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Updated: May 6, 2025
Apparently he was in that mood of irritation and sadness when women weep quietly for no reason, and men feel a craving to complain of themselves, of life, of God. . . . When I got out of the chaise at the gates of the house the prince said to me: "A man once said, wanting to annoy me, that I have the face of a cardsharper. I have noticed that cardsharpers are usually dark.
He allowed the Vice-Consul to tell Cartwright's story in Castilian, and then smiled. "Señor Graham has our thanks for the warning he has brought," he said. "In this island we are sportsmen. We have our cockpits and casinos, but our aim is to develop our commerce and not make the town a Monte Carlo. Then the play at the casinos must be honest. Our way with cardsharpers is stern."
"She said that he had been there several nights running with two regular cardsharpers, and they'd been drinking. She was sure it was him, though he had disguised himself a little." "And did you find him?" "No; he hadn't been there for the last two or three nights. Perhaps he had nothing to spend, for he came the last time in his shirt-sleeves; so she supposed he'd pawned his coat." "Well?"
Cardsharpers and stockjobbers, disreputable adventurers and public functionaries were intimate friends. No one, able to insult modest industry by lavish ostentation, was asked how he had acquired his wealth. Honour and honesty were prejudices of the past. What has been the consequence?
By a few strokes of his pen, in words that bite like acid, he etches for us the fools and knaves, the wife-beaters and adulterers, the cardsharpers and gamesters, the grovelling sycophants with their petty struggles for precedence or favour, their slang, their gluttony and drunkenness, their moral and physical corruption.
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