MINOR CHEATS OF MEN OF THE WORLD.
Ruses and Frauds allowable by custom in Society.
In the ordinary affairs of life, it is easy to know the difference
between honesty and roguery: conscience and the laws have traced a line
of demarcation, about which all right-minded people agree.
In the matter of play, it is not the same thing: one knows perfectly
where roguery ends, but it is very difficult to say where it begins?
Let me hasten to give an explanation, without which my readers will
have a right to call me to task.
"Do you mean to pretend," they will say, "that a man of sense is not
capable of discriminating between honesty and roguery?" This would,
indeed, be giving too great a position to cheating.
I at once disclaim the assertion of any such opinion; none believe
more in honesty than myself. But for that firm belief, this work would
probably never have seen the light.
But let a man be ever so upright and just in his play, there are houses
where certain licences are allowed, where the play is not high enough,
to make it worth a man's while to cheat.
These peccadilloes, may for want of a better appellation, be termed
clever manoeuvres, finesses, ruses, and mental sleight-of-hand.
Of these I will just mention a few, beginning with the most innocent,
and progressing by degrees, until I come to actual sharping. At the
same time I must request my readers to fix their own limits, where
honesty ends and roguery begins.
* * * * *
For instance, if you are playing with an awkward adversary, who, in
arranging his cards, classes his trumps too ostensibly, ought you,
therefore, to avoid taking advantage of this awkwardness, as a guide to
your adversary's hand?
* * * * *
Again, if your adversary, through carelessness, shows his cards, or if,
by holding them too near the candle, they are rendered transparent: is
it necessary to tell him of it?
* * * * *
Then, in playing Écarté. What is to be said of an adversary who
consults the bye-standers, as if he had the right to do so, as to
whether he shall play or not, and who, after a little hesitation,
decides to discard? From thus acting it might be supposed, that he
had a first-rate hand, and that prudence alone prompted the question.
Do not be taken in: He will discard all his five cards. He wished to
deceive his adversary, and if the latter is inexperienced, he will
succeed in so doing.
* * * * *
Another man will, before proposing, look at his counters, as if to mark
the king, then, after giving you this false alarm, he asks for cards,
and is only too glad if you acquiesce in his request: for not only had
he no king at all, but a very bad hand.
* * * * *
You are still playing at Écarté, and you have three points, but your
adversary is doubtless in ignorance of the fact, since he inquires of
you, where you are? "I count three," you reply. This announcement seems
to make him decide not to stand on his own cards, so he proposes. From
this, you would suppose he had a good hand. You would be wrong in this
case to refuse, so you accept and give him _five_ cards, as all this
little bye-play was intended to intimidate you. He had nothing at all.
* * * * *
Some players endeavour to depict on their countenances, the contrary of
what they really feel. If they have a good hand, they eagerly ask for
cards, and when they have a bad one, they pretend to hesitate. Others,
with good cards, pretend to be in a bad temper, and frown; whilst, with
bad cards, they appear gay and anxious to begin to play.
* * * * *
It sometimes happens that a player, at the end of a game, is puzzled
which of the two last cards he is to throw down. One of them may save
the vole, but he is not sure which. Instead of playing according to the
proverb, which says _qui garde à carreau n'est pas capot_, he holds
down his hand, so that his adversary may see both cards, and fixes his
eyes upon those of his _vis-à-vis_, which very naturally, are bent on
the card which is against himself. The other profits by this look, and
saves himself from being capoted.
This is an infallible criterion, but is it a right thing to do?
The following anecdote is related on this subject, and will not be out
of place here:
At a game of Piquet, in which many were greatly interested, one of the
players was on the point of being capoted. He had but two cards to
play, the king of hearts, and the king of spades. One of these would
save him, if he only played the right one; but which? He laid them both
down on the table, and, after some hesitation, he decided on playing
the king of spades, when he felt some one press his foot. Accepting
this indication as a warning, he changed his intention, played the king
of hearts, and lost the game. It was the king of spades he ought to
have played. Vexed at the error he had committed, he asked who it was
that pressed his foot, and found out it was his adversary. The latter
apologised, pretending it was by accident. In this instance, again, the
reader must judge for himself of the honesty of both the players.
* * * * *
When a game of Écarté is being played, it is not considered right,
first to bet on one side, and then on the other. Whether you bet or
not, you always continue on the same side.
There are people, however, who even manage to win on both sides, and
this is the way they manage it:
Two persons agree to make their interest common, and place themselves
on opposite sides of the table. If a good hand is dealt to either
party, the accomplice makes a sign to his friend, and he accordingly
bets high. The other, meanwhile, makes no bet this time. When fortune
appears in favour of the opposite party, the stakes change sides.
These manoeuvres are very innocent, no doubt, but they are not
acknowledged.
* * * * *
In games of four players, as in Whist, for example, you ought to
make no communication whatever to your partner, except such as are
authorised and allowed by the rules of the game. To this no objection
can be made, as it is equally open to both sides: but some players make
a series of signs, and nervous contractions of the muscles of the face,
which enlighten their partner considerably as to what sort of hand they
have.
* * * * *
In playing Écarté, whilst shuffling the cards, some players allow
their adversary to see the card at the bottom of the pack. There are
some persons who take advantage of this negligence. This is the little
manoeuvre which they employ:--
The dealer offers the cards to his adversary to cut. This is done in
such a manner as to leave only about eleven cards, which will, of
course, go on the top of the pack. The observer, therefore, well knows,
that if that card is not in his own hand, it must be in that of his
adversary; and every Écarté player is aware, of how much consequence it
is, to know even one card in the hand of your adversary, in that game.
The following facts I particularly commend to the attention of my
readers.
Every one knows, that in certain games, Écarté especially, the cards
are apt to run in suits, the reason of which is evident, as, in
playing, one is always obliged to follow suit.
Without you try the thing yourself, you will scarcely believe it; but
if the cards be ever so well shuffled, it is very difficult to separate
any two or three cards, which have been played together.
An expert player will derive great advantage, from the glimpse he
obtains whilst his opponent is shuffling the cards.
Let us suppose, for example, that he has seen amongst the cards a
sequence from the king, as the king, queen, and knave of hearts. It
is more than probable, that the above cards, after the shuffle, still
remain together; and if, after the deal, you have the king in your own
hand, and it was the second of the two cards dealt to you first, you
may be pretty sure that the queen and knave, following close after, are
in your adversary's hand.
On the other hand, if the knave is the first card of the three next
that are dealt to you, your adversary will have the king and queen.
Again, if the king is turned up, the two others will be the next to
follow in the _talon_.
To obtain these results, may not a person, in spite of himself, be led
into neglecting to shuffle the cards too well?
* * * * *
It often happens at the game of Bouillotte, that a player who has a
bad hand, proposes to play for a very considerable stake; this is done
merely to alarm his opponent. This _finesse_ sometimes succeeds, but it
is of too gross a character, to be tolerated in many clubs.
* * * * *
As a _finale_ to this collection of minor tricks, more or less
allowable in play, I will cite an anecdote, which, true or not, the
world gives the credit of to M. de Talleyrand.
Talleyrand was once playing at Bouillotte; he had just dealt the cards,
and was waiting, according to the rules of the game, to stake.
The two first adversaries allowed their turn to pass, without risking
anything.
"Ten louis," said the third player.
"Twenty," said Talleyrand.
"Forty," said the adversary.
"I stake my all," continued the Diplomatist, pointing to the hundred
louis before him, and, at the same time, he let a card fall out of his
hand on the table.
It was a nine; he took it up again hastily.
His adversary had just time to see the card, and, although he had a
_brelan_ of kings, he thought it more prudent to stop betting.
He concluded that Talleyrand must have a first-rate hand, to back it
so heavily. He was led to this opinion, because the turn-up card was a
nine, and in all probability, the nine which fell from the hands of the
Diplomatist, was one of a _brelan_ of four.
Each player laid his hand on the table; Talleyrand gained with three
odd cards, amongst which was the nine he had dropped insidiously on the
table to deceive his adversary.
Here I had better stop; for, if I continued such stories for many more
pages, I fear that the heading of this chapter would be insensibly
merged in those which have preceded it. My readers must, however, by
this time, be sufficiently edified on the nature of the rogueries
I have exposed, and will be strengthened in the opinion, that an
honourable player ought only to take the advantages offered him by his
own good fortune or good play.
* * * * *
My task is ended. Allow me, dear reader, to disclose to you an
apprehension, which has haunted me throughout this work. This
apprehension you will more easily understand if I preface it, by way
of illustration, with the following apologue.
You have, doubtless, witnessed the singular spectacle of two men
fighting in the public highway, and, suddenly reconciled, turning their
united strength against the officious persons who separate them.
In a similar manner, does not the author of these pages run the same
risk?
May it not happen, that the losers and the winners, the dupes as well
as the rogues, may regard him as their common enemy?
The infatuated gamblers will reproach him for making them afraid of
being robbed, and thereby preventing them from playing.
The Greeks will be sure to hate him, for having unmasked their
knaveries.
These considerations, you see, have not prevented me from following out
the task I had imposed upon myself, and, whatever happens, I trust the
public will give me credit for a wish to enlighten them, and for having
had their interest more at heart even than my own.
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] In the United States of America this perfidious scheme was brought
to great perfection, and carried out by the bankers themselves at these
establishments.
Robertson, in his Memoirs, thus describes it:--In the centre of the
tables for play a mechanical spring is concealed, which, by being
touched, can make the ball enter the division of "pair" or "impair" at
pleasure.
If "Pair" is the favourite, and large stakes are on it, the spring
under the table is touched, and, by tightening by the hundredth part
of an inch all the "pairs," the ball is forced to enter the "impairs,"
which are larger.
Whilst this was going on, the victims were pricking their cards and
reckoning their chances of winning, but what could the most learned
calculator do against a push of the knee?
[B] Benazet is the name of the proprietor of the gambling-tables.
[C] M. Ancelot.
[D] Two well-known public-houses in the vicinity of the Marché de la
Halle.
[E] Pair, Impair, Passe, Manque, Rouge, Noir, and the thirty-eight
numbers in Roulette.
[F] To martingale, is to double your stake each time that you lose.
[G] See the interesting work of Edouard Gourdon, "Les faucheurs de
Nuit"--the chapter on fetishes.
[H] See the technical part of this work on cards "_biseautées_."
[I] "_Sauter la coupe_" is, to pass the lower packet of cards on the
top of the other, without being seen.
[J] See the figure in the article on Lansquenet, page 228.
[K] See page 170.
[L] One may also make as many as two hundred points by having the
four tierce majors in your hand; but the smallest _quart_ in the hand
of your adversary, if it were only the tens, greatly lessens your
advantages.
[M] _Jeu de règle_ is a hand to be played without discarding.
[N] "Cartes-blanches" is a hand at Piquet without a court card--it
counts ten.
[O] For this trick, like the preceding one, the pack ought to be
prepared beforehand, and the packs changed before the game begins.
Transcribers' Notes:
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not
changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced
quotation marks retained.
Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.
Page 40: "one of the betters." was printed with that spelling.
Page 90: "clandestine hell" was printed that way, not as "hall".
Page 259: "where it begins?" was printed with the question mark.
Footnote J (originally on page 179) refers to a figure on
page 219, and a "2" was handwritten over the "1", but the figure
actually appears on page 228. The reference has been corrected in
this eBook.