Great men, in their varied walks of life, are generally modest; Deschapelles, however, was an exception to the rule. Yet his assumption, if not warranted, was at least supported by his merits; it was a sort of military frankness, rather than gasconade. He was as proud, and talked as much of his success, in growing prize-melons in the Faubourg da Temple, as he was of his chess-victories in the Palais Royal. In short, it seemed that in everything he turned his mind to, he was successful; and so much were the Parisians impressed with the idea of his universal abilities, that the Gauls--one of the secret societies of 1832--had seriously proposed, in the event of a forcible change of government, to create M. Deschapelles dictator of France.

Mouret, chess-teacher to the family of Louis-Philippe, was one of the most amusing of the later frequenters of the Regence. It was he who, shut up in a drawer barely sufficient to contain a good-sized cat, for many years conducted the moves of the celebrated, but improperly termed, automaton chess-player, in almost all of the principal towns of Europe. Many were the amusing anecdotes he used to relate, when subsequently revealing the secrets of his prison-house. Though the slightest noise, the least audible intimation of a living creature being concealed in the chest--apparently filled with wheels and other mechanism, upon which the automaton played--would have been fatal to the deception, Mouret never lost his presence of mind, save on one occasion. It happened thus: The automaton was exhibiting in the capital of one of the minor German principalities, and, as usual, drawing crowded audiences. A professor of legerdemain--everybody is a professor now-a-days--who was performing in the same place, finding his occupation gone through the superior attractions of the wooden chess-player, determined to discover, and expose the secret. Aided by his long professional experience of the deceptive art, he soon saw through the trick, which more learned persons had only distantly guessed at; and, assisted by an accomplice, raised a sudden outcry of fire, just as the automaton was in the midst of an interesting game. The noise of the alarmed spectators rushing from the room struck a momentary panic to the heart of Mouret, who, believing himself about to be burned alive, struggled so violently to release himself from his concealed bondage, that he rolled the automaton, turban, cushion, and all, over the floor. Maezel, the viable exhibitor, instantly flying to the rescue, dropped the curtain; but next day the automaton left the town, and the astute conjuror remained master of the field.

In justice to chess, it must be added of poor Mouret, the most amusing story-teller, that he was the only first-class chess-player I have ever met with who extinguished fine abilities, sacrificed character, and destroyed life, by over-indulgence in strong waters.

But I have wondered too long among the traditions of the Regence. Fatigued and disappointed by my fruitless search after the building itself, I made my way round to the Place du Palais Royal, and seating myself in a peculiarly comfortable arm-chair, commenced an agreeable flirtation with a glass of lemonade. There, while musing on the chess-paladins of the past, I was startled by an appearance which, at first glance, I took to be a spectre, but immediately after recognized as one of the last living relics of the olden time. It was the tall, thin, black-stocked, frock-coated, buttoned-up, linenless-looking, grisly old Pole, with the unpronounceable name, who for many years has been so well known to the habitues of the Regence. I never met any one who could spell and pronounce his most cacophonous of names; but that did not matter, as he had long held the titular rank of colonel; while the youngsters of the Regence--behind his back, though, be it said--gave him the sobriquet of Leipsic, from his interminable, and not always very well-relished, accounts of that famous battle.

He was doing the flaneur business in grand style, when, like the Ancient Mariner, I held him with my eye, and, to keep up the nautical allusion, soon brought him to anchor in the chair beside me. Our first greeting being over, we lamented the decadence of chess and the fall of the Regence; then spoke of other matters of general and peculiar interest. As I suspected the great question of the day, to him at least, related to dinner, I at once, by a quiet invitation, set his mind at rest with that important subject, and then inquired where the Parisian chess-players now mustered.

"Some of them," he replied, "are aristos shut up in clubs--a vile system, excuse me, though borrowed from your own country. A few still worship Caissa, the divine goddess of chess, in a cafe; come," he continued, "let me introduce you to her modern temple."

I found the temple of Caissa, as my companion rather magniloquently denominated it, to be, in spite of plate-glass, gilding, and marble-topped tables, little better than a third-rate cafe; and saw, as soon as I entered, that the fane of the goddess was desecrated by draughts and dominoes--the games of boors and children. The Pole invited me to play, but I declined; for not relishing either the air of the place or the tone of its company, I had at once made up my mind to remain but a few minutes. We had discussed a demi tasse each, and were about to depart, when a young soldier entered the salon--a Zouave, who had been wounded at the Alma. I am an Englishman, and, of course, having a thorough contempt for enthusiasm, detest scenes and all sort of things; still, I could not refrain from fraternizing with the brave fellow, from shaking the remaining hand of one who had lost the other fighting beside my own countrymen. Then the filling and emptying of glasses, the universal rite and symbol of fraternity, had to be duly celebrated. Did we not trinquer together! Did I not, in honor of the occasion, drink a whole petit verre of that, to me at least, horribly offensive compound--offensive to the olfactory as well as the gustatory nerves--creme d'absinthe!

To be continued.

About the Author

This article is from the journal THE LIVING AGE (Second Series, Volume XII, January, February, March, 1856), which is in the public domain.

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