A celebrated Parisian gamester at the time of the Revolution was Monsieur de Monville, who was a great deal in the company of the Duc d'Orléans—a Prince whose passion for play was notorious. Whilst the projected arrest of the Duc was being debated in the Convention, this gentleman was engaged in a particularly spirited gambling duel with the regicide Philippe Égalité; the players indeed were so absorbed in their game as to cause dinner to be served on the very table at which they were playing. At this moment Merlin de Douai burst into the room with the announcement of the impeachment of the Duc, who, horror-struck at such news, deplored the ingratitude of his accusers, after the many proofs of patriotism which he had given. Then turning to Monville he cried, "What do you think of such an infamy, Monville?" The latter, whilst leisurely squeezing a lemon over his sole, said in the calmest manner in the world, "It is certainly horrible. Monseigneur, but what did you expect? The rascals have got all they could out of your Highness, who is now of no more use; consequently they are going to treat you as I do this lemon." He then, in the most elegant manner in the world, threw the remains of the fruit in question into the fire-place, remarking the while, "One must never forget. Monseigneur, that a sole should be eaten quite hot."
M. de Monville was a great frequenter of the gambling-rooms over which presided the beautiful Madame de St. Amaranthe, whose tragic fate on the scaffold excited so much pity. The tripot over which she cast her smiles was at No. 50 in the Palais Royal, which has been mentioned before, and was the most luxurious in Paris. It was said, indeed, that it resembled nothing so much as Versailles in the days before the Revolution, and here many Royalist conspirators were wont to assemble. Denunciations of what was described as a reactionary stronghold were being constantly received by the Committee of Public Safety, and the popularity of the presiding goddess of this shrine of chance with the Royalists eventually led to her execution.
The Revolutionary authorities saw reaction in everything, even in playing-cards, and in 1792 they arrived at the conclusion that the kings were but antiquated symbols of tyranny, and attempted to substitute a card called the "pouvoir exécutif" in their place. Players using these new-fashioned cards, instead of speaking of the king of hearts or clubs, were obliged to say the "pouvoir exécutif" of hearts and so on. Citizens Dajouré and Jaume, however, improved upon this, and invented a new sort of pack in which the king became "le génie," the queen "liberty," the knave "equality," and the ace "law." Hearts, clubs, spades, and diamonds were changed into peace, war, art, and commerce. The cards in question, it may be added, made no successful appeal to gamblers, who continued to prefer the sort still in general use. They were, however, extremely prettily designed, and are now reckoned amongst the artistic curiosities produced by the Revolution.
During our war with France some French prisoners at Deal were once rather amusingly rebuked for their anti-monarchical tendencies by a private of the West Essex Militia, which regiment was then quartered at Deal. The man in question had been begged by the prisoners to procure them a pack of cards, which he did when off his duty; but before he delivered the cards, picked out the four kings. The Frenchmen, discovering the deficiency, said the pack was imperfect, having no kings in it. "Why," replied the soldier, "if you can fight without a king, surely you can play without one!"
The Palais Royal, called during the Revolution the Palais Égalité, soon became the most famous gambling-resort in the world—to-day it is but a pathetic shadow of its former self. Built in imitation of the Piazza San Marco at Venice by Cardinal Richelieu and bequeathed by him to Louis XIII., the palace in question was in course of time given by the Roi Soleil to his brother and thus became the property of the Orléans family. Fantastically extravagant and crippled by debts, Philippe Égalité first conceived the idea of putting the noble building raised by the great Cardinal to a commercial use, continuing to obtain a very large sum by letting out suitable parts as shops, gaming-houses, and restaurants, some of them of a rather questionable nature.
The Palais Royal, before it contained shops and gaming-tables, had been the resort of all that was most aristocratic in Paris. Walks and flower-beds abounded, whilst on the southern side was an alley of ancient chestnut trees of great antiquity, the destruction of which provoked much indignation and sorrow.
The transformation of the historic palace and grounds into a bazaar effected a great change in the habits of the Parisians, who, without distinction of rank or class, flocked to the spot which, since the stately days of Anne of Austria, had been the evening promenade of good society alone.
Louis XVI. is said, after hearing of his cousin's decision in this matter, to have remarked: "I suppose we shall now only see the Duc d'Orléans on Sundays—he has become a shop-man!"
The Prince in question, however, cared little about this as long as he was able to procure the large sums necessary for his wildly extravagant mode of living. The centre of Parisian activity, the Palais Royal was the incarnation of Paris in the eyes of all pleasure-loving Europe, the famous Galeries de Bois becoming the resort of all the profligate frivolity of a somewhat unbridled age.
The old gardens, sad and deserted to-day, have witnessed some strange scenes in their time. Here it was that one summer's day Camille Desmoulins uttered those burning words which heralded the approach of the Revolution.