lateness of the hour, took up the cards spread out before him, and was soon interested in the chances of the game, which seemed at first to be as much in favour of his adversary, as they had been already at the Rouge et Noir table.

“‘What are our stakes?’ said Fénélon, presently; ‘it is for you to propose, as the luck seems to be all mine to-night.’ ‘They must be small, indeed,’ said M. de Talleyrand, drawing out his purse, which contained but little, and throwing it carelessly on the table. ‘Done!’ cried the chevalier, turning its contents out upon the green-cloth. ‘Come, courage; double or quits until morning!’ This first trial of skill was in a few moments decided in his favour, and he swept the contents of the purse, as he had done the louis-d’ors of the gaming-house, into his own heap, which seemed destined to grow monstrous.

“M. de Talleyrand played on, and grew more resolute as his adversary grew more ironical and insolent. He lost his watch; his chain and seals; the ring which he had saved amid all his embarrassment and poverty, during his uncertain wanderings in foreign climes; he lost the very buckles off his shoes, and the knee-clasps from his inexpressibles, and at last rose from the table, declaring that he must now go home, as he had nothing more to lose. ‘Pardon me,’ laughed the chevalier, ‘you have yet another stake against which I have no objection to venture this heap of gold, without counting.’ M. de Talleyrand still denied the possession of any article of value; but the chevalier pointed to his breast-pin—a long gilt pin surmounted by one of those scarlet berries with a black spot at the extremity, which we call grains rouges d’Amerique. M. de Talleyrand objected that the article was not worth a franc; scarcely, indeed, a few sous. It had been the gift of a negress at Philadelphia, and it was by a singular mistake that he had placed it in his bosom, instead of the one of great value which he usually wore. He had changed his dress at twilight, and, in passing his hand over the toilet-cushion, had drawn forth the trumpery ornament which he now displayed, instead of the emerald he had apparently mislaid when he had changed his cravat. The circumstance, which had been considered a freak on his part, had even attracted the attention of a neighbour at the club, who had pointed it out to him, and who had been much amused by the surprise which the discovery had occasioned.

“M. de Talleyrand vainly urged the utter worthlessness of the trinket. The chevalier was in high glee, and, insisting upon its following the rest of the spoils, placed it beside the goodly heap of gold upon the table, chuckling all the while with that irritating irony which would long before have dashed into fury any temper less calm than that of his companion. But M. de Talleyrand laughed with him, and, as he disengaged the pin from the plaits of his neckcloth, merely related how that, having saved the black cook at the house where he lodged, at Philadelphia, from a severe punishment, she had given him this bauble as a precious remembrance of her gratitude. It had been charmed by the Obeah man, she had told him, and was considered a talisman against evil fortune.

“‘It has not answered to-night, at all events,’ exclaimed the chevalier. ‘The devil’s charm which you carry is stronger than the Obeah-man’s!’ replied M. de Talleyrand; and they began their game once more. The cards were this time more favourable; but Fénélon lost the hard-fought battle with good grace, and whistled merrily as he cut the cards to his adversary. How shall I tell you what followed? It seems so strange a tale, that you will hesitate to believe it, and yet I give you my honour that it is true. The first game was won by M. de Talleyrand—the first during the whole evening, and it was with a nervous eagerness that he snatched up his trumpery pin, leaving the gold which the chevalier had staked to be doubled in the next hand, for again was Talleyrand the winner. The tide of fortune had turned. He went on winning, without intermission, until near daylight, when the whole of the gold which had been won at the gaming-house was transferred from the pocket of the chevalier to that of his friend!

“M. de Talleyrand had several times requested leave to depart, but Fénélon had obstinately refused to allow him to withdraw, so long as there remained a single louis on the board or a single trinket in his possession. It was five o’clock when the adversaries at length rose, M. de Talleyrand, embarrassed with his success, the chevalier mortified and crest-fallen, when the latter, with a sudden inspiration, thumping his fist upon the table, exclaimed, ‘One more trial, and I have done! I must have that confounded breast-pin! By all the powers, the Obeah-man was right; it is that which brings the luck!’