Chapter III: The Greek of the Middle Classes

The "_Comtois_" and "_Amazones_"--Tricks and frauds--An heir
expectant--Game at bouillotte--A rich pocket-book--The bill
to pay--Dupers duped.

The Greek of the middle classes, otherwise termed the nomad Greek, on account of his ubiquity, is a sort of chain or link between the aristocratic sharper, and him of the low gambling houses. This chain is of great length, and unites, by almost imperceptible gradations, the two extremes in this world of filibusters.

The nomad Greek seldom works alone, he is in league with accomplices called "comtois."

These are for the most part other Greeks, whose reputation is higher than that of their associates. But, according to circumstances, these respectable individuals take it by turns to play the role of "comtois."

These gentlemen, besides their accomplices, have female assistants called "Amazones."

These women are, for the most part, very pretty and attractive, and are equally, if not more, vicious than their lords and masters.

In those attractive snares to the unwary and to foreigners, known under the name of clubs, these "Amazones" perform the office of decoys.

The wiles and tricks of these women will not bear analysis, and could not be described here. Suffice it to say, that, like the simple larks which a fowler attracts and blinds by means of a revolving mirror, the imprudent and unwary visitors, fascinated by the seductions of these sirens, become an easy prey, and stupidly allow themselves to be plucked by the hunters of these prairies.

The nomad Greek cannot boast of the wit and good manners of his colleague of the fashionable world, neither has he that finesse in executing his tricks, which renders detection difficult. But he is not the less clever in the manipulation of the different means of cheating.

Cards, dice, and dominoes, are all, in his hands, most formidable instruments of his profession.

He is able to exercise his adroitness at all games, simple or complicated, be it whist or battle, tric-trac, or even "heads or tails." He knows tricks, with which he can turn each and all of these to his advantage. His dupes are as numerous as they are varied; he finds them anywhere and everywhere. He spares none; his nearest relatives, his most intimate friends, are often his first victims.

The following anecdote proves the perfidy of this class of sharper:--

Three Greeks, united, not by the bonds of friendship, but of rascality, went each on his way to seek for dupes.

One of them, a young Italian, nicknamed Candour, perhaps on account of his craft and cunning, informed his companions, that he had become acquainted with a young man of position, just arrived from the country.

This young provincial was rich, a gambler, and prodigal to excess,--qualities much appreciated by the three rascals.

Finding out from the Italian, that his new friend was to be at the opera that same night, they immediately arranged their plan of attack.

So good an opportunity was not to be lost, and when their plans were all settled, they separated, having arranged to meet at the opera-house.

At the appointed hour, the three Greeks met in the lobby of the theatre, and were fortunate enough to see the young capitalist soon afterwards.

The Italian, having addressed his new friend, introduced him to his two associates, giving them titles borrowed from the nobility.

The introduction over, the conversation became general, and so interesting, that their victim did not quit their side the whole evening.

The three Greeks were most affable in their manners towards the young man, and he, delighted with his new acquaintances, invited them all to sup with him at the celebrated restaurant of the "Maison Dorée."

The invitation, it may easily be divined, was accepted with pleasure.

The repast was worthy of the host.

No expense was spared to regale such charming companions.

To prolong the pleasure of this charming _réunion_, one of them began talking of play, and bouillotte being proposed, was received with acclamation.

Whilst they were laying out the card-table, the three Greeks again managed to have a little private conversation, and, by the advice of Candour, they agreed, that, in order to allay all suspicions in the mind of their victim, it would be better to allow him to win at first to the extent of three thousand francs (120_l._), after which they would fleece him without remorse.

The game began well for the Greeks: the young man placed on the table a pocket-book which seemed well-filled, and took out of it a note for five hundred francs (20_l._), which he staked.

Fortune, by the assistance of the three sharpers, seemed to smile on the provincial, and in a short time, he found himself possessor of the sum it had been agreed he should be allowed to gain.

"Indeed, gentlemen," exclaimed he, putting the notes he had just won into his pocket-book, "I am so overcome at such a wonderful run of luck, that I will go on playing, to give you the chance, at least, of winning back your money. I am determined I will not stake less now than a thousand francs (40_l._)."

Scarcely had he uttered these words, when, drawing his handkerchief from his pocket, the young man held it up to his nose, which began to bleed violently.

"I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said he, "I will be with you again in five minutes, I am very subject to these hemorrhages from the nose;" and he went out, leaving his pocket-book on the table. Candour, filled with compassionate interest, rushed after his friend; but truth compels us to state, not to give him assistance, but to bolt with him as fast as his legs could carry him.

The rich provincial was neither more nor less than a Parisian sharper, with whom Candour had concocted a scheme, to rob his accomplices of three thousand francs.

The hemorrhage, and the pocket-handkerchief stained with blood, were the dénoûement of the comedy, the first act of which took place in the Opera-House.

Let us now return to the restaurant, to see and hear what is taking place there.

"Ah!" said Patoche (one of the rascals who remained behind) to his comrade, eyeing at the same time the pocket-book full of bank-notes lying on the table, "all proceeds beyond our hopes. Let us imagine we have gained the bank-notes from the provincial. Let's pay ourselves, and be off."

"Yes; but," said the other, "you forget, the bill must be settled before we can go."

"_Mon Dieu!_ What a fool you are! We will pay the bill, and the pocket-book will reimburse us for any money we advance."

"And if we should meet the owner of it!"

"Well, what could he say to us? We were on our way to meet him, to return him the pocket-book, which he left on the table."

"True; I understand; he will owe us many thanks for so doing. It's a good idea."

The two rogues then asked for the bill, which they settled, gave the waiter a handsome fee, and hastened down-stairs.

As soon as they reached the bottom of the staircase, the one who had the pocket-book in his possession stopped short.

"I say, Patoche, a thought has just struck me. Go back, and tell the waiters, that we intend going to the Café Riche to continue our game. This will give us time to escape to some place of safety with our prize."

No sooner had Patoche departed up the stairs to execute his errand, than his companion vanished with the pocket-book.

Which of these two rogues was the most deceived?

The pocket-book was full of waste paper: the bank-notes had been cleverly abstracted by the pretended provincial.

This sketch will give some idea of the characters of the individuals whom I herein portray. If my readers wish for further information, they must continue the perusal of this work, and the different rogueries herein described, amongst which the nomad Greek plays some of the principal _rôles_; I think they will then have a clear view of the villany of these men.