Having just announced the release of the book Dominique, le roi du bluff (Dominique, the King of Bluff), we thought it would be interesting to briefly revisit the history of pickpocketing, particularly by sharing a captivating anecdote that took place nearly 200 years ago, involving the immense artist Louis Comte.
Critical portrait of Louis Comte (Musée Carnavalet)
Louis Comte (1788-1859) was one of the most illustrious magicians and ventriloquists of his time. As director of the Théâtre des Jeunes Élèves, he built a solid reputation and was the magician to several crowned heads, earning him the title of physicien du roi (physicist to the King).
Here we transcribe a fascinating anecdote about him:
“Speaking of the famous conjurer Comte, who recently died, we forgot to recount an adventure he himself loved to retell, dating back to the Restoration period. Comte, at the height of his reputation, was summoned to the home of M. de Villèle, then a minister. Concerned by rumors of significant subtractions committed at card games in the most brilliant salons of Paris, M. Villèle wanted to know if it was possible, as he had been told, to ensure any desired turnaround in écarté with prepared cards, and to choose one's cards. Comte convinced him by performing several tricks before him.
The minister, still chatting, escorted Comte to his study door. Noticing the usher, Comte said to M. de Villèle: “May Your Excellency allow me to say that you have a very careless usher.” “And how is that?” said the minister. “He didn't even bother to wear his chain.” The usher simultaneously cast his eyes and hands to his chest, and was stunned to find the insignia of his office gone. “And I am sure that if Your Excellency asked him for the time, he would not be able to tell you.” The usher put his hand to his watch pocket, and, not finding his watch, turned very pale. “Come on, give me a pinch of snuff and we might find all that,” Comte continued. The snuffbox had deserted, like the watch. “Do you at least have money to buy snuff?” Comte pursued. The usher fumbled in his pocket; no more purse. He remained pale, bewildered, confused, not knowing whether he was dreaming or awake, when Comte said to him, pointing to a petitioner waiting: “I have a feeling all this might be in that gentleman’s hat.” Indeed, everything was found there, and while M. de Villèle laughed heartily, Comte left, scattering a flood of banknotes in the salon, repeating: “I am Monsieur Comte, the King's first physicist, and conjurer to Their Royal Highnesses the Infantes of Spain,” and the falsetto voice that had come from Valençay’s pig immediately replied, like a nasal accompaniment: “It’s tonight at eight o’clock, exactly eight o’clock, get your tickets!””
Almost two centuries later, Dominique Risbourg (who would adopt his first name as his stage name) would continue to perpetuate this art of pickpocketing by skillfully removing ties, wallets, watches, and other personal items from his spectators, much to the audience's delight. Chantal Saint-Jean and Jan Madd have chronicled the life of this man with an exceptional career in a book, Dominique le roi du bluff, available on our website by clicking here.
