The Arcades Project - Operi
The Arcades Project - Operi The Arcades Project - Operi
o [Prostitution, Gambling] Love is a bird of passage. -Nouveaux tableaux de Paris, 011 Observations Jur irs rnoeurs et usages des Parisiem au commencement du XIX' sihle (Paris, 1828), voL 1, p. 37 ... in an arcade, Women are as in their boudoir. -Braziel; Gabriel and Dumersan, Les Passages et Ies rues, au La Guerre declaree (Paris, 1827), p. 30 Hasn't his eternal vagabondage everywhere accustomed him to reinterpreting the image of the city? And doesn't he transform the arcade into a casino, into a gambling den, where now and again he stakes the red, blue, yellow jetonJ of feeling on women, on a face that suddenly surfaces (will it return his look?), on a mute mouth (will it speak?) ? What, on the baize cloth, looks out at the gambler from every number-luck, that is-here, from the bodies of all the women, winks at him as the chimera of sexuality: as his type. This is nothing other than the number, the cipher, in which just at that moment luck will be called by name, in order to jLilllP immediately to another number. His type-that's the number that pays off thirty-six-fold, the one on whim, without even trying, the eye of the voluptuary falls, as the ivory ball falls into the red or black compartment. He leaves the Palais-Royal with bulging pockets, calls to a whore, and once more celebrates in her arms the communion vvith number, in which money and riches, absolved from every earthen weight, have come to him from the fates like a joyons embrace returned to the full. For in gambling hall and bordello, it is the same supremely sinful delight: to challenge fate in pleasure. Let unsuspecting idealists imagine that sensual pleasure, of whatever stripe, could ever determine the theological concept of sin. The origin of tme lechery is nothing else but this stealing of pleasure from out of the course of life with God, whose covenant with sucll life resides in the name. The name itself is the cry of naked lust. This sober thing, fateless in itself-the name-knows no other adversary than the fate that takes its place in whoring and that forges its arsenal in superstition. Thus in gambler and prostitute that superstition whim arranges the figures of fate and
fills all wanton behavior with fateful forwardness, fateful concupiscence, bringing even pleasure to kneel before its throne. [01,1] "When I turn back in thought to the Salon des Etrangers, as it was in the second decade of our century, I see before me the finely etched features and gallant figure of the Hungarian Count Hunyady, the greatest gambler of his day, who hack then took all society's breath away . ... Hunyady's luck for a long time was extraorclinary; no hank could withstand his assault, and his winnings must have amounted to nearly two million francs. His manner was surprisingly calm and extremely distinguished; he sat there, as it appeared, in complete equanimity, his right hand in the hreast of his jacket, while thousands of francs hung upon the fall of a card or a roll of the dice. His valet, however, confided to an indiscreet friend that Monsieur's nerves were not so steely as he wanted people to helieve, and that of a morning the count more often than not would hear the bloody traccs of his nails, which in his excitement he had dug into the flesh of his chest as the game was taking a dangerous turn." Captain Gronow, Aus der grossen Welt (Stuttgart, 1908), p. 59.1 [01,2] On the way BlUcher gambled in Paris, see Grollow's hook, Aus der grossen Welt . When he had lost, he forced the Bank of France to advance him 100,000 francs so he could continue playing; after this seandal broke, he had to leave Paris. Bliicher never quit Salon 113 at the Palais-Royal, and spent six million during his stay; all his lands were in pledge at the time of his departure from Paris ." Paris took in more during the occupation than it paid out in war reparations. [01,3] It is only by comparison with the ancien regime that one can say that in the nineteenth century the bourgeois takes to gambling. [01,4] The following account shows very conclusively how public immorality (in con trast to private) carries in itself, in its liberating cynicism, its own corrective. It is reported by Carl Benedict Hase, who was in France as an indigent tutor and who sent letters home from Paris and other stations of his wandering. "As I was walking in the vicinity of the Pont Neuf, a heavily made-up prostitute accosted me. She had on a light muslin dress that was tucked up to the knee and that clearly displayed the red silk drawers covering thigh and belly. 'Tiens, liens, mon ami)' she said, you are young, you're a foreigner, you will have need of it." She then seized my hand, slipped a piece of paper into it, and disappeared in the crowd. Thinking I had been given an address, I looked at the missive; and what did I read?-An advertisement for a doctor who was claiming to cure all imagin able aihnents in the shortest possible time. It is strange that the girls who are responsible for the malady should here put in hand the means to recover from it." Carl Benedict Hase, Briefi von der Wanderung und aus Paris (Leipzig, 1894), pp. 48-49. [01,5]
- Page 453 and 454: door is closed. 'Dickens himself ha
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o<br />
[Prostitution, Gambling]<br />
Love is a bird of passage.<br />
-Nouveaux tableaux de Paris, 011 Observations Jur irs rnoeurs et usages des<br />
Parisiem au commencement du XIX' sihle (Paris, 1828), voL 1, p. 37<br />
... in an arcade,<br />
Women are as in their boudoir.<br />
-Braziel; Gabriel and Dumersan, Les Passages et Ies rues, au La Guerre<br />
declaree (Paris, 1827), p. 30<br />
Hasn't his eternal vagabondage everywhere accustomed him to reinterpreting<br />
the image of the city? And doesn't he transform the arcade into a casino, into a<br />
gambling den, where now and again he stakes the red, blue, yellow jetonJ of<br />
feeling on women, on a face that suddenly surfaces (will it return his look?), on a<br />
mute mouth (will it speak?) ? What, on the baize cloth, looks out at the gambler<br />
from every number-luck, that is-here, from the bodies of all the women,<br />
winks at him as the chimera of sexuality: as his type. This is nothing other than<br />
the number, the cipher, in which just at that moment luck will be called by name,<br />
in order to jLilllP immediately to another number. His type-that's the number<br />
that pays off thirty-six-fold, the one on whim, without even trying, the eye of the<br />
voluptuary falls, as the ivory ball falls into the red or black compartment. He<br />
leaves the Palais-Royal with bulging pockets, calls to a whore, and once more<br />
celebrates in her arms the communion vvith number, in which money and riches,<br />
absolved from every earthen weight, have come to him from the fates like a<br />
joyons embrace returned to the full. For in gambling hall and bordello, it is the<br />
same supremely sinful delight: to challenge fate in pleasure. Let unsuspecting<br />
idealists imagine that sensual pleasure, of whatever stripe, could ever determine<br />
the theological concept of sin. <strong>The</strong> origin of tme lechery is nothing else but this<br />
stealing of pleasure from out of the course of life with God, whose covenant with<br />
sucll life resides in the name. <strong>The</strong> name itself is the cry of naked lust. This sober<br />
thing, fateless in itself-the name-knows no other adversary than the fate that<br />
takes its place in whoring and that forges its arsenal in superstition. Thus in<br />
gambler and prostitute that superstition whim arranges the figures of fate and