Were a case of sharping of this description tried before the tribunals of justice, one, or at most two culprits, would be brought forward; and yet is it not evident to every one, that, in robberies conducted American fashion, and particularly in those of the kind specified above, the duped are as guilty as the dupers? Would they not have taken advantage of the poor foolish countryman to victimise him? The sole reason which prevented them so doing, was the fact of their having met with one, who, with all his apparent stupidity, was more than a match for themselves.
If I were writing for the "habitués" of Paul Niquet and the frequenters of "Père la Rangaine"D I should make the Greek of the public-houses the hero of this work; but as I have every reason to believe, that most of my readers will never come in contact with this class of sharper, I shall only mention one or two of his best tricks, and then have done with him.
We will suppose our hero to be dining at one of the "tables-d'hôte" outside the barriers, where you get your dinner at a shilling a head. In the course of the repast, the Greek, who, by-the-bye, seems a jovial sort of fellow, offers to make all sorts of bets with those around him,—bets of that equivocal nature in which the proposer is sure to win.
The Greek, however, makes these bets less with a view of gain, than to irritate the men who lose, and from whom he hopes later in the evening to derive some benefit.
At dessert he takes three plates and some tumblers, and affects to play a juggling trick with pellets of bread crumbs.
But his performances are so ridiculously "maladroit," that the spectators only laugh at him.
There is no deception, for, as they say, one sees the string which makes the puppet dance.
Still the Greek goes on with wonderful assurance:—
"Gentlemen," he observes, "you see I put this little ball under a plate; well, I will make it disappear without your seeing anything;—I mean, that the most clever amongst you will see nothing."
But whilst the Greek is placing the pellet under the plate, he knows well enough, that by a particular motion of his hand, he has sent it rolling on the floor.
Pretending to think that it is still under the plate, he endeavours to explain what a clever trick he is about to show them, as he does not even require to approach the table to do it. Whilst giving these explanations, he affects to turn his back to the spot where the trick is to be executed.
A spectator, who has seen the pellet fall down on the ground, picks it up, and puts it openly in his pocket, at the same time addressing his neighbours in a low voice:—
"Let us play him a good trick, and bet with him, that the pellet is no longer under the plate. He'll be sure to take the bet, as he is not aware of his own awkwardness."
They agree to the proposition the more eagerly, as they are all pleased to mystify the mystifier, who, far from declining, bets a large sum, and offers, moreover, to bet it with each spectator individually who likes to accept the challenge.
Two or three people come forward, and first and foremost are those who have been already taken in. They rub their hands in glee with hopes of being revenged, and feel sure of winning, as they know that the pellet is in the pocket of one of the betters.
But, alas! they are all deceived. When the plate is raised, behold! The pellet is there, under it.
The juggler has won his bets.
Whilst throwing one pellet on the ground, the cunning fellow had very cleverly introduced another under the plate.
The spectator who so eagerly offered to bet was his colleague.
Again, here is another instance of the adroitness of these miscreants.
Some years since, on the road between the "Place de la Bastille" and the "Jardin des Plantes," or any other public thoroughfare where the Parisian cockneys were likely to be met with, a man was to be seen on his knees on the pavement, which he had appropriated to himself, to show off the following piece of deception.
He held in his hands three cards—say, the seven of hearts, the king of spades, and the ace of diamonds.
The two last of these cards were held in his right hand, the first-mentioned in his left, as is shown in the following engraving.
The rogue, raising his hands a little, requested them to remark the order in which the cards were placed. Then turning them over, he threw them, one after another, side by side on the pavement.
The seven of hearts is designated by the figure 1;
The king of spades by No. 2;
And the ace by No. 3.
This done, he shuffled the cards for some time, to draw off the attention of the spectators.
Addressing one of them, he asked him where the king was.
They, having seen the card in his right hand, and followed it closely with their eyes, point it out each time, and are never deceived.
The Greek pretended to be much annoyed at not being able to baffle the spectators.
He began again, and this time offered to make a large bet, that they would not find the card.
The people laughed, but did not venture to take his bet, when one amongst them, braver than the rest, a sort of country clown (to all appearance), stepped forward.
"That's capital," said he, with an oath, "I bet you twenty sous I guess where the king is."
The bet was accepted by the Greek who, turning over the card pointed out by the countryman, confessed he had lost, and paid the stake.
The two champions continued to bet, and the Greek invariably lost, until the peasant, satisfied with his winnings, retired. The rest of the spectators, who had stood quietly looking on, were thoroughly taken in by the countryman.
When he had retired, and the Greek continuing his offers of betting, three or four of them, taking the man for a fool, accepted the challenge.
But they, poor dupes, were ignorant that the countryman was an accomplice, and that the money he had pretended to gain, was only a lure to excite their cupidity.
With the fresh set of people anxious to bet, the Greek entirely changed his tactics. In throwing the cards on the ground, he, by a manœuvre, completely changed their position.
Thus, it is true, he placed the seven of hearts on No. 1, but, instead of letting fall the king of spades on No. 2, he slipped the card above (the ace of diamonds) in its place, and put the king on No. 3.
This substitution was so rapidly done, that no one perceived it, and of course, when the shuffling was all over, and the card named by the lookers on was turned up, it proved to be the ace of diamonds.
As this occurred very often, the losers determined to try and take their revenge, seldom quitting until they were all cleared out.
It sometimes happened that quarrels and even pitched battles followed this system of cheating; in which case the accomplice, who, from a distance, had watched the proceedings, interposed his powerful aid, and assisted his comrade to decamp.
This sort of gambling is now only met with in public-houses, as the police have interdicted the exhibition of it on the public thoroughfares.
In England they have a game similar to this, called Thimble-rig. Three thimbles are placed on a table, like the goblets used in jugglery.
A small ball is put under one of them; the thimbles are then moved about rapidly, so as to bewilder the spectators. And, as in the previous trick, the rogue has an accomplice to aid him in obtaining bets from the spectators, and, as has also been shown, he is sure to win.
But with the public it is quite another thing; the rogue himself never loses, for in pushing about the thimbles he artfully manages to make the ball pass from under the thimble, where he placed it, to another.
This is done by an act of sleight of hand.
From what I have said, it will be evident to the reader that, though the Greek of the low gambling-house is, to a certain extent, different from his brother sharpers, still he resembles them in their rogueries and cheating.
The restaurant of the Veau qui tête—Subscription ball—The card room—A lucky player—Sauter la coupe—Mystification—The tell-tale hat—We are done.
With such a number of Greeks mixing in society, one is tempted to ask, how is it that they are so seldom brought before the tribunals of justice?
This is easy to explain. In the first place, the Greek is generally clever, cunning, artful, and circumspect; for these reasons, his manœuvres are seldom discovered.
And, supposing he were caught in the very act of cheating, if it were in a private house, they would probably be content with making him disgorge his ill-gotten gains, and ignominiously turning him out of the house.
If it were in public, the swindler always knows how to manage the affair in some way or another, or to bolt.
The following circumstance I was myself a witness of.
There was formerly (I speak of thirty years ago), on the Place du Châtelet, on the spot now occupied by the Chambre des Notaires, a very large restaurant of great repute, known as the "Veau qui tête" ("Sucking Calf").
In the centre of this vast edifice was a picture representing a pastoral subject—it was a cow suckling her calf. This very primitive allegory was meant to express, that the food supplied in that house, was of the most harmless and nutritive description.
And it was perfectly true, that, whether it was a small entertainment for one or two people, or a grand wedding dinner, the table was always well served, and there were large rooms to make merry in.
This matter posé (as the professors of physiology say), I will proceed with my recital.
During the Carnival of 1832, some folks of my acquaintance took it into their heads to give a subscription ball, and selected the famous saloons of the "Veau qui tête" to give it in.
The subscribers were numerous, and consequently, as often happens, the society was of a mixed character. Out of three hundred persons present, scarcely a dozen knew each other. But as there were plenty of police, people were not afraid to join in the dance.
Wherever there is a ball, there is generally a room for play. In this instance, close to the ballroom, was a saloon filled with tables for play, and gambling going on.
I was one of the players.
I am not a gambler, for I play with great caution and moderation. I never risk more than a small piece of silver at cards, and only play, until the sum I intend to venture is lost; after which I retire, if not with pleasure, at least with philosophic resignation.
On this evening, Dame Fortune was against me, and in spite of my best strategetical calculations, the inconstant goddess had quickly put me hors de combat. The last of the ten francs I had staked had vanished.
The lightness of my purse left me in a capital physical condition to dance; but, though I had never been a great dancer, I feared, in spite of my philosophy, that my partners might perceive that I was out of sorts. I am obliged to confess, that at that period of my life, ten francs was a large sum for me to lose.
But at twenty-five years of age one is seldom a millionnaire.
Therefore, instead of joining in the dance, I directed my steps to another table where they were playing, with a malicious intention of consoling myself, by looking on at the misfortunes of others. One does feel so spiteful when one is vexed.
The game was very animated, gold was glittering on the table, and all eyes, riveted on the precious metal, seemed eager with anticipated pleasure.
They were playing écarté.
The player, behind whom I stood, was most unfortunate; he had lost four games one after another.
I began to think that I had brought my ill-luck to my neighbour. Wishing to be strictly impartial, I resolved to make him some amends, by transporting it and myself to the side of his adversary.
The man behind whom I now placed myself, was about forty years of age. He had a frank, open countenance, and boasted a huge pair of thick "blondes moustaches." He wore a blue coat, buttoned up to the throat, which gave him a military air; this, together with his distinguée appearance, and easy, gentlemanlike manners, betokened a man accustomed to the best society.
He was most fortunate in his play, and after each game, invariably, whilst collecting and dealing the cards, kept alluding to his wonderful luck, as if he wished to justify himself to his opponent.
"If," said he, addressing his adversary, "you had, unluckily for me, played a diamond instead of a spade, I should have been forced to take it, and you would have made the trick."
This manner of particularising facts rather astonished me. I was at this time au fait at some of the tricks of the Greeks, and their way of discoursing on the game. It also struck me that I perceived him making certain passes, to which I was no stranger.
I stood for some time looking on, with the greatest attention, thinking I might be deceived in my conjectures. The game was played with the most perfect regularity. However, I allowed no movement of his to escape me.
In the end, my minute and determined investigation met with the success it deserved. A false move which he made, put me on the scent, and I now felt sure that the fortunate winner was nothing more than a Greek of the first water.
I confess with shame, that once in possession of the secret of these manœuvres, I took the greatest delight in seeing them executed.
Under the pretext of ascertaining the truth of my suspicions, I made friends with my conscience, and indulged in a spectacle truly interesting to me.
It was charming to observe my hero, with his elegant address, collecting the cards, sorting them, and selecting those which he thought would be of use to him. Then classing them in the most natural manner, and at length cutting them for his own benefit, before the eyes of a whole host of spectators.
Poor dupes, I pitied them.
In the end, my feelings became more worthy of me, and I returned to my better self. Laying aside my admiration, I resolved to put a stop to the continued success of the elegant sharper.
In consequence of this determination, I went up to one of our commissaries of police, named Brissard, whom I knew was intelligent and energetic. I told him what I had seen.
Brissard followed me—waited until the individual I pointed out to him rose from the table (a Greek is not imprudent enough to go on winning the whole evening), and when, after being successful eight consecutive times, he ceded his place, my friend addressed him without further circumlocution.
"Sir," said he, "I am one of the police in attendance. I have not the honour of knowing you. May I ask who introduced you here?"
"Oh! certainly," replied the Greek, with great assurance, a benevolent smile playing on his features. "I was introduced by my friend M——" (at the same time mentioning a well-known name), "to one of your colleagues, who gave me a most favourable reception. However, sir, if you will come with me, we will go and find my friend, who will confirm what I have stated. Stay, I think he is on this side the room."
Startled at the frankness of this reply, Brissard, thinking that I must have been mistaken, was on the point of apologising, but on a sign from me, he followed the Greek, who led the way, and appeared to be searching for his friend in every direction.
The crowd was so great we had great difficulty in following him.
All at once, the blue coat disappeared, as if by enchantment. In vain did we look for him in the room. We soon found that our man, in passing near the door, had slipped out.
"I'll catch him yet," said Brissard, running towards the cloak room, "the fugitive must be bare-headed, he has not had time to get his hat. The address of his hatter may help us."
"Madame," asked he, addressing the woman in charge of the hats and cloaks, "has a gentleman with large moustachios just been here to get his hat?"
"No, sir."
"That will do. Take great care of the last hat which is not claimed, and keep it for me."
He then went on to the concierge.
"Tell me, have you just seen any one go out?"
"Yes, sir; a tall man, with big moustachios."
"That's he; and he was bare-headed?"
"Yes; but after going a few steps, he pulled out an opera hat from under his coat, and put it on his head."
"The rascal had made his arrangements beforehand," said Brissard. "We are done."
If I had continued to frequent these kinds of réunions, I should have acquired a certain dexterity in this sort of rogue-hunting; but about this time, several circumstances occurred, which turned my thoughts from all worldly pleasures. On the other hand, it was repugnant to my feelings, even though it amused me, to spend my time in pursuits, which, though very useful, are scarcely considered honourable.
I have related the story of the Greek and his hat, because it serves as a sort of introduction to a series of facts descriptive of the art of cheating.
In continuing my story, we must allow for a lapse of twenty years.
His infallible system—His agreeable manners—A roulette player—Confidences—Revelations—In vein, and out of vein—The maturity of chances—Advice to players—Maxims—Influences—The gambler must be unmoved—Application of the system—A fortunate martingale—Mysterious meeting—Shorn of a beard—Ruin and misery—The talisman—Raymond is a Greek—Useful information.
In 1852, after a long series of performances, which I had been giving in Germany, I stopped at that charming little place, Spa, with the double intention of giving a few entertainments there, and also of getting a little rest after my fatiguing tour.
I put up at an hotel, the name of which has escaped me. It is very ungrateful of me, for it was an hotel where you received the greatest civility and attention, and the table was excellent, which is what one does not always meet with in one's travels.
The table d'hôte was usually very gay, as the people composing it were the élite of society, all in perfect health, coming there nominally to drink the waters, but in reality for amusement.
My neighbour at table was an habitué of the house, who had been living there, it was said, for some months.
He was an old man, with a long white beard, which was so thick and bushy that it nearly covered his face. The only part visible was a pair of cheeks, the roseate hue of which might cause a sigh of envy in the heart of many a coquette. One might compare them to two rosy apples lying on a bed of snow.
M. Raymond, for such was the appellation of the gentleman in question, was one of the most intelligent and amusing companions it was possible to meet with.
In conversation, he possessed the rare art of drawing others out, that is to say, having himself something interesting to relate, which often was the case, he managed, by cleverly turning the conversation, to obtain from each of the party assembled, his quota towards the general gaiety. He was, in fact, the life and soul of our gastronomic réunions.
M. Raymond, who was sometimes called "Voisin Raymond," or simply "Mon Voisin," seemed to be well off. The extent of his fortune was unknown, but he must have had some means, as he was one of the most constant players at the roulette-table; and to play much at this game one must be rich, Roulette is not a winning game—this is one of its greatest faults.
At the foreign watering-places, the passion for play is not considered a vice—it is looked on as an amusement, rather comme il faut; my neighbour, therefore, notwithstanding his regular attendance at the gambling-table, was still supposed to be an honourable man and a gentleman.
M. Raymond had been present at some of my séances, and seemed to take particular delight in them. Often had he spoken to me in such terms, as proved his thorough knowledge of the art of jugglery in general, and about tricks with cards in particular. When we were alone, he even showed me with what facility he could make a false cut, change one card for another, &c., &c. I therefore looked on him as a very clever amateur in these manœuvres.
Our having the same tastes, I may say the same passion, in common, contributed to add to our intimacy, and few days passed that we did not take long walks together in the neighbourhood. Our conversation turned, as may be supposed very frequently, on our favourite topic. We also spoke about "Roulette" and "Rouge-et-Noir," but on these subjects we seldom agreed, and my neighbour grew quite exasperated, when I said that I had a horror of gambling, and, that when I approached the table covered with green cloth, it seemed to me as if I were one of an assemblage of fools, or at least lunatics of the worst description.
"Fools and lunatics!" exclaimed M. Raymond; "you seem to be ignorant of the study necessary, of the strength of mind and talent required, to contend against bad luck. You are not aware that the art of turning lucky chances in your favour, is not a chimera, and that it requires great talent to be able to duly estimate the value of the chances."
One day, after a long discussion more than usually excited, M. Raymond, finding that he rather had the worst of the argument, thought to convince me by letting me a little into his confidence.
"Ah! Well, you say you have a horror of gambling, and will never play. Wait and see. I bet that in an hour you will be so wild about it, that I shall be obliged to restrain and guide you."
I made a gesture of denial.
"Pray listen to me;" added he; "only when you've heard what I have to tell, I must ask you to guard sacredly the secret I am about to confide to you.
"You probably share the generally received opinion, that I have a large fortune. I may say that I am rich, as my funds come from a source that is inexhaustible. At the same time, I do not mind confessing to you, that I have no other funds than my wits, or, in other words, my skill in play. I live by the profits I derive from the gambling-table. I could prove to you, that there is not a year that I do not make money at roulette, clearing at least twenty thousand francs (800l.). You naturally inquire how?—I am going to teach you.
"It has long been the custom to hold up to ridicule those, who, having little trust in fate, seek to make their fortunes by the aid of lucky combinations at play, more or less ingenious.
"Even if the result disappoint you day after day, ought you, therefore, to conclude that it is not to be obtained?
"I have every reason for believing the contrary, and, when you have heard what I have to say, you will agree with me on the subject.
"To make these explanations more intelligible, I ought, in the first place, to establish the following aphorism: 'That all games of chance present two kinds of chances perfectly distinct: those which belong to the player, and those which are inherent in the combinations of the game.'
"The chances in favour of the player are represented by two mysterious agents, known by the names of loss and gain, or perhaps by the more characteristic ones of good and ill-luck.
"The chances of the game are termed probabilities.
"A probability is the relation which exists, between the number of chances favourable to a result, and the sum total of possible chances.
"Some celebrated authors have written clever works on these same probabilities, but, in consequence of their profound depth and multiplicity, these calculations are of no earthly use to the player.
"Besides, all systems of probabilities may be advantageously replaced by the following theory:—
"If chance should happen to bring every possible combination of the game, there are, notwithstanding, certain limits, where it must cease.
"Such, for example, as the fact of a number coming up ten consecutive times at roulette.
"That might happen, certainly, but it has never yet occurred. We may therefore conclude, that:—
"In a game of hazard, the oftener a number comes up, the more certain it is that it will not come up the next coup.
"This is the groundwork of all the theories of probabilities, and is termed 'the maturity of chances.'
"After what I have stated, it is evident, that, in order to succeed, a person must only continue to play, when he is fortunate at the commencement, and must also only risk his money, at the instant prescribed by the rules of the maturity of chances.
"Some sort of introduction was necessary, but I have made it as short as possible."
Here M. Raymond, wishing doubtless to give me time to reflect on what he had said, stopped short, pulled his pocket-handkerchief out of his pocket, blew his nose several times, and then continued:—
"My theory is embodied in the following precepts, under the title of
ADVICE TO PLAYERS.
"1st. In playing, give the preference to the game of roulette, as it gives you the chance of investing your money in several ways,E and also enables you to study at the same time various chances and maturities.
"2nd. A good player must be calm, and must keep his temper. A man who gives way to passion is sure to lose.
"If, as is said to be the case, gambling produces the most delightful sensations; as all happiness in this world has its reverse of pain and suffering, it is almost certain, that the anticipated pleasure of winning is balanced by many bitterly-deceived hopes.
"The man who likes gambling must take the risk of losing.
"3rd. A prudent player ought, before beginning, to observe, and obtain proof if possible, whether he is in a lucky vein or not.
"If there be any doubt about it, he must abstain from playing.
"4th. There are some whom ill-luck pursues incessantly. To these I would say: never play.
"5th. An experienced player ought always to avoid joining in partnership, with those unlucky people who always lose. Nothing is so contagious as ill-luck. Be careful never to place your money with that of unfortunate players. On the other hand, always place your money with those whom you see are lucky.
"6th. Accustom yourself to be one of the last to place your money, so that your play may not influence others who are also holding back.
"7th. Endeavour to choose for playing, the moment when you see there are most players; the coups are then less rapid, and one has more time to study them.
"8th. Never think of playing, unless you have your brain quite clear. Let the voice of the croupier and the card on which you have marked the points, occupy your thoughts. Isolate yourself in the midst of the crowd.
"9th. Never try a chance until it is ripe, or has arrived at its maturity. This system will often oblige a novice to remain inactive; but practice will enable him to play every time, as he will know how to profit by all the chances attached to the combinations of the game.
"10th. If the calculations, founded upon your luck, or upon probabilities, are disappointed, cease playing at once, to try your luck again at a more favourable opportunity.
"Obstinacy in playing is ruin.
"11th. Never play for more than two hours; beyond that time, brain and fortune become weary of being kept too long on the rack.
"12th. To acquire the sort of impassibility I advocate, hide, in the recesses of your own heart, any and all emotions, which the fact of winning may produce, be the sum ever so considerable. Remember that your good luck ought never to make you rejoice too much, for, though Dame Fortune may shower her favours upon you, she as often takes her revenge on the imprudent whom success intoxicates."
I had paid the greatest attention to the explanation afforded me by M. Raymond. His system appeared to me, if not infallible, at least a very ingenious one; still I could not persuade myself, that it was possible to command success. I wished, however, to show him that I had perfectly understood him.
"All your precepts are very clear," said I, with an appearance of conviction, "and may be summed up as follows:—
"Before risking money at play, consider whether you are in a lucky vein, and study the probabilities of the game, or, as you call it, the maturity of chances."
"Just so," rejoined M. Raymond. "This system is so sure and certain, that I have latterly applied it most successfully.
"This morning I felt that it was one of my lucky days, those days so rare in the life of a gambler.
"This feeling was so strong in me, that I felt instinctively that something good would happen to me.
"On arriving at the table, I, however, at first only made a few trifling experiments at rouge-et-noir.
"My success confirmed my impressions.
"It would not have been prudent to exhaust the vein of my good luck, so I stopped, and, taking a card, began to study the maturity of the chances before making my great coup.
"After an hour spent in making observations, I thought the favourable moment had arrived, I placed ten francs on No. 33. I lost: one must expect that; but, confident in my successful vein, even more than in the No. 33, the maturity of which had not come to its full, I martingaled four times running.F
"At the fifth coup, the probabilities proved in the right. The ball stopped at my lucky number.
"My four martingales having amounted to eighty francs, the sum paid me, according to the rules of the game, was thirty-six times that amount. I received 2880 francs (about 115l.).
"A fool would have gone on; but I, not wishing to tempt fortune, and in order to avoid losing all my gains, quitted the table."
Clever as was the system of M. Raymond, he could not, however, imbue me with the wish of risking the smallest sum at roulette. I have always looked on this game, as a trap baited with the prospect of an easy gain.
In fact, how many men have, like M. Raymond, invented systems and theories to break the bank, who have only succeeded in ruining themselves, and any fools who would listen to them.
A few days afterwards, I quitted Spa to return to France, and, as often happens with friends picked up in one's travels, M. Raymond and I parted, as I thought, never to meet again.
It was not, however, thus destined.
Two years afterwards I found myself at Baden-Baden, and was walking on the Lichtenthal promenade. A man I had not before observed, came, and, placing himself suddenly before me, looked at me, as much as to say: "Do you recognise me?"
This man, judging by his appearance, was not one of the aristocracy of the Baden society. He wore a brown coat, which had that peculiar shiny look, which bespeaks long service. It was buttoned up to the throat, to allow him to dispense with the luxury of a waistcoat, or at least to prevent a too minute inspection of his under garments.
His face was ornamented with a pair of large "blondes moustaches," very carefully arranged.
"How the loss of a beard changes the appearance of a man!" said a voice, which I recognised immediately to be that of M. Raymond.
"True," I replied, somewhat absent by a remembrance of former days crossing my brain: "It is true, you are much changed." I looked at M. Raymond; more old recollections crowded into my mind. Those thick moustachios, that military appearance, were connected with an event which had once impressed me deeply. Still I could not quite recall the facts to my mind.
"I will not longer interrupt you in your walk," said M. Raymond, moving away; feeling hurt probably at my hesitation, of which he did not know the cause—when I stopped him:
"You do not interrupt me, 'Mon Voisin,'" I said; "let us walk on together, and we will go to a less frequented part, where you will be able to relate to me, more at your ease, all that has happened to you since we parted."
"Ah! Mon Dieu!" replied poor Raymond with a sigh, "my tale is a simple one; you shall judge for yourself.
"A fortnight after your departure, my luck turned. Bad luck pursued me, as it had never done before. According to my principles, I waited, hoping for a better chance; but my frightful ill-luck continued for six months. I changed my locale, to turn my luck, but all in vain. The best-established maturities, the most wonderful chances, all became, for me, elements of ruin.
"At my wits' end, as well as at the end of my resources, I sold in succession, jewels, linen, and clothes, by the proceeds of which I hoped to save myself from ruin; but in vain.
"I played with caution, and studied in despair, all the chances for and against me. I made nothing but unlucky hits, and was soon reduced to utter poverty.
"Ever since then, I have led the most extraordinary existence in the world. Too proud to beg, I endured with resignation the most cruel privations. I cannot tell how it was, that I did not die of hunger.
"You may well believe that I did not wish to be recognised, in such a pitiable position. I, the lucky gambler 'Voisin Raymond,' whom all admired for his talent and good luck.
"I could not bear the pity of my former admirers.
"I shaved off my beard, the type in some measure of my greatness, and thus transformed, I lived unknown, waiting for better days."
Proud, as M. Raymond seemed to be, I did not think he would refuse a little assistance; but fearing to wound his susceptibility, I contrived to slip a napoleon into his hand, while giving it a parting shake.
"I accept what you offer me, but only as a loan," said he, "remember that:—Thanks, 'au revoir!'"
On this, "Mon Voisin" quitted me, with much precipitation.
Curious to learn what he intended to do, I followed him unseen, and saw him direct his steps to that yawning gulf, the roulette-table. I was not surprised; all gamblers are alike.
The same evening, Raymond approached me with a triumphant air.
"Well!" exclaimed he, "they are right who say that borrowed money brings luck! Here I am, again in a lucky vein; I have played prudently and for small stakes; the result is, that I have won a hundred francs. It is a return of my former good fortune. Allow me, therefore, while thanking you, to retain for a time the napoleon you lent me; I look on it as a talisman, by means of which I hope to get out of all my difficulties."
Cruel deception! The following day, the talisman and its luck fell a prey to the rake of the hard-hearted croupier.
"A few more francs," said Raymond, when relating this misfortune, "and I could have stood out against my unlucky vein. You must know, my system has completely changed, and I feel so confident in my new system, that, with only three hundred francs, I feel assured that I could break the bank."
From all this, I saw that Raymond had lost, if not his wits, at least his judgment.
"You had much better leave Baden, Raymond," I said to him, "and devote yourself to some less dangerous occupation. Were you never in any profession, which you could again take up?"
"Alas! The profession I exercised formerly, was one still more dangerous; I quitted it twenty years since, and I swore never to resume it again."
This explanation, short as it was, threw a sudden light upon the vague recollections, which the altered face of Raymond had awakened in my mind.
"Wait," said I to him, looking at him attentively. "Yes! It certainly is,—were you not some twenty years since at a ball, which was given at the Veau qui Tête?"
"Yes! Well, what of it?"
"Do you recollect being questioned, after an unusual run of luck at écarte, and how you afterwards were chased by the police?"
"I remember the circumstance," replied Raymond, with the greatest calmness, "and the more so, because, as a termination to that scene and many preceding ones, finding myself tracked and nearly discovered, I fled to Germany, abandoning my dangerous career for a more tranquil and honest life.
"I there took another name, and with my thick beard, which almost hid my features, few would have recognised me; of this you can judge for yourself."
This candid avowal gave me hopes of obtaining from Raymond, an account of his former life, which could not but be interesting. I hoped to find there some facts, which would be of use for the work I was writing on sharpers. I did not hesitate to ask him to oblige me, and, in the hope of inducing him to admit me into his confidence, I offered to lend him three hundred francs (£12), which he was to return, when he had made his fortune. It was giving them to him, under another form.
Raymond agreed to both my propositions, but begged to be allowed until the morrow, to enable him to collect his ideas a little.
Debauchery—Scheme to get money—The usurer Robineau—The bill of exchange—A false friend—Treason—Stay at Clichy—Initiation of a sharper—Release from prison.
Raymond kept his promise. He came to me the following day; and, after I had made my arrangements, so that no one should interrupt us, I asked him to begin his story.
"It is not my intention," said he, "to tell you the history of my life; I shall only relate to you my début as a Greek, and the causes which so fatally led to it. After that, I will tell you some startling incidents, of which I have been the hero, the accomplice, or the witness.
"My real name, and the place of my birth, are of little consequence. I shall not mention them, out of respect to my family, one of the members of which holds a very high position in Paris; to you, therefore, I shall be simply M. Raymond.
"At the age of twenty, I was a tolerably good-looking fellow, and came into possession of a fortune of about ten thousand francs (400l.) a year. Being an orphan, I had no one to control me, and led, in consequence, one of the fastest and most dissolute lives in the metropolis.
"In two years my patrimony was all spent, and I found myself ruined.
"As always happens in such cases, my friends turned their backs on me, and, as must also always happen, it was necessary for me to exist; but how? A serious question, for one who had never had any other profession than idleness and debauchery.
"The idea of suicide occurred to me, but whether it was cowardice, or submission to fate, that prevented me, I know not, but I continued to live on."
M. Raymond then related several piquant anecdotes, as he called them.
As a faithful historian I shall transcribe them for the benefit of my readers; but, as they will be easier to recount in the third person, I shall in future adopt that method.
Raymond was thus abandoned, as he had stated, by all his friends, with one exception. This faithful friend, named Brissac, was the same age as himself; he had been the companion of his follies, and would now share his misfortunes.
They had one purse in common,—that is to say, they starved together.
Brissac's active mind was never at a loss; every day brought forth some new scheme, for restoring their broken fortunes.
"I say, Raymond," exclaimed Brissac, one morning, awakening his comrade; "I've got an idea! In a few days we shall be rolling in wealth. It only requires a couple of thousand francs (£80), no more; and this is what we must do to procure that sum.
"I am acquainted with an old money-lender, named Robineau; a sly, suspicious old fellow, and such a rogue, that an escaped convict would blush before him. He shall be our banker. I don't mind confessing to you that my credit with him is quite gone, so I can ask nothing for myself; but you might very well beg him to lend you the sum I named."
"No doubt I can ask for it," said Raymond, "nothing is more easy; but to obtain it, is another thing. You know these usurers always require security."
"I know that. Of coarse, you will offer security to this honest Robineau."
"You are joking."
"No, on the contrary, I am quite serious. Listen to me; you will offer Robineau a bill of exchange, and, at the same time, tell him to make all necessary inquiries about you in your native place. As no one there yet knows that you are ruined, there is no doubt, that, after making these inquiries, and satisfying himself of your respectability, he will give you what you require. We'll find means of paying him some day or other," added Brissac, by way of quieting his conscience.
Everything occurred as Brissac had predicted. In consideration of a bill for two thousand five hundred francs, at one month's date, renewable only with the consent of Père Robineau, he handed over to Raymond two bank-notes of a thousand francs each.
The friends had been so long deprived of anything like pleasure, that they determined to enjoy themselves to their hearts' content. They took care, however, to be economical, so that the money lasted them for a fortnight, at the end of which time, they were worse off than before.
They again applied to Robineau, but this time he was inflexible.
"When you have paid me your original debt," said he, "I shall have more confidence in you, and will lend you a larger sum."
The dreaded moment arrived; the bill was presented, and of course was not paid. Père Robineau lost no time in adopting such stringent legal measures, that, to escape a prison, Raymond saw himself reduced to live the life of a recluse, never venturing to leave the house.
To crown all their miseries, Brissac, who, by some means more or less honest, always catered for the two, found himself in the same predicament as his friend.
A bill, with his signature attached, in the hands of Robineau, was almost due; but Brissac was not a man to allow himself to be caught. He resolved to free himself by an act of treacherous perfidy.
He went to the money-lender, and frankly told him he was penniless, and that therefore it would be useless to imprison him; but that, on the other hand, his friend was quite solvent; and he offered to get him a bill signed by Raymond, for a thousand francs, in exchange for his own, promising at the same time to assist him to entrap his invisible debtor.
The offer was accepted, and Brissac immediately commenced putting his infamous project into execution.
He made Raymond believe that he had found a more accommodating money-lender, who had promised to let him have a thousand francs on his bill.
No sooner does Brissac get possession of the paper, than he hastens to Père Robineau, gives it to him in exchange for his own, and returns to Raymond to carry out his scheme.
"All goes on well," said he to Raymond; "but there is a little formality necessary. Our new banker declines to give the money to any one but yourself. You had better come with me to satisfy him."
"Yes, but," replied Raymond, "I might be recognised, and taken by the bailiffs, on my way there."
"I foresaw this difficulty, and have a carriage at the door with the blinds drawn; so we have nothing to fear."
Unconscious of evil, Raymond starts on his way. The two friends congratulate themselves on their good fortune, and are laughing in their sleeves at the trick they are playing the bailiffs, when, suddenly, at the command of a strange voice, the carriage stops, and a man, in an authoritative tone, after desiring Brissac to get out, takes his place, and orders the coachman to drive to Clichy.
"Adieu! Raymond," cried out his perfidious friend as the carriage drove off, "adieu! Keep up your courage. Adieu!"
Whilst Voisin Raymond was telling me this, I observed, that he could not prevent a nervous clinching of his fists.
"I may well be enraged at this villain's infamy," said he, with his teeth set and his eyes sparkling with rage, "for it is to my stay at Clichy that I owe my entrance into the path of crime."
The prisoner was as unhappy as he would naturally be under such circumstances, but, on reflection, he found that his condition was not so bad as he had at first thought; at all events, he would, for some time to come, be sheltered from want.
His companions in misfortune seemed all of them far from despairing. Each of them appeared to bear his troubles with patience. They treated one another to dinners and fêtes, at which ladies were present. Cards were also permitted, and imaginary stakes of large amount, were played for by these insolvents.
From his first entrance, whilst most of his companions held themselves aloof from him, Raymond was attracted towards a man named Andréas, who had shown a compassionate interest in him.
This man, although he was twenty years older, became his friend and confidant; and to him Raymond related his youthful follies, his difficulties, and his misfortunes.
Andréas, on his part, also made a confidant of Raymond; one thing led to another, and at length he told him some secrets of a compromising nature. He confessed that he had the art of mastering the caprices of fortune, or, as Cardinal Mazarin said: "Prendre au jeu ses avantages."
Andréas even offered to initiate Raymond into these rascally manœuvres, and to work with him so as to gull the dupes of "Sainte Pélagie."
Raymond, who had long ago ceased to be honest, did not feel affronted at such advances being made to him; he accepted the offer of going into partnership, and worked with zeal to become an adept in his new profession.
His progress was rapid, as in prison there is little to distract the attention, and one can devote one's whole time to study.
The partners at once commenced a crusade against the purses of their fellow-prisoners, and were so successful, that, in less than a year, they had gained sufficient to recover their liberty.
One day they sent for Père Robineau to come to Clichy, saying it was for an affair of great importance.
The cunning old man knew well enough what his presence there was required for, so he took with him the necessary papers for the liberation of his debtor. Thanks to his zeal, the needful formalities were soon gone through, and Raymond found himself once more on the pavement of Paris, which has an especial charm for such of its inhabitants as have not trodden it for a twelvemonth.
Andréas also was set at liberty; the two associates met, and agreed never to part again.
Greeks, both as dupers and duped—Andréas Tête d'Or—Secret inquiry—The human ostrich—The society of philosophers—Chaffard the bravo—Exploit of Tête d'Or—A Greek thrown out of window—Mystification.
When Raymond entered the prison of "Sainte Pélagie" he was an isolated being in Paris. On his exit it was different; Andréas had friends who also became the friends of Raymond, and in many of the houses in which he was received, he met with a most cordial welcome.
They soon treated him as a brother, using the friendly "thou" in addressing him, and even gave him the soubriquet of "The Marquis," from his fashionable appearance. Andréas was named Tête d'Or, or "Golden Head," in consequence of his fertile and inventive imagination.
Raymond was not long in discovering, that the society he now frequented, was composed of Chevaliers d'Industrie, and that the houses where he had been so well received, were nothing more than gambling-houses, where those who were imprudent enough to enter, were soon fleeced of their money.
As Raymond was very expert at tricks of cards, they gave him, every now and then, certain tricks to execute; and in every instance he performed his rôle with as much adroitness as tact.
In these houses, the trial of skill was marvellous, and it was not uncommon, to see as many dupers as duped at each table.
The tables and play were kept up by a sort of partnership; that is to say, every Greek paid his share towards the general fund.
At the end of the evening, after all the dupes had departed, the Greeks placed what they had gained on a table, and shared it equally.
Although wolves do not prey upon each other, thieves not unfrequently do: that is certain.
It often happened, that, after a game was over, at which the dupes had lost a hundred louis (£80), when they came to divide, there were only sixty forthcoming.
Every one of the players agreed that there ought to be more, but no one acknowledged to having taken the missing money.
They looked at each other, and even made a personal search (for in such company delicacy is needless), but found nothing.
At length they hit on an idea; they agreed to request Tête d'Or to make a secret investigation, in order to discover which was the culprit.
Andréas, flattered at being selected to fill so delicate a post, put all his zeal and intelligence in requisition, and soon detected the two delinquents, as well as the tricks they had employed to cheat the society.
It appeared, that one of these men gave orders to his servant, to come towards the end of every evening, to ask his master for a key, or for some other trifling errand. Whilst giving him the key, he also handed over to him a rouleau of the louis he had gained. If the winnings were considerable, the servant, at a sign from his master, returned with the key, and in giving it back received a second rouleau.
Another, more modest, contented himself with sticking a few louis under the table with small bits of wax, collecting them after the division of the spoils was over.
A third, a sort of human ostrich, swallowed the money, and afterwards took an emetic to recover it.
These double-faced thieves, once known, were expelled, as not being worthy to belong to an association, which boasted of being proof against all temptation.
It occasionally occurred, that false money was mixed up with the genuine coin. But the author of this fraud could never be discovered; so no notice was taken of the circumstance, as the false money was so good an imitation, that none of the party had any scruples about circulating it amongst their trades-people.
Andréas, at length, felt wearied of wasting his talents for the benefit of people, whom he considered much his inferiors in intellect. He required a larger field for the display of his powers; and consequently proposed to Raymond, to quit "The Lynx Society" (for so was the association named), to form, conjointly with a man called Chaffard, who was nick-named Prévôt (or the Fencing Master), a society for the cultivation of Parisian and provincial dupes.
It was called the Society of Philosophers, and the different members were employed as follows:—
Chaffard used to travel about from time to time, to discover victims; he likewise had to put himself in communication with the sharpers of the provinces, and to negotiate with them for those undertakings, in which the experience of masters in the art was necessary.
If Chaffard was not as clever in handling cards, as his comrades, he was in no way their inferior in cunning and rascality.
He possessed one talent in particular, which, when occasion required, was of much avail to them.
He was a first-rate bully, always ready to quarrel with a dupe, even whilst he was robbing him, so that many, to avoid being killed by this miscreant, would quietly allow themselves to be swindled out of their money. In such cases his usual language was, "Very well, sir; there is only one thing to be done—we must fight. I am at your service, &c., &c."
If, by chance, any person happened to argue a point, or expostulate with either of them, Chaffard immediately interposed, espoused his friend's quarrel, and offered to fight in his stead; for Andréas and Raymond were not courageous, and this was the reason, that they had deemed it prudent to ally themselves with a bravo.
Chaffard was, in truth, the defender and support of the association.
The character of Raymond, "The Marquis," was, on the contrary, quiet and inoffensive. His manners savoured of the best society. Intelligent and adroit, he willingly undertook to work at balls, parties, and other mixed assemblies. By degrees, he managed to get introduced into the salons of the rich middling classes, where he exercised his vocation with as much prudence as talent.
Andréas, or "Golden Head," also enjoyed a certain distinction in his line, which lay in secret gambling houses. There it was that he usually displayed his talents.
There, he not only found easy dupes, but often, thanks to the depth of his plots, and his extreme cleverness, he managed to take in sharpers themselves.
In addition to his other qualities, Andréas possessed wonderful presence of mind, of which he was extremely proud; and in proof of this he had told Raymond the following circumstance:—
At the period when he first began his dangerous career, and was not yet very expert, he was playing at one of the secret clubs frequented by all the great gamblers of Paris.
Whilst playing, he was caught in the fact of cheating, and certain cards which he was trying to introduce into the game of lansquenet, were seized. They were on the point of delivering him over into the hands of justice, when one of the players judiciously observed, that, as the assembly in which the circumstance occurred was not quite legal, his denunciation might bring about awkward results; besides the trouble and delay of producing the necessary proofs.
"Would it not be more simple," continued this sage counsellor, "to punish the rascal ourselves, by throwing him out of the window; and, should he reach terra firma in safety, after his aërial excursion, he will never think of appealing against his sentence."
All present, agreed that this would be the wisest plan, and unanimously decided, that they should proceed at once to the infliction of the punishment.
As soon as Andréas heard this sentence pronounced, he threw himself on his knees to sue for pardon, and, with clasped hands, implored the pity of his judges, pointing out to them that the first floor, on which they were, was very high from the ground, owing to there being an entresol between it and the ground-floor.
All his appeals, however, were in vain.
One of the players, who had lost more than any of his companions, insisted, not only that no clemency should be shown him, but that the rogue should be compelled to return the money which he had stolen.
This restitution seemed easy enough, as the green silk purse, into which Andréas had put his own money and that of his victims, was on the table beside him.
"I will return it, if you insist on it," cried Andréas, in a heart-broken voice, placing the purse on the table, "but, oh! do not kill me."
Their only reply was to open both the shutters and the window.
Four of the strongest of the group were selected, to launch the culprit into space.
They approached to seize him, when Andréas suddenly formed the resolution of leaping out himself, made a bound forward through the open window, and, in true gymnastic style, came down on his feet in the street below.
Stunned by his fall, he staggered at first, then hobbling away, he ended by starting off at full speed, to the astonishment of the spectators in the balcony above, who laughed loudly at this serio-comic performance.
When their hilarity was over, they bethought themselves of sharing the contents of the purse which contained all the losses they had experienced during the evening.
One amongst the party was named to arrange the affair, but, as the whole of the money was mixed up in it, together with that of the robber himself, it was agreed that it would be better to give it to the poor.
Wishing to know the amount the purse contained, they emptied it on the table, when what was their astonishment at finding nothing in it but counters.
Andréas, in case of accidents, always carried a second purse, filled with false money; and, even in the critical position in which he had been placed, he had sufficient presence of mind to substitute the false purse for the real one.
In relating this adventure of former days, Andréas always concluded with these words: "I took good care never to be caught again."