p. 1 | A PALACE OF DEATH

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Apr 22, 1903

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 29, No. 16.

A PALACE OF DEATH.

ON the north shore of the blue Mediterranean, nine miles east of Nice, stretching in irregular outline along the very southeast corner of France, lies the little land of Monaco, the smallest of the sovereign principalities of Europe. In the south part, on a rocky, rugged headland, nearly two hundred feet above the sea, stands the beautiful town of Monaco, with its royal palace, church, cathedral, and museum. The whole principality has a population of only about ten thousand, and an area of less than eight and one-half miles.

ACROSS the sheltered little bay to the northeast, built on what was once barren rocks, called the Spélugues, covered by soil since 1828 by the labor of Italian convicts, stands the town of Monte Carlo, wonderfully and artificially embellished on a magnificent scale. The chief attraction of the town, in fact, the center which has called into existence the villas and hotels about it, is the Palace of Death of our illustration, the first stone of which was laid in 1858, and which has been the chief attraction of many thousands since. It is not called by that name, but it is that in reality. Over its portals could well be written, "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." For this gilded palace is none other than the Casino of Monte Carlo, the great gambling hell of Europe. We hear of physicians who will not take their own remedies, of bartenders who will not taste of the poisons they dispense over the bar. Parallel to this, the people of Monaco, the capital of the realm, are not allowed to enter the Palace of Death, and their interest in its maintenance is secured by exempting them from all taxation. Their real estate is also greatly increased. So much for the price of silence and endurance. The present prince is of a scientific character. The Casino is run by a joint stock company, capitalized at 15,000,000 francs.

TO THIS Palace of Death come the gay and wealthy young men, and many old men, of Europe, and not a few from America, to gamble and revel in the poison of excitement which fills the very atmosphere. No man with poor or soiled dress or brigade suit is permitted to enter. Fortune upon fortune has been lost, and many is the life which has gone out into utter darkness by self-destruction. The Casino is entered by the gay traveler largely out of curiosity, as he looks on he drinks in of the spirit, and thinks he will try his luck for a game or so. The spell is cast, the victim is enthralled, and there he stays till the merciless maw of the monster of the Palace of Death swallows a fortune, and a fatal poison, the stab of a stiletto, or a plunge in the blue waters of the Mediterranean, ends a life that is wrecked forevermore. This is no fancy tale, and Monte Carlo is only a type of many more gilded halls of death, the beauty, the embellishment, and the surroundings of which are luring myriads to everlasting destruction.

THIS may reach some of those who are thus tempted—some father, husband, son, or brother. Beware of its snares. "Turn from

it, pass away." Its pleasures are only for a season at best, and their end is decadence, despair, death. The gilded palace is like a whited sepulcher, beautiful in its outward appearance, marvelously beautiful and luxurious in its material structure, finishings, and embellishments; but it is a grave of blasted reputations, ruined characters, prostituted talents, pure aspirations, and wrecked lives for this world and eternity. Better, a thousand times better, life with an honest crust, a log or sod house, a home where wife and children make it glad, and from which go out rays of light, happiness, and helpfulness to all around, than to flourish in the gilded Palace of Death at Monte Carlo.

THE beautiful Palace of Death proves to many the open gateway to hell. The humblest cottage of earth, if Christ be received there, will prove the open door to God's Palace Beautiful, and life forevermore. This is the lesson of our illustration. It is not all gold that glitters. It is not all happiness that invites. That only is worthy to endure long which endures righteously. God makes for each soul, who takes Him at His word, a palace of character, grander and more glorious than all the beautiful buildings of earth. They shall "wax old and perish," and the men who set their heart on them shall die in like manner, but "he that doeth the will of God abideth forever."