The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 5, No. 28, February, 1860

V >> Various >> The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 5, No. 28, February, 1860

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From the moment one lottery is drawn, the mind of the people is intent
on selecting numbers for the next. Nor is this an easy matter,--all
sorts of superstitions existing as to figures and numbers. Some are
lucky, some unlucky, in themselves,--some lucky only in certain
combinations, and some sympathetic with others. The chances, therefore,
must be carefully calculated, no number or combination being ever played
without profound consideration, and under advice of skilful friends.
Almost every event in life has a numerical signification; and such is
the reverence paid to dreams, that a large book exists of several
hundred pages, called "Libro dei Sogni," containing, besides various
cabala and mystical figures and lists of numbers which are
"sympathetic," with directions for their use, a dictionary of thousands
of objects with the numbers supposed to be represented by each, as well
as rules for interpreting into numbers all dreams in which these objects
appear,--and this book is the constant _vade-mecum_ of a true
lottery-player. As Boniface lived, ate, and slept on his ale, so do the
Romans on their numbers. The very children "lisp in numbers, for the
numbers come," and the fathers run immediately to play them. Accidents,
executions, deaths, apoplexies, marriages, assassinations, births,
anomalies of all kinds, become auguries and enigmas of numbers. A
lottery-gambler will count the stabs on a dead body, the drops of blood
from a decollated head, the passengers in an overturned coach, the
wrinkles in the forehead of a new-born child, the gasps of a person
struck by apoplexy, the day of the month and the hour and the minute of
his death, the _scudi_ lost by a friend, the forks stolen by a thief,
anything and everything, to play them in the lottery. If a strange dream
is dreamed,--as of one being in a desert on a camel, which turns into a
rat, and runs down into the Maelstroem to hide,--the "Libro dei Sogni" is
at once consulted, the numbers for desert, rat, camel, and Maelstroem are
found and combined, and the hopeful player waits in eager expectation of
a prize. Of course, dream after dream of particular numbers and
combinations occurs,--for the mind bent to this subject plays freaks in
the night, and repeats contortedly the thoughts of the day,--and these
dreams are considered of special value. Sometimes, when a startling
incident takes place with a special numerical signification, the run
upon the numbers indicated becomes so great, that the government, which
is always careful to guard against any losses on its own part, refuses
to allow more than a certain amount to be played on them, cancels the
rest, and returns the price of the tickets.

Sometimes, in passing through the streets, one may see a crowd collected
about a man mounted upon a chair or stool. Fixed to a stand at his side
or on the back of his chair is a glass bottle, in which are two or three
hollow manikins of glass, so arranged as to rise and sink by pressure of
the confined air. The neck of the bottle is cased in a tin box which
surmounts it and has a movable cover. This personage is a charlatan,
with an apparatus for divining lucky numbers for the lottery. The "soft
bastard Latin" runs off his tongue in an uninterrupted stream of talk,
while he offers on a waiter to the bystanders a number of little folded
papers containing a _pianeta_, or augury, on which are printed a
fortune and a _terno_. "Who will buy a _pianeta_," he cries, "with the
numbers sure to bring him a prize? He shall have his fortune told him
who buys. Who does not need counsel must surely be wise. Here's Master
Tommetto, who never tells lies. And here is his brother, still smaller
in size. And Madama Medea Plutonia to advise. They'll write you a
fortune and bring you a prize for a single _baiocco_. No creature so
wise as not to need counsel. A fool I despise, who keeps his _baiocco_
and loses his prize. Who knows what a fortune he'll get till he tries?
Time's going, Signori,--who buys? who buys?" And so on by the yard.
Meantime the crowd about him gape, stare, wonder, and finally put their
hands to their pockets, out with their _baiocchi_, and buy their papers.
Each then makes a mark on his paper to verify it, and returns it to the
charlatan. After several are thus collected, he opens the cover of the
tin box, deposits them therein with a certain ceremony, and commences an
exhortatory discourse to the manikins in the bottle,--two of whom,
Maestro Tommetto and his brother, are made to resemble little black
imps, while Madama Medea Plutonia is dressed _alla Francese_. "_Fa una
reverenza, Maestro Tommetto!_" "Make a bow, Master Tommetto!" he now
begins. The puppet bows. "_Ancora!_" "Again!" Again he bows. "_Lesto,
Signore, un piccolo giretto!_" "Quick, Sir, a little turn!" And round
whirls the puppet. "Now, up, up, to make a registry on the ticket! and
do it conscientiously, Master Tommetto!" And up the imp goes, and
disappears through the neck of the bottle. Then comes a burst of
admiration at his cleverness from the charlatan. Then, turning to the
brother imp, he goes through the same _role_ with him. "And now, Madama
Medea, make a reverence, and follow your husband! Quick, quick, a little
_giretto_!" And up she goes. A moment after, down they all come again at
his call; he lifts the cover of the box; cries, "_Quanto sei caro,
Tommetto!_" and triumphantly exhibits the papers, each with a little
freshly written inscription, and distributes them to the purchasers. Now
and then he takes from his pocket a little bottle containing a mixture
of the color of wine, and a paper filled with some sort of powder, and,
exclaiming, "_Ah! tu hai fame e sete. Bisogna che ti dia da bere e
mangiare_," pours them into the tin cup.

It is astonishing to see how many of these little tickets a clever
charlatan will sell in an hour, and principally on account of the
lottery-numbers they contain. The fortunes are all the stereotype thing,
and almost invariably warn you to be careful lest you should be
"_tradito_," or promise you that you shall not be "_tradito_"; for the
idea of betrayal is the corner-stone of every Italian's mind.

In not only permitting, but promoting the lottery, Italy is certainly
far behind England, France, and America. This system no longer exists
with us, except in the disguised shape of gift-enterprises, art-unions,
and that unpleasant institution of mendicant robbery called the raffle,
and employed specially by those "who have seen better days." But a fair
parallel to this rage of the Italians for the lottery is to be found in
the love of betting, which is a national characteristic of the English.
I do not refer to the bets upon horseflesh at Ascot, Epsom, and
Goodwood, by which fortunes change owners in an hour and so many men are
ruined, but rather to the general habit of betting upon any and every
subject to settle a question, no matter how trivial, for which the
Englishman is everywhere renowned on the Continent. Betting is with most
other nations a form of speech, but with Englishmen it is a serious
fact, and no one will be long in their company without finding an
opinion backed up by a bet. It would not be very difficult to parallel
those cases where the Italians disregard the solemnity of death, in
their eagerness for omens of lottery-numbers, with equally reprehensible
and apparently heartless cases of betting in England. Let any one who
doubts this examine the betting-books at White's and Brookes's. In them
he will find a most startling catalogue of bets,--some so bad as to
justify the good parson in Walpole's story, who declared that they were
such an impious set in this respect at White's, that, "if the last trump
were to sound, they would bet puppet-show against judgment." Let one
instance suffice. A man, happening to drop down at the door of White's,
was lifted up and carried in. He was insensible, and the question was,
whether he were dead or not. Bets were at once given and taken on both
sides, and, it being proposed to bleed him, those who had taken odds
that he was dead protested, on the ground that the use of the lancet
would affect the fairness of the bet.[B] In the matter of play, things
have now much changed since the time when Mr. Thynne left the club at
White's in disgust, because he had won only twelve hundred guineas in
two months. There is also a description of one of Fox's mornings, about
the year 1783, which Horace Walpole has left us, and the truth of which
Lord Holland admits, which it would be well for those to read who
measure out hard justice to the Italians for their love of the lottery.
Let us be fair. Italy is in these respects behind England in morals and
practice by nearly a century; but it is as idle to argue
hard-heartedness in an Italian who counts the drops of blood at a
beheading as to suppose that the English have no feeling because in the
bet we have mentioned there was a protest against the use of the lancet,
or to deny kindliness to a surgeon who lectures on structure and disease
while he removes a cancer.

Vehement protests against the lottery and all gaming are as often
uttered in Italy as elsewhere; and among them may be cited this eloquent
passage from one of the most powerful of her modern writers. Guerrazzi,
in the thirteenth chapter of "L'Assedio di Firenze," speaking on this
subject, says, "You would in vain seek anything more fatal to men than
play. It brings ignorance, poverty, despair, and at last crime....
Gambling (the wicked gambling of the lottery) forms a precious jewel in
the crown of princes."

In a recent work, by the same author, called "L'Asino," occurs the
following indignant and satirical passage, which, for the sake of the
story, if for no other reason, deserves a place here:--

"In our search for the history of human perfection, shall I speak of
Naples or Rome? Alas! At the contemplation of such misery, in vain you
constrain your lips to smile; they pout, and the uncalled tears stream
over your face. Pity, in these most unhappy countries, blinded with
weeping and hoarse with vain supplication, when she has no more voice to
cry out to heaven, flies thither, and, kneeling before the throne of
God, with outstretched hand, and proffering no word, begs that He will
look at her.

"Behold, O Lord, and judge whether our sins were remitted, or whether
the sins of others exceed ours.

"Is not Tuscany the garden of Italy? So say the Tuscans; and the
Florentines add, that Florence is the Athens of Tuscany. Truly, both
seem beautiful. Let us search in Tuscany. At Barberino di Mugello, in
the midst of an olive-grove is a cemetery, where the vines, which have
taken root in the outer walls and climbed over their summit, fall into
the inclosed space, as if they wished to garland Death with vine-leaves
and make it smile; over the gate, strange guardians of the tombs, two
fig-trees give their shadow and fruit to recompense the piety of the
passers-by, giving a fig in exchange for a _De Profundis_; while the
ivy, stretching its wanton arms over the black cross, endeavors to
clothe the austere sign of the Redemption with the jocund leaves of
Bacchus, and recalls to your mind the mad Phryne who vainly tempted
Xenocrates. A beautiful cemetery, by my faith! a cemetery to arouse in
the body an intense desire to die, if only for the pleasure of being
buried there. Now observe. Look into my magic-lantern. What figures do
you see? A priest with a pick; after him a peasant with a spade; and
behind them a woman with a hatchet: the priest holds a corpse by the
hair; the peasant, with one blow, strikes off its head; then, all things
being carefully rearranged, priest, peasant, and woman, after thrusting
the head into a sack, return as they came. Attention now, for I change
the picture. What figures are these that now appear? A kitchen; a fire
that has not its superior, even in the Inferno; and a caldron, where the
hissing and boiling water sends up its bubbles. Look about and what do
you see? Enter the priest, the peasant, and the housewife, and in a
moment empty a sack into the caldron. Lo! a head rolls out, dives into
the water, and floats to the surface, now showing its nape and now its
face. The Lord help us! It is an abominable spectacle; this poor head,
with its ashy, open lips, seems to say, Give me again my Christian
burial! That is enough. Only take note that in Tuscany, in the beautiful
middle of the nineteenth century, a sepulchre was violated, and a
sacrilege committed, to obtain from the boiled head of a corpse good
numbers to play in the lottery! And, by way of corollary, add this to
your note, that in Rome, _Caput Mundi_, and in Tuscany, Garden of Italy,
it is prohibited, under the severest penalties, to play at _Faro_,
_Zecchinetto_, _Banco-Fallito_, _Rossa e Nera_, and other similar games
at cards, where each party may lose the whole or half the stakes, while
the government encourage the play of the Lottery, by which, out of one
hundred and twenty chances of winning, eighty are reserved for the bank,
and forty or so allowed to the player. Finally, take note that in Rome,
_Caput Mundi_, and in Tuscany, Garden of Italy, _Faro_, _Zecchinetto_,
_Rossa e Nera_ were prohibited, as acknowledged pests of social
existence and open death to honest customs,--as a set-off for which
deprivation, the game of the Lottery is still kept on foot."

The following extraordinary story, improbable as it seems, is founded
upon fact, and was clearly proved, on judicial investigation, a few
years since. It is well known in Tuscany, and forms the subject of a
satirical narrative ("Il Sortilegio") by Giusti, a modern Tuscan poet,
of true fire and genius, who has lashed the vices of his country in
verses remarkable for point, idiom, and power. According to him, the
method of divination resorted to in this case was as follows:--The
sorcerer who invented it ordered his dupes to procure, either at dawn or
twilight, ninety dry beans, called _ceci_, and upon each of these to
write one of the ninety numbers drawn in the lottery, with an ink made
of pitch and lard, which would not be affected by water. They were then
to sharpen a knife, taking care that he who did so should touch no one
during the operation; and after a day of fasting, they were to dig up at
night a body recently dead, and, having cut off the head and removed the
brain, they were to count the beans thrice, and to shake them thrice,
and then, on their knees, to put them one by one into the skull. This
was then to be placed in a caldron of water and set on the fire to boil.
As soon as the water boiled violently, the head would be rolled about so
that some of the beans would be ejected, and the first three which were
thus thrown to the surface would be a sure _terno_ for the lottery. The
wretched dupes added yet another feature of superstition to insure the
success of this horrible device. They selected the head of their curate,
who had recently died,--on the ground that, as he had studied algebra,
he was a great cabalist, and any numbers from his head would be sure to
draw a prize.

Some one, I have no doubt, will here be anxious to know the numbers that
bubbled up to the surface; but I am very sorry to say that I cannot
gratify their laudable curiosity, for the interference of the police
prevented the completion of the sorcery. So the curious must be content
to consult some other cabalist,--

"sull'arti segrete
Di menar la Fortuna per il naso,
Pescando il certo nel gran mar del Caso."

Despite a wide-spread feeling among the higher classes against the
lottery, it still continues to exist, for it has fastened itself into
the habits and prejudices of many; and an institution which takes such
hold of the passions of the people, and has lived so long, dies hard.
Nor are there ever wanting specious excuses for the continuance of this,
as of other reprobated systems,--of which the strongest is, that its
abolition would not only deprive of their present means of subsistence
numbers of persons employed in its administration, but would cut off
certain charities dependent upon it, amounting to no less than forty
thousand _scudi_ annually. Among these may be mentioned the dowry of
forty _scudi_ which is given out of the profits received by the
government at the drawing of every lottery to some five or six of the
poor girls of Rome. The list of those who would profit by this charity
is open to all, and contains thousands of names. The first number drawn
in the lottery decides the fortunate persons; and, on the subsequent
day, each receives a draft for forty _scudi_ on the government, payable
on the presentation of the certificate of marriage. On the accession of
the present Pope, an attempt was made to abolish the system; but these
considerations, among others, had weight enough to prevent any changes.

Though the play is generally small, yet sometimes large fortunes are
gained. The family of the Marchese del Cinque, for instance, derive
their title and fortune from the luck of an ancestor who played and won
the highest prize, a _Cinquino_. With the money thus acquired he
purchased his marquisate, and took the title _del Cinque_, "of the
Five," in reference to the lucky five numbers. The Villa Quaranta Cinque
in Rome derives its name from a similar circumstance. A lucky Monsignore
played the single number of forty-five, _al posto_, and with his
winnings built the villa, to which the Romans, always addicted to
nicknames, gave the name of _Quaranta Cinque_. This love of nicknames,
or _soprannomi_, as they are called, is, by the way, an odd peculiarity
of the Italians, and it often occurs that persons are known only
thereby. Examples of these, among the celebrated names of Italy, are so
frequent as to form a rule in favor of the surname rather than of the
real name, and in many cases the former has utterly obliterated the
latter. Thus, Squint Eye, (_Guercino_,) Dirty Tom, (_Masaccio_,) The
Little Dyer, (_Tintoretto_,) Great George, (_Giorgione_,) The
Garland-Maker, (_Ghirlandaio_,) Luke of the Madder, (_Luca della
Robbia_,) The Little Spaniard, (_Spagnoletto_,) and The Tailor's Son,
(_Del Sarto_,) would scarcely be known under their real names of
Barbieri, Tommaso, Guido, Robusti, Barbarelli, Corradi, Ribera, and
Vannuchi. The list might be very much enlarged, but let it suffice to
add the following well-known names, all of which are nicknames derived
from their places of birth: Perugino, Veronese, Aretino, Pisano, Giulio
Romano, Correggio, Parmegiano.

The other day a curious instance of this occurred to me in taking the
testimony of a Roman coachman. On being called upon to give the names of
some of his companions, with whom he had been in daily and intimate
intercourse for more than two years, he could give only their
_soprannomi_; their real names he did not know, and had never heard. A
little, gay, odd genius, whom I took into my service during a
_villeggiatura_ at Siena, would not answer to his real name, Lorenzo,
but remonstrated on being so called, and said he was only _Pipetta_,
(The Little Pipe,) a nickname given to him when a child, from his
precocity in smoking, and of which he was as tenacious as if it were a
title of honor. "You prefer, then, to be called Pipetta?" I asked.
"_Felicissimo! si_," was his answer. Not a foreigner comes to Rome that
his name does not "suffer a sea-change into something rich and
strange." Our break-jaw Saxon names are discarded, and a new christening
takes place. One friend I had who was called _Il Malinconico_,--another,
_La Barbarossa_,--another, _Il bel Signore_; but generally they are
called after the number of the house or the name of the street in which
they live,--_La Signora bella Bionda di Palazzo Albani_,--_Il Signore
Quattordici Capo le Case_,--_Monsieur_ and _Madama Terzo Piano, Corso_.

But to return from this digression.--At every country festival may be
seen a peculiar form of the lottery called _Tombola_; and in the notices
of these _festas_, which are always placarded over the walls of Rome for
weeks before they take place, the eye will always be attracted first by
the imposing word _Tombola_, printed in the largest and blackest of
letters. This is, in fact, the characteristic feature of the _festa_,
and attracts large numbers of _contadini_. As in the ordinary lottery,
only ninety numbers are played. Every ticket contains blank spaces for
fifteen numbers, which are inserted by the purchaser, and registered
duly at the office or booth where the ticket is bought. The price of
tickets in any single _Tombola_ is uniform; but in different _Tombolas_
it varies, of course, according to the amount of the prizes. These are
generally five, namely,--the _Ambo_, _Terno_, _Quaterno_, _Cinquino_,
and _Tombola_, though sometimes a second _Tombola_ or _Tomboletta_ is
added. The drawing takes place in precisely the same manner as in the
ordinary lottery, but with more ceremony. A large staging, with a
pavilion, is erected, where the officers who are to superintend the
drawing stand. In the centre is a glass vase, in which the numbers are
placed after having been separately verified and proclaimed, and a boy
gayly dressed draws them. All the ninety numbers are drawn; and as each
issues, it is called out, and exhibited on a large card. Near by stands
a large framework, elevated so as to be visible to all, with ninety
divisions corresponding to the ninety numbers, and on this, also, every
number is shown as soon as it is drawn. The first person who has upon
his ticket two drawn numbers gains an _Ambo_, which is the smallest
prize. Whoever first has three numbers drawn gains a _Terno_; and so on
with the _Quaterno_ and _Cinquino_. The _Tombola_, which is the great
prize, is won by whoever first has his whole fifteen numbers drawn. As
soon as any one finds two of the drawn numbers on his ticket, he cries,
"_Ambo_," at the top of his lungs. A flag is then raised on the
pavilion, the band plays, and the game is suspended, while the claimant
at once makes his way to the judges on the platform to present his
ticket for examination. No sooner does the cry of "_Ambo_," "_Terno_,"
"_Quaterno_," take place, than there is a great rustle all around.
Everybody looks out for the fortunate person, who is immediately to be
seen running through the parting crowd, which opens before him, cheering
him as he goes, if his appearance be poor and needy, and greeting him
with sarcasms, if he be apparently well to do in the world. Sometimes
there are two or three claimants for the same prize, in which case it is
divided among them. The _Ambo_ is soon taken, and there is little room
for a mistake; but when it comes to the _Quaterno_ or _Cinquino_,
mistakes are very common, and the claimant is almost always saluted with
chaff and jests. After his ticket has been examined, if he have won, a
placard is exhibited with _Ambo_, _Terno_, _Quaterno_ on it, as the case
may be. But if he have committed an error, down goes the flag, and, amid
a burst of laughter, jeering, whistling, screaming, and catcalls, the
disappointed claimant sneaks back and hides himself in the excited
crowd. At a really good _Tombola_, where the prizes are high, there is
no end of fun and gayety among the people. They stand with their tickets
in their hands, congratulating each other ironically, as they fail to
find the numbers on them, paying all sorts of absurd compliments to each
other and the drawer, offering to sell out their chances at enormous
prices when they are behindhand, and letting off all sorts of squibs
and jests, not so excellent in themselves as provocative of laughter. If
the wit be little, the fun is great,--and, in the excitement of
expectation, a great deal of real Italian humor is often ventilated.
Sometimes, at the country fairs, the fun is rather slow, particularly
where the prizes are small; but on exciting occasions, there is a
constant small fire of jests, which is very amusing.

These _Tombole_ are sometimes got up with great pomp. That, for
instance, which sometimes takes place in the Villa Borghese is one of
the most striking spectacles which can be seen in Rome. At one end of
the great open-air amphitheatre is erected a large pavilion, flanked on
either side with covered _logge_ or _palchi_, festooned with yellow and
white,--the Papal colors,--adorned with flags, and closed round with
rich old arrases all pictured over with Scripture stories. Beneath the
central pavilion is a band. Midway down the amphitheatre, on either
side, are two more _logge_, similarly draped, where two more bands are
stationed,--and still another at the opposite end, for the same purpose.
The _logge_ which flank the pavilion are sold by ticket, and filled with
the richer classes. Three great stagings show the numbers as they are
drawn. The pit of the amphitheatre is densely packed with a motley
crowd. Under the ilexes and noble stone-pines that show their dark-green
foliage against the sky, the helmets and swords of cavalry glitter as
they move to and fro. All around on the green slopes are the
people,--soldiers, _contadini_, priests, mingled together,--and
thousands of gay dresses and ribbons and parasols enliven the mass. The
four bands play successively as the multitude gathers. They have already
arrived in tens of thousands, but the game has not yet begun, and
thousands are still flocking to see it. All the gay equipages are on the
outskirts, and through the trees and up the avenues stream the crowds on
foot. As we stand in the centre of the amphitheatre and look up, we get
a faint idea of the old Roman gatherings when Rome emptied itself to
join in the games at the Colosseum. Row upon row they stand, a mass of
gay and swarming life. The sunlight flashes over them, and blazes on the
rich colors. The tall pines and dark ilexes shadow them here and there;
over them is the soft blue dome of the Italian sky. They are gathered
round the _villetta_,--they throng the roof and balconies,--they crowd
the stone steps,--they pack the green oval of the amphitheatre's pit.
The ring of cymbals, the clarion of trumpets, and the clash of brazen
music vibrate in the air. All the world is abroad to see, from the
infant in arms to the oldest inhabitant. _Monsignori_ in purple
stockings and tricornered hats, _contadini_ in gay reds and crimsons,
cardinals in scarlet. Princes, shopkeepers, beggars, foreigners, all
mingle together; while the screams of the vendors of cigars,
pumpkin-seeds, cakes, and lemonade are everywhere heard over the
suppressed roar of the crowd. As you walk along the outskirts of the
mass, you may see Monte Gennaro's dark peak looking over the Campagna,
and all the Sabine hills trembling in a purple haze,--or, strolling down
through the green avenues, you may watch the silver columns of fountains
as they crumble in foam and plash in their mossy basins,--or gather
masses of the sweet Parma violet and other beautiful wild-flowers.

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