University of Virginia Library

1. CHEVALIERS D'INDUSTRIE, OR POLITE SHARPERS.

CHEVALIERS d'industrie, or polite and accomplished sharpers, have always existed in every city, from the earliest times to the present. The ordinary progress of these interesting gentlemen is as follows. Their début is often difficult, and many of them are stopped short in their career. They only succeed by means of great exertion and severe trials; but they endure everything in order to be tolerated or permitted to exercise their calling. To secure credit they ally themselves with men of respectability, or those who pass for such. When they have no titles they fabricate them; and few persons dispute their claims. They are found useful for the pleasures of society, the expenses of which they often pay —

at the cost of the dupes they make in the world. The income of chevaliers d'industrie is at first derived from those inexperienced persons whom they get in their clutches by means of every kind of enticement, in order to ruin them some day — if they have any `expectations' or are likely to be rich; or in order to make accomplices of them if they have only aptitudes for the purpose. After having led them from error to error, after suggesting to them all sorts of wants and vices, they make them gamble, if they are of age; they hold up play to them as an inexhaustible source of wealth.

The `protector' next hands over his `young friends' to `executioners,' who fleece them for the common benefit of the confederates. They do not always wait for the coming of age of their young dupes in order to strike the grand `stroke.' When they find that the father of a family shudders at the idea of a public scandal, they immolate their victim at once — for fear lest he should escape from their hands. Of course they are always open to `capitulate' — to come to terms; and if the aid of the law is invoked they give in discreetly.

About a century ago there flourished at Paris one of these adventurers, who made a great noise

and did a vast amount of evil. This man of a thousand faces, this Proteus, as great a corrupter as he was corrupted, changed his name, his quarters, and field of operations, according to the exigences of business. Although a man of ardent temperament and inconceivable activity, his cold-blooded rascality was never in a hurry. He could wait; he could bide his time. Taking in, at a glance, all the requirements of a case, and seeing through all its difficulties, he worked out his scheme with the utmost patience and consummated his crime with absolute security.

Sometimes he gave a concert for amateurs, elegant suppers for gay ladies, and special soirées for the learned and the witty. He was not particular as to the means of doing business; thus he trafficked in everything, — for the sale of a living, or the procuration of a mistress — for he had associates in all ranks, among all professions of men.

He had twenty Faro tables in operation every night, whilst his emissaries were on the watch for new arrivals, and for those who had recently come into property.

In general, rogues soon betray themselves by some stupid bungle; but such was not the case

with this man; he defended himself, as it were, on all sides, and always kept himself in position so as to oppose to each of his vices the proof positive of the contrary virtues. Thus, if accused of usury, he could prove that he had lent, without interest, considerable sums of money. Cowardly and base in a tête-à-tête, he was bold and redoubtable in public; those who had made him tremble in secret were then compelled to acknowledge him a man of courage. Even his more than suspected probity was defended by such as believed themselves his depositaries, whereas they were, in point of fact, only receivers of stolen property.

Affable, insinuating to a degree, he might be compared to those brigands of Egypt who embraced their victims in order to strangle them.[1] He never showed more devotedness than when he meditated some perfidy, nor more assurance than when convicted of the rascality. Playing fast and loose with honour and the laws, he was sure to find, when threatened by the arm of justice, the female relatives of the judges themselves taking his part and doing their best to `get him off.' Such was this extraordinary chevalier d'industrie, who might

have gone on with his diabolical perpetrations had he not, at last, attempted too much, failing in the grandest stroke he had ever meditated — and yet a vulgar fraud — when he was convicted, branded, and sent to the galleys.[2] [1] Senec., Epist. Ii. [2] Dusaulx, De la Passion du Jeu.

The following narrative elucidates a still more modern phase of this elegant `industry.' My authority is M. Robert-Houdin.

CAUGHT IN A TRAP.

M. Olivier de — — was a dissipated young gentleman. His family was one of the oldest and most respectable of the country, and deservedly enjoyed the highest consideration. M. Olivier de — — , his father, was not rich, and therefore could not do much for his son; the consequence was that owing to his outrageous prodigality the son was sorely pinched for means to keep up his position; he exhausted his credit, and was soon overwhelmed with debt. Among the companions of his dissipation was a young man whose abundant means filled him with admiration and envy; he lived like a prince and had not a single creditor. One day he asked his friend to explain the mystery of the fact that, without possessing any fortune, he

could gratify all his tastes and fancies, whilst he himself, with certain resources, was compelled to submit to privations, still getting into debt.

Chauvignac — such was the name of the friend thus addressed — was a card-sharper, and he instantly seized the opportunity to make something out of the happy disposition of this modern prodigal son, this scion of gentility. With the utmost frankness he explained to the young man his wonderful method of keeping his pockets full of money, and showed that nothing could be easier than for Olivier to go and do likewise in his terrible condition; — in short, on one hand there were within his grasp, riches, pleasure, all manner of enjoyment; on the other, pitiless creditors, ruin, misery, and contempt. The tempter, moreover, offered to initiate his listener in his infallible method of getting rich. In his frame of mind Olivier yielded to the temptation, with the full determination, if not to get money by cheating at cards, at any rate to learn the method which might serve as a means of self-defence should he not think proper to use it for attack — such was the final argument suggested by the human Mephistopheles to his pupil.

Taking Olivier to his house, he showed him a

pack of cards. `Now here is a pack of cards,' he said; `there seems to be nothing remarkable about it, does there?' Olivier examined the pack and declared that the cards did not appear to differ in the least from all others. `Well,' said Chauvignac, `nevertheless they have been subjected to a prepar-ation called biseautage, or having one end of the cards made narrower than the other. This disposition enables us to remove from the pack such and such cards and then to class them in the necessary order so that they may get into the hand of the operator.' Chauvignac then proceeded to apply his precepts by an example, and although the young man had no particular qualification for the art of legerdemain, he succeeded at once to admiration in a game at Ecarté, for he had already mastered the first process of cheating. Having thus, as he thought, sufficiently compromised his victim, Chauvignac left him to his temptations, and took leave of him.

Two days afterwards the professor returned to his pupil and invited him to accompany him on a pleasure trip. Olivier excused himself on account of his desperate condition — one of his creditors being in pursuit of him for a debt of one thousand

francs. `Is that all?' said Chauvignac; and pulling out his pocket-book he added, — `Here's a bank-note; you can repay me to-morrow.' `Why, man, you are mad!' exclaimed Olivier. `Be it so,' said Chauvignac; `and in my madness I give you credit for another thousand-franc bank-note to go and get thirty thousand francs which are waiting for you.' `Now, do explain yourself, for you are driving me d.' `Nothing more easy. Here is the fact,' said Chauvignac. `M. le Comte de Vandermool, a wealthy Belgian capitalist, a desperate gamester if ever there was one, and who can lose a hundred thousand francs without much inconvenience, is now at Boulogne, where he will remain a week. This millionnaire must be thinned a little. Nothing is easier. One of my friends and confrères, named Chaffard, is already with the count to prepare the way. We have only now to set to work. You are one of us — that's agreed — and in a few days you will return, to satisfy your creditors and buy your mistress a shawl.' `Stop a bit. You are going too fast. Wait a little. I haven't as yet said Yes,' replied Olivier. `I don't want your Yes now; you will say it at Boulogne. For the present go and pay your bill. We set out in two hours; the post-horses are already ordered; we shall start from my house: be punctual.'

The party reached Boulogne and put up at the Hotel de l'Univers. On their arrival they were informed that no time was to be lost, as the count talked of leaving next day. The two travellers took a hasty dinner, and at once proceeded to the apartment of the Belgian millionnaire. Chaffard, who had preceded them, introduced them as two of his friends, whose property was situated in the vicinity of Boulogne.

M. le Comte de Vandermool was a man about fifty years of age, with an open, candid countenance. He wore several foreign decorations. He received the two gentlemen with charming affability; he did more; he invited them to spend the evening with him. Of course the invitation was accepted. When the conversation began to flag, the count proposed a game — which was also, of course, very readily agreed to by the three compères.

While the table was prepared, Chauvignac gave his young friend two packs of cards, to be substituted for those which should be furnished by the count. Ecarté was to be the game, and Olivier was to play, the two other associates having pretended

to know nothing about the game, and saying that they would content themselves by betting with each other. Of course Olivier was rather surprised at this declaration, but he soon understood by certain signs from Chauvignac that this reservation was intended to do away with the count's suspicions, in case of their success. The count, enormously rich as he was, would only play for bank-notes. `Metal smells bad in a room,' he said. The novice, at first confused at being a party to the intended roguery, followed the dictates of his conscience and, neglecting the advantages of his hands, trusted merely to chance. The result was that the only thousand-franc bank-note he had was speedily transferred to the count. At that moment Chauvignac gave him a significant look, and this, together with the desire to retrieve his loss, induced him to put into execution the culpable manœuvres which his friend had taught him. His work was of the easiest; the count was so short-sighted that he had to keep his nose almost upon the cards to see them. Chance now turned, as might be expected, and thousand-franc bank-notes soon accumulated in the hands of Olivier, who, intoxicated by this possession, worked away with incredible ardour. More- over, the count was not in the least out of humour at losing so immensely; on the contrary, he was quite jovial; indeed, from his looks he might have been supposed to be the winner. At length, however, he said with a smile, taking a pinch from his golden snuff-box — `I am evidently not in vein. I have lost eighty thousand francs. I see that I shall soon be in for one hundred thousand. But it is proper, my dear sir, that I should say I don't make a habit of losing more than this sum at a sitting; and if it must be so, I propose to sup before losing my last twenty thousand francs. Perhaps this will change my vein. I think you will grant me this indulgence.' The proposal was agreed to.

Olivier, almost out of his senses at the possession of eighty thousand francs, could not resist the desire of expressing his gratitude to Chauvignac, which he did, grasping his hand with emotion and leading him into a corner of the room.

Alas! the whole thing was only an infamous conspiracy to ruin the young man. The Belgian capitalist, this count apparently so respectable, was only an expert card-sharper whom Chauvignac had brought from Paris to play out the vile tragi — comedy, the dénouement of which would be the

ruin of the unfortunate Olivier. At the moment when the latter left the card-table to go to Chauvignac, the pretended millionnaire changed the pack of cards they had been using for two other packs.

Supper went off very pleasantly. They drank very moderately, for the head had to be kept cool for what had to follow. They soon sat down again at the card-table. `Now,' said the Parisian card-shaper, on resuming his seat, `I should like to end the matter quickly: I will stake the twenty thousand francs in a lump.'

Olivier, confident of success after his previous achievement, readily assented; but, alas, the twenty thousand francs of which he made sure was won by his adversary.

Forty thousand francs went in like manner. Olivier, breathless, utterly prostrate, knew not what to do. All his manœuvres were practised in vain; he could give himself none but small cards. His opponent had his hands full of trumps, and he dealt them to him! In his despair he consulted Chauvignac by a look, and the latter made a sign to him to go on. The wretched young man went on, and lost again. Bewildered, beside himself, he

staked fabulous sums to try and make up for his losses, and very soon found, in his turn, that he owed his adversary one hundred thousand francs(£4166)!

At this point the horrible dénouement commenced. The pretended count stopped, and crossing his arms on his breast, said sternly — `Monsieur Olivier de — — , you must be very rich to stake so glibly such enormous sums. Of course you know your fortune and can square yourself with it; but, however rich you may be, you ought to know that it is not sufficient to lose a hundred thousand francs, but that you must pay it. Besides, I have given you the example. Begin, therefore, by putting down the sum I have won from you; after which we can go on.' . . .

`Nothing can be more proper, sir,' stammered out young Olivier, `I am ready to satisfy you; but, after all, you know that . . . . gaming debts . . . . my word . . . .'

`The d — l! sir,' said the pretended count, giving the table a violent blow with his fist — ' Why do you talk to me about your word. Gad! You are well entitled to appeal to the engagements of honour! Well! We have now to play another

game on this table, and we must speak out plainly. Monsieur Olivier de — — , you are a rogue . . . Yes, a rogue! The cards we have been using are biseautées and you brought them hither.'

`Sir! . . You insult me!' said Olivier.

`Indeed? Well, sir, that astonishes me!' replied the false Belgian ironically.

`That is too much, sir. I demand satisfaction, and that on the very instant. Do you understand me? Let us go out at once.'

`No! no! We must end this quarrel here, sir. Look here — your two friends shall be your "seconds;'' I am now going to send for mine.'

The card-sharper, who had risen at these words, rang the bell violently. His own servant entered. `Go,' said he, `to the Procureur de Roi, and request him to come here on a very important matter. Be as quick as you can.'

`Oh, sir, be merciful! Don't ruin me!' exclaimed the wretched Olivier; `I will do what you like.' At these words, the sharper told his servant to wait behind the door, and to execute his order if he should hear nothing to the contrary in ten minutes.

`And now, sir,' continued the sharper, turning

to Olivier, `and now, sir, for the business between you and me. These cards have been substituted by you in the place of those which I supplied . . . You must do them up, write your name upon the cover, and seal it with the coat of arms on your ring.'

Olivier looked first at Chauvignac and then at Chaffard, but both the fellows only made signs to him to resign himself to the circumstances. He did what was ordered.

`That is not all, sir,' added the false Belgian; `I have fairly won money from you and have a right to demand a guarantee for payment. You must draw me short bills for the sum of one hundred thousand francs.'

As the wretched young man hesitated to comply with this demand, his pitiless creditor rose to ring the bell.

`Don't ring, sir, don't ring,' said Olivier, `I'll sign.'

He signed, and the villany was consummated. Olivier returned to his family and made an humble avowal of his fault and his engagements. His venerable father received the terrible blow with resignation, and paid the 100,000 francs, estimat-

ing his honour far above that amount of money.[3] [3] This narrative is condensed from the account of the affair by Robert-Hondin, Tricherics des Grecs devoilées.

AN ATTORNEY `DONE' BY A GAMBLER.

A turfite and gambler, represented under the letters of Mr H — e, having lost all his money at Doncaster and the following York Meeting, devised a plan, with his coadjutor, to obtain the means for their departure from York, which, no doubt, will be considered exceedingly ingenious.

He had heard of an attorney in the town who was very fond of Backgammon; and on this simple piece of information an elaborate plan was concocted. Mr H — e feigned illness, went to bed, and sent for a large quantity of tartar emetic, which he took. After he had suffered the operation of the first dose he sent for a doctor, who pronounced him, of course, very languid and ill; and not knowing the cause, ordered him more medicine, which the patient took good care not to allow to stay on his stomach.

On the second day he asked the doctor, with great gravity, if he considered him in danger, adding, `because he had never made a will to bequeath

his property.' The doctor replied, `No, not in absolute danger, but there was no harm in making a will.'

The attorney, accordingly, was sent for — of course the very man wished for — the lover of Backgammon before mentioned. The good man came; he took the `instructions,' and drew up the last will and testament of the ruined turfite, who left (in the will) about £50,000, which no man ever heard of, living or dead.

The business being done, the patient said that if he had a moment's relaxation he thought he should rally and overcome the malady. The poor lawyer said if he could in any way contribute to his comfort he should be happy. The offer was embraced by observing that if he could sit up in bed — but he was afraid he was not able — a hit at Backgammon would be a great source of amusement.

The lawyer, like all adepts in such matters, was only too willing to catch at the idea; the board was brought.

Of course the man who had £50,000 to leave behind could not be expected to play `for love;' and so when Mr H — e proposed `a pound a hit or treble a gammon,' the lawyer not only thought it

reasonable, but, conscious of his power in the game, eagerly accepted the terms of playing. They played; but the lawyer was gammoned almost incessantly, till he lost £50. Then H — e proposed `double or quits to £1000,' — thereupon the poor lawyer, believing that fortune could not always forsake him, said he had but £2000 in the world, but that he would set the £1000. He lost; and be-came almost frantic. In the midst of his excessive grief, H — e said, `You have a horse, what is it worth?' £50 was the answer. `Well, well, you may win all back now, and I'll set £50 on your horse.'

They began again. Lost! `You have a cow in your paddock, haven't you? What's that worth?' asked Mr H — e. The attorney said £12. `Well, I'll set that sum by way of giving you a chance.' The game proceeded, and the poor lawyer, equally unfortunate, raved and swore he had lost his last shilling. `No, no!' said H — e,' you have not: I saw a hay-rick in your ground. It is of no use now that the horse and cow are gone — what is that worth?' £15, replied the at-torney, with a sigh. `I set £15 then,' said H — e.

This seemed to be `rather too much' for the lawyer. The loss of the hay-rick — like the last

straw laid on the overladen camel's back — staggered him. Besides, he thought he saw — as doubtless he did see — H — e twisting his fingers round one of the dice. Up he started at once, and declared that he was cheated!

Thereupon the sick man forgot his sickness, jumped out of bed, and gave the lawyer a regular drubbing, got the cheque for the £2000, — but the horse, cow, and hay he said he would leave `until further orders.'

A VERY CURIOUS STORY.

An Archbishop of Canterbury was once on a tour, when a genteel man, apparently in earnest conversation, though alone in a wood, attracted his notice. His Grace made up to him, and, after a little previous conversation, asked him what he was about.

Stranger. `I am at play.'

Archbishop. `At play? With whom? I see nobody.'

Sir. `I own, sir, my antagonist is not visible: I am playing with God.'

Abp. `At what game, pray, sir?'

Str. `At Chess.'

Abp. `Do you play for anything?'

Str. `Certainly.'

Abp. `You cannot have any chance, as your ad-versary must be so superior to you.'

Str. `He takes no advantage, but plays merely as a man.'

Abp. `When you win or lose, how do you settle accounts?'

Str. `Very exactly and punctually.'

Abp. `Indeed! Pray, how stands your game now?'

Str. `There! I have just lost!'

Abp. `How much have you lost?'

Str. `Fifty guineas.'

Abp. `How do you manage to pay it? Does God take your money?'

Str. `No! The poor are his treasurers. He always sends some worthy person to receive it, and you are at present his purse-bearer.'

Saying this, the stranger put fifty guineas into his Grace's hand, and retired, adding — `I shall play no more to-day.'

The prelate was delighted; though he could not tell what to make of this extraordinary man. The guineas were all good; and the archbishop applied

them to the use of the poor, as he had been directed.

The archbishop, on his return, stopped at the same town, and could not help going in search of the chess-player, whom he found engaged as before, when the following dialogue ensued: —

Abp. `How has the chance stood since we met before?'

Str. `Sometimes for me — sometimes against me. I have lost and won.'

Abp. `Are you at play now?'

Str. `Yes, sir. We have played several games to-day.'

Abp. `Who wins?'

Str. `The advantage is on my side. The game is just over. I have a fine stroke — check-mate — there it is.'

Abp. `How much have you won?'

Str. `Five hundred guineas.'

Abp. `That is a large sum. How are you to he paid?'

Str. 'God always sends some good rich man when I win, and you are the person. He is remarkably punctual on these occasions.'

The archbishop had received a considerable sum

on that day, as the stranger knew; and so, pro-ducing a pistol by way of receipt, he compelled the delivery of it. His Grace now discovered that he had been the dupe of a thief; and though he had greatly bruited his first adventure, he prudently kept his own counsel in regard to the last.

Such is the tale. Se non è vero è ben trovato.

SKITTLE SHARPERS.

`I know a respectable tradesman,' says a writer in Cassell's Magazine — `I know him now, for he lives in the house he occupied at the time of my tale — who was sent for to see a French gentleman at a tavern, on business connected with the removal of this gentleman's property from one of the London docks. The business, as explained by the messenger, promising to be profitable, he of course promptly obeyed the summons, and during his walk found that his conductor had once been in service in France. This delighted Mr Chase — the name by which I signify the tradesman — for he, too, had once so lived in France; and by the time he reached the tavern he had talked himself into a very good opinion of his new patron. The French gentleman was very

urbane, gave Mr Chase his instructions, let him understand expense was not to be studied, and, as he was at lunch, would not be satisfied unless the tradesman sat down with him. This was a great honour for the latter, as he found his employer was a baron. Well, the foreigner was disposed to praise everything English; he was glad he had come to live in London — Paris was nothing to it; they had nothing in France like the English beer, with which, in the exuberance of his hospitality, he filled and refilled Mr Chase's glass; but that which delighted him above all that he had seen "vos de leetle game vid de ball — vot you call — de — de — aha! de skittel.'' Mr Chase assented that it was a very nice game certainly; and the French gentleman seeming by this time to have had quite enough beer, insisted, before they went to the docks — which was essential — that they should see just one game played.

`As he insisted on paying Mr Chase for all the time consumed with him, and as his servant, of course, could not object, the party adjourned to the "Select Subscription Ground'' at once. In the ground there was a quiet, insignificant-looking little man, smoking a cigar; and as they were

so few, he was asked to assist, which, after considerable hesitation and many apologies for his bad play, he did. The end is of course guessed. The French gentleman was a foolish victim, with more money than wits, who backed himself to do almost impossible feats, when it was evident he could not play at all, and laid sovereigns against the best player, who was the little stranger, doing the easiest. What with the excitement, and what with the beer, which was probably spiced with some unknown relish a little stronger than nutmeg, Mr Chase could not help joining in winning the foreign gentleman's money; it seemed no harm, he had so much of it.

`By a strange concurrence of events, it so happened that by random throws the Frenchman sometimes knocked all the pins down at a single swoop, though he clearly could not play — Mr Chase was sure of that — while the skilful player made every now and then one of the blunders to which the best players are liable. That the tradesman lost forty sovereigns will be easily understood; and did his tale end here it would have differed so little from a hundred others as scarcely to deserve telling; but it will surprise many, as

it did me, to learn that he then walked to and from his own house — a distance of precisely a mile each way — fetched a bill for thirty pounds, which a customer had recently paid him, got it discounted, went back to the skittle-ground, and, under the same malignant star, lost the whole.

`It was the only case in my experience of the work going on smoothly after such a break. I never could account for it, nor could Mr Chase. Great was the latter's disgust, on setting the police to work, to find that the French nobleman, his servant, and the quiet stranger, were all dwellers within half a mile or so of his own house, and slightly known to him — men who had trusted, and very successfully, to great audacity and well — arranged disguise.'

A vast deal of gambling still goes on with skittles all over the country. At a place not ten miles from London, I am told that as much as two thousand pounds has been seen upon the table in a single `alley,' or place of play. The bets were, accordingly, very high. The instances revealed by exposure at the police-courts give but a faint idea of the extent of skittle sharping.

Amidst such abuses of the game, it can scarcely

surprise us that the police have been recently directed to prohibit all playing at skittles and bowls. However much we may regret the interference with popular pastimes, in themselves unobjectionable, it is evident that their flagrant abuse warrants the most stringent measures in order to prevent their constantly repeated and dismal consequences. Even where money was not played for, pots of beer were the wager — leading, in many instances, to intoxication, or promoting this habit, which is the cause of so much misery among the lower orders.