(74) Originally published in the 'Welcome Guest.'
Whilst I write there is exhibited at the Egyptian Hall, London, Dore's magnificent picture of the Tapis Vert, or Life in Baden-Baden, of which the following is an accurate description:—
'The Tapis Vert is a moral, and at the same time an exceedingly clever, satire. It is illustrative of the life, manners, and predilections and pursuits of a class of society left hereafter to enjoy the manifold attractions of fashionable watering-places, without the scourge that for so many years held its immoral and degrading sway in their sumptuous halls.
'In one of these splendid salons the fashionable crowd is eagerly pressing round an oblong table covered with green cloth (le tapis vert), upon which piles of gold and bank-notes tell the tale of "noir perd et la couleur gagne," and vice versa. The principal group, upon which Dore has thrown one of his powerful effects of light, is lifelike, and several of the actors are at once recognized. Both croupiers are well-known characters. There is much life and movement in the silent scene, in which thousands of pounds change hands in a few seconds. To the left of the croupier (dealer), who turns up the winning card, sits a finely-dressed woman, who cares for little else but gold. There is a remarkable expression of eagerness and curiosity upon the countenance of the lady who comes next, and who endeavours, with the assistance of her eye-glass, to find out the state of affairs. The gentleman next to her is an inveterate blase. The countenance of the old man reckoning up needs no description. Near by stands a lady with a red feather in her hat, and whose lace shawl alone is worth several hundred pounds—for Dore made it. The two female figures to the left are splendidly painted. The one who causes the other croupier to turn round seems somewhat extravagantly dressed; but these costumes have been frequently worn within the last two years both at Baden and Hombourg. The old lady at the end of the table, to the left, is a well-known habituee at both places. The bustling and shuffling eagerness of the figures in the background is exceedingly well rendered.
'As a whole, the Tapis Vert is a very fine illustration of real life, as met with in most of the leading German watering-places.'(75)
(75) 'Illustrated Times.'
'At the present moment,' says another authority, writing more than a year ago, 'there are three very bold female gamblers at Baden. One is the Russian Princess ——, who plays several hours every day at Rouge et Noir, and sometimes makes what in our money would be many hundreds, and at others goes empty away. She wins calmly enough, but when luck is against her looks anxious. The second is the wife of an Italian ex-minister, who is well known both as an authoress and politician. She patronizes Roulette, and at every turn of the wheel her money passes on the board. She is a good gambler—smirking when she wins, and smirking when she loses. She dresses as splendidly as any of the dames of Paris. The other night she excited a flutter among the ladies assembled in the salons of the "Conversation" by appearing in a robe flaming red with an exaggerated train which dragged its slow length along the floor. But the greatest of the feminine players is the Leonie Leblanc. When she is at the Rouge et Noir table a larger crowd than usual is collected to witness her operation. The stake she generally risks is 6000 francs (L240), which is the maximum allowed. Her chance is changing: a few days back she won L4000 in one sitting; some days later she lost about L2000, and was then reduced to the, for her, indignity of playing for paltry sums—L20 or thereabouts.'
Among the more recent chronicles, the Figaro gives the following account of the close of the campaign of a gaming hero, M. Edgar de la Charme, who, for a number of days together, never left the gaming-room without carrying off the sum of 24,000 francs.
'The day before yesterday, M. de la Charme, reflecting that there must be an end even to the greatest run of luck, locked his portmanteau, paid his bill, and took the road to the railway station, accompanied by some of his friends. On reaching the wicket he found it closed; there were still three-quarters of an hour to pass before the departure of the train. "I will go and play my parting game," he exclaimed, and, turning to the coachman, bade him drive to the Kursaal. His friends surrounded him, and held him back; he should not go, he would lose all his winnings. But he was resolute, and soon reached the Casino, where his travelling dress caused a stir of satisfaction among the croupiers. He sat down at the Trente-et-quarante, broke the bank in 20 minutes, got into his cab again, and seeing the inspector of the tables walking to and fro under the arcades, he said to him, in a tone of exquisite politeness, "I could not think of going away without leaving you my P.P.C."'
SPA.