His abject condition—The public-house—Pretended stupidity—Dupes fleeced—Acting the countryman—Table d'hÔte—The pellets—A good farce—Deception—The three cards—The countryman's bet—Clever substitution—English rogues—Thimble-rig.

It may with truth be said, that the Greek of low life is a sort of vulgar imitation of the two other types that I have just been describing, and, if I may be allowed to draw the comparison, I should say, that the Greek of the low gambling-house, is, to his more favoured comrade, what a street-ballad singer is to an educated artiste.

Heaven forbid that I should fall into an ecstasy about the villanies of any sharper, let him be of whatever class he may; but I may venture to say, that, although under no circumstances should I like to be robbed, yet, if I am to be so, I should much prefer being cheated out of my money by a gentlemanlike scamp, than by a low vulgar sharper.

As regards elegance of manners and appearance, there can be no comparison between the aristocratic Greek, and him of the lowest grade. There is every reason to believe, that the former is not even aware of the existence of the latter. Men of this stamp all resemble each other more or less; most of them are miserable specimens of humanity, whom idleness and debauchery have reduced to the necessity of cheating, hoping thereby to get what honest labour had failed to obtain for them.

Their tricks are usually as coarse, as the victims on whom they practise. It is no longer sleight of hand, it is a sort of cheating, for which there is no name. Their victims being ordinarily so easy to dupe, they do not care to become more expert.

Besides, it is generally not until after finishing the fifth or sixth bottle, that the play begins.

The qualities most essential for these rascals, are to be able to drink and smoke to any extent, without being affected by it. The constant use of spirits produces this insensibility to their influence.

The third-rate sharper makes the lower public-houses and tap-rooms, outside the barriers, the scene of his exploits. His victims are drunken labourers, countrymen visiting the capital, soldiers on leave, and sometimes persons of small independent means out for a frolic.

This style of Greek has usually a colleague to assist him in his manoeuvres. Their operations require the assistance of a second party, as they are performed American fashion.

I cite one out of a thousand similar instances:—

The swindler enters a public-house, which he knows is much frequented, and places himself at a table, near which another man is already seated; this man, whom he pretends not to know, is an accomplice. He calls for a bottle of wine, which he empties at once, and begins talking to his neighbour in a loud voice, so as to attract the attention of the whole company. He puts on an appearance of the greatest stupidity, and makes some foolish remarks arranged for the occasion, to which the "comtois" replies by making game of him, to the great amusement and satisfaction of his auditory.

Insensibly all draw near, and approach the two antagonists.

The Greek ends by getting annoyed with the joking of his neighbour, and proposes to play for the two bottles on the table.

The proposition is accepted, but the Greek plays badly, and the game is soon lost. He holds his cards so awkwardly, that it appears as if he had never had one in his hands before. His defeat was evident from the first.

His fortunate adversary, delighted with his triumph, wins everything, and quickly walks off.

The rogue who remains behind, bitterly bewails his loss, and testifies his anxiety to take his revenge on the first comer.

The dupes, led on by the hope of winning easily, are all eager to accept the challenge. They play, and win as they expected, but the rascal, far from being discouraged, takes from his pocket a handful of five-franc pieces, which he announces he is ready to stake, to try and regain what he has lost.

This declaration, together with the clink of the silver, is too great a temptation to withstand. Every one present is anxious to have his share of a booty so easy to acquire. They play again, and again win several games, and this additional loss (arranged by the Greek) gives him an opportunity of raising his stakes and offering to play double or quits.

Now begins the real game of our hero, who, without forgetting his character of the fool, brings into play the resources of a coarse sort of sleight of hand. He gains with an air of such stupid simplicity and "gaucherie," that no one has the slightest suspicion on the subject. Luck has turned in his favour, and, in the parlance of "cabarets," there is a Providence over drunkards. The Greek, after having filled his purse at the expense of his adversaries, retires for want of combatants, and goes off to share the spoil of the day with his associate.

This scene is, in the vocabulary of Greeks, termed; "acting the countryman."

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.