Nothing more forcibly shows the danger of consorting with such bad characters than the calumny circulated respecting the connection between Henry IV. and this infamous Italian:—it was said that Henry was well aware of Pimentello's manoeuvres, and that he encouraged them with the view of impoverishing his courtiers, hoping thereby to render them more submissive! Nero himself would have blushed at such a connivance. Doubtless the calumny was as false as it was stupid.
The winnings of the courtier Bassompierre were enormous. He won at the Duc d'Epernon's sufficient to pay his debts, to dress magnificently, to purchase all sorts of extravagant finery, a sword ornamented with diamonds—'and after all these expenses,' he says, 'I had still five or six thousand crowns (two to three thousand pounds) left, TO KILL TIME WITH, pour tuer le temps.'
On another occasion, and at a more advanced age, he won one hundred thousand crowns (L50,000) at a single sitting, from M. De Guise, Joinville, and the Marechal d'Ancre.
In reading his Memoirs we are apt to get indignant at the fellow's successes; but at last we are tempted to laugh at his misery. He died so poor that he did not leave enough to pay the twentieth part of his debts! Such, doubtless, is the end of most gamblers.
But to return to Henry IV., the great gambling exemplar of the nation. The account given of him at the gaming table is most afflicting, when we remember his royal greatness, his sublime qualities. His only object was to WIN, and those who played with him were thus always placed in a dreadful dilemma—either to lose their money or offend the king by beating him! The Duke of Savoy once played with him, and in order to suit his humour, dissimulated his game—thus sacrificing or giving up forty thousand pistoles (about L28,000).
When the king lost he was most exacting for his 'revanche,' or revenge, as it is termed at play. After winning considerably from the king, on one occasion, Bassompierre, under the pretext of his official engagements, furtively decamped: the king immediately sent after him; he was stopped, brought back, and allowed to depart only after giving the 'revanche' to his Majesty. This 'good Henri,' who was incapable of the least dissimulation either in good or in evil, often betrayed a degree of cupidity which made his minister, Sully, ashamed of him;—in order to pay his gaming debts, the king one day deducted seventy-two thousand livres from the proceeds of a confiscation on which he had no claim whatever.
On another occasion he was wonderfully struck with some gold-pieces which Bassompierre brought to Fontainebleau, called Portugalloises. He could not rest without having them. Play was necessary to win them, but the king was also anxious to be in time for a hunt. In order to conciliate the two passions, he ordered a gaming party at the Palace, left a representative of his game during his absence, and returned sooner than usual, to try and win the so much coveted Portugalloises.
Even love—if that name can be applied to the grovelling passion of Henry IV., intensely violent as it was—could not, with its sensuous enticements, drag the king from the gaming table or stifle his despicable covetousness. On one occasion, whilst at play, it was whispered to him that a certain princess whom he loved was likely to fall into other arms:—'Take care of my money,' said he to Bassompierre, 'and keep up the game whilst I am absent on particular business.'
During this reign gamesters were in high favour, as may well be imagined. One of them received an honour never conceded even to princes and dukes. 'The latter,' says Amelot de la Houssaie, 'did not enter the court-yard of the royal mansions in a carriage before the year 1607, and they are indebted for the privilege to the first Duc d'Epernon, the favourite of the late king, Henry III., who being wont to go every day to play with the queen, Marie de Medicis, took it into his head to have his carriage driven into the court-yard of the Louvre, and had himself carried bodily by his footmen into the very chamber of the queen—under the pretext of being dreadfully tormented with the gout, so as not to be able to stand on his legs.'(52)
(52) Mem. Hist. iii.