Men of intellect may rest assured that whether they win or lose at play, it will always be at the cost of their genius; the soul cannot support two passions together. The passion of play, although fatigued, is never satiated, and therefore it always leaves behind protracted agitation. The famous Roman lawyer Scaevola suffered from playing at backgammon; his head was always affected by it, especially when he lost the game, in fact, it seemed to craze him. One day he returned expressly from the country merely to try and convince his opponent in a game which he had lost, that if he had played otherwise he would have won! It seems that on his journey home he mentally went through the game again, detected his mistake, and could not rest until he went back and got his adversary to admit the fact—for the sake of his amour propre.(113)
(113) Quinctil., Instit. Orat. lib. XI. cap. ii.
'It is rare,' says Rousseau, 'that thinkers take much delight in play, which suspends the habit of thinking or diverts it upon sterile combinations; and so one of the benefits—perhaps the only benefit conferred by the taste for the sciences, is that it somewhat deadens that sordid passion of play.'
Unfortunately such was not the result among the literary and scientific men, in France or England, during the last quarter of the last century. Many of them bitterly lamented that they ever played, and yet played on,—going through all the grades and degradations appointed for his votaries by the inexorable demon of gambling.
BEAU NASH.
Nature had by no means formed Nash for beau. His person was clumsy, large, and awkward; his features were harsh, strong, and peculiarly irregular; yet even with these disadvantages he made love, became an universal admirer of the sex, and was in his turn universally admired. The fact is, he was possessed of, at least, some requisites of a 'lover.' He had assiduity, flattery, fine clothes—and as much wit as the ladies he addressed. Accordingly he used to say—'Wit, flattery, and fine clothes are enough to debauch a nunnery!' This is certainly a fouler calumny of women than Pope's
'Every woman is at heart a rake.'
Beau Nash was a barrister, and had been a remarkable, a distinguished one in his day—although not at the bar. He had the honour to organize and direct the last grand 'revel and pageant' before a king, in the Hall of the Middle Temple, of which he was a member.
It had long been customary for the Inns of Court to entertain our monarchs upon their accession to the crown with a revel and pageant, and the last was exhibited in honour of King William, when Nash was chosen to conduct the whole with proper decorum. He was then a very young man, but succeeded so well in giving satisfaction, that the king offered to give him the honour of knighthood, which, however, Nash declined, saying:—'Please your Majesty, if you intend to make me a knight, I wish it may be one of your poor knights of Windsor; and then I shall have a fortune at least able to support my title.'
In the Middle Temple he managed to rise 'to the very summit of second-rate luxury,' and seems to have succeeded in becoming a fashionable recherche, being always one of those who were called good company—a professed dandy among the elegants.