This is as full-charged a portrait of human depravity as the gloomiest
misanthrope could wish for. But it has much wider claims on public
attention than the gratification of the misanthropic few who mope in
corners or stalk up and down leafless and almost solitary walks during
this hanging and drowning season. Nevertheless, all men are more or less
misanthropes, or they affect to be so; for only skim off the bile of a
true critic, or the minds of the hundred thousand who read newspapers,
and look first for the bankrupts and deaths. Sugar and wormwood and
wormwood and sugar are the standing dishes, but as we read the other
day, "there is a certain hankering for the gloomy side of nature, whence
the trials and convictions of vice become so much more attractive than
the brightest successes
of virtue." People with macadamized minds,
and their histories (scarce as the originals are) are mere nonentities,
and food for the trunk-maker; whereas a book of hair-breadth escapes,
thrilling with horror and romantic narrative will tempt people to sit up
reading in their beds, till like Rousseau, they are reminded of morning
by the stone-chatters at their window. To the last class belong the
Memoirs of Vidocq, an analysis of which would be "utterly impossible,
so powerful are the descriptions, and so continuous the thread of
their history." The original work was published a short time since in
Paris, and republished here; but, we believe the present is the first
translation that has appeared in England. The newspapers have, from time
to time, translated a few extracts, when their Old Bailey news was at a
stand, so that the name of Vidocq must be somewhat familiar to many of
our readers.11
Eugene Francois Vidocq is a native of Arras, where his father was
a baker; and from early associations he fell into courses of excess
which led to the necessity of his flying from the parental roof. After
various, rapid, and unexampled events in the romance of real life, in
which he was everything by turns and nothing long, he was liberated from
prison, and became the principal and most active agent of police. He was
made Chief of the Police de Surete under Messrs. Delavau and Franchet,
and continued in that capacity from the year 1810 till 1827, during
which period he extirpated the most formidable of those ruffians and
villains to whom the excesses of the revolution and subsequent events
had given full scope for the perpetration of the most daring robberies
and inquitous excesses. Removed from employment, in which he had
accumulated a handsome independence, he could not determine on leading a
life of ease, for which his career of perpetual vigilance and adventure
had unfitted him, and he built a paper manufactory at St. Mandeé, about
two leagues from Paris, where he employs from forty to fifty persons,
principally, it is asserted, liberated convicts, who having passed
through the term of their sentence, are cast upon society without home,
shelter, or character, and would be compelled to resort to dishonest
practices did not this asylum offer them its protection and afford them
opportunity of earning an honest living by industrious labour. One
additional point of interest in the present volume is, that the author
is still living.
[We cannot follow Vidocq through his career of crime, neither would
it be altogether profitable to our readers; but the links may be
recapitulated in a few words. He must have been born a thief, and
perhaps stole the spoon with which he was fed; but the penchant
runs in the family, for Vidocq and his brother rob the same till of
a fencing-room, but his brother is first detected, and sent off "in a
hurry," to a baker at Lille. Of course Vidocq soon gets partners in sin,
and on the same day that he has been detected by the living evidence
of two fowls which he had stolen, he sweeps from the dinner table ten
forks and as many spoons, pawns them for 150 francs, spends the money
in a few hours, and is imprisoned four days. He is then released;
one of his pals gives a false alarm to Vidocq's mother, and during her
temporary absence, Vidocq enters his home with a false key, steals
2,000 francs from a strong chest, with which he escapes to Ostend,
(intending to embark for America,) where he is decoyed by a soi-disant
ship-broker, and loses all his ill-gotten wealth. He then resolves to
betroth the sea, though not after the Venetian fashion, by giving her
a dowry; the "sound of a trumpet" disturbs his attention, as it would
of any other hero. But this proves to be the note of Paillasse, a
merry-andrew. The "director," as the opera bills would say, was
Cotte-Comus, belonging to a troop of rope-dancers.
He next joins a player of Punch, to whose wife he enacts Romeo with
better grace, and during one of the representations, the married people
break each others heads, and Vidocq runs off during the affray. He then
becomes assistant to a quack doctor, and the favoured swain of an
actress; gets into the Bourbon regiment, where he is nicknamed Reckless,
and kills two men, and fights fifteen duels in six months. His other
exploits are as a corporal of grenadiers, of course, a deserter, and
a prisoner of the revolution. He then marries, but does not reform.
Of course a wife is but a temporary incumbrance to a man of Vidocq's
dexterity. In chapter iii, we find him at Brussels, where he joins a set
of nefarious gamblers at the Cafes, and has a most romantic adventure
with a woman named Rosine. But we can follow him no further, except to
add that his other comrades in Vol. I, are gipsies, smugglers, players,
galley-slaves, drovers, Dutch sailors, and highwaymen.
We must, therefore, confine ourselves to a few detached extracts from
the most interesting portion of the volume. At Lille, Vidocq meets with
a chere amie, Francine; he suspects her fidelity, thrashes his rival,
gets imprisoned, and is betrayed as an accomplice in a forgery. His
"reflections" during his imprisonment in St. Peter's Tower, bring on
a severe illness.]
I was scarcely convalescent, when, unable to support the state of
incertitude in which I found my affairs, I resolved on escaping, and
to escape by the door, although that may appear a difficult step. Some
particular observations made me choose this method in preference to any
other. The wicket-keeper at St. Peter's Tower was a galley-slave from
the Bagne (place of confinement) at Brest, sentenced for life. In
a word, I relied on passing by him under the disguise of a superior
officer, charged with visiting St. Peter's Tower, which was used as
a military prison, twice a week.
Francine, whom I saw daily, got me the requisite clothing, which she
brought me in her muff. I immediately tried them on, and they suited me
exactly. Some of the prisoners who saw me thus attired assured me that
it was impossible to detect me. I was the same height as the officer
whose character I was about to assume, and I made myself appear
twenty-five years of age. At the end of a few days, he made his usual
round, and whilst one of my friends occupied his attention, under
pretext of examining his food, I disguised myself hastily, and presented
myself at the door, which the gaolkeeper, taking off his cap, opened,
and I went out into the street. I ran to a friend of Francine's, as
agreed on in case I should succeed, and she soon joined me there.
I was there perfectly safe, if I could resolve on keeping concealed; but
how could I submit to a slavery almost as severe as that of St. Peter's
Tower. As for three months I had been enclosed within four walls, I was
now desirous to exercise the activity so long repressed. I announced my
intention of going out; and, as with me an inflexible determination was
always the auxiliary of the most capricious fancy, I did go. My first
excursion was safely performed, but the next morning, as I was crossing
the Rue Ecremoise, a sergeant named Louis, who had seen me during my
imprisonment, met me, and asked if I was free. He was a severe practical
man, and by a motion of his hand could summon twenty persons. I said
that I would follow him; and begging him to allow me to bid adieu to my
mistress, who was in a house of Rue de l'Hôpital, he consented, and we
really met Francine, who was much surprised to see me in such company;
and when I told her that having reflected, that my escape might injure
me in the estimation of my judges, I had decided on returning to St.
Peter's Tower, to wait the result of the process.
Francine did not at first comprehend why I had expended three hundred
francs, to return at the end of four months to prison. A sign put her
on her guard, and I found an opportunity of desiring her to put some
cinders in my pocket whilst Louis and I took a glass of rum, and then
set out for the prison. Having reached a deserted street, I blinded my
guide with a handful of cinders, and regained my asylum with all speed.
Louis having made his declaration, the gendarmes and police-officers
were on the full cry after me; and there was one Jacquard amongst them
who undertook to secure me if I were in the city. I was not unacquainted
with these particulars, and instead of being more circumspect in my
behaviour, I affected a ridiculous bravado. It might have been said
that I ought to have had a portion of the premium promised for my
apprehension. I was certainly hotly pursued, as may be judged from
the following incident:—
Jacquard learnt one day that I was going to dine in Rue Notre-Dame. He
immediately went with four assistants, whom he left on the ground-floor,
and ascended the staircase to the room where I was about to sit down to
table with two females. A recruiting sergeant, who was to have made the
fourth, had not yet arrived. I recognised Jacquard, who never having
seen me, had not the same advantage, and besides my disguise would have
bid defiance to any description of my person. Without being at all
uneasy, I approached, and with a most natural tone I begged him to pass
into a closet, the glass door of which looked on the banquetroom. "It
is Vidocq whom you are looking for," said I; "if you will wait for ten
minutes you will see him. There is his cover, he cannot be long. When he
enters, I will make you a sign; but if you are alone, I doubt if you can
seize him, as he is armed, and resolved to defend himself."—"I have my
gendarmes on the staircase," answered he, "and if he escapes—"—"Take
care how you place them then," said I with affected haste. "If Vidocq
should see them he would mistrust some plot, and then farewell to the
bird."—"But where shall I place them?"—"Oh, why in this closet—mind,
no noise, that would spoil all; and I have more desire than yourself
that he should not suspect anything." My commissary was now shut up in
four walls with his agents. The door, which was very strong, closed
with a double lock. Then, certain of time for escape, I cried to my
prisoners, "You are looking for Vidocq—well, it is he who has caged
you; farewell." And away I went like a dart, leaving the party shouting
for help, and making desperate efforts to escape from the unlucky
closet.
Two escapes of the same sort I effected, but at last I was arrested and
carried back to St. Peter's Tower, where, for greater security, I was
placed in a dungeon with a man named Calendrin, who was also thus
punished for two attempts at escape. Calendrin, who had known me during
my first confinement in the prison, imparted to me a fresh plan of
escape, which he had devised by means of a hole worked in the wall of
the dungeon of the galley-slaves, with whom we could communicate. The
third night of my detention all was managed for our escape, and eight
of the prisoners who first went out were so fortunate as to avoid being
detected by the sentinel, who was only a short distance off.
Seven of us still remained, and we drew straws, as is usual in such
circumstances, to determine which of the seven should first pass. I drew
the short straw, and undressed myself that I might get with greater ease
through the hole, which was very narrow, but to the great disappointment
of all, I stuck fast without the possibility of advancing or receding.
In vain did my companions endeavour to pull me out by force, I was
caught as if in a trap, and the pain of my situation was so extreme,
that not expecting further help from within, I called to the sentry to
render me assistance. He approached with the precaution of a man who
fears a surprise, and presenting his bayonet to my breast, forbade me
to make the slightest movement. At his summons the guard came out, the
porters ran with torches, and I was dragged from my hole, not without
leaving behind me a portion of my skin and flesh. Torn and wounded as
I was, they immediately transferred me to the prison of Petit Hotel,
when I was put into a dungeon, fettered hand and foot.
Ten days afterwards I was placed amongst the prisoners, through my
intreaties and promises not to attempt again to escape.
[Here he meets with a fellow named Bruxellois, the Daring, of whom
the following anecdote is related:—]
At the moment of entering a farm with six of his comrades, he thrust his
left hand through an opening in the shutter to lift the latch, but when
he was drawing it back, he found that his wrist had been caught in a
slip knot. Awakened by the noise, the inhabitants of the farm had laid
this snare, although too weak to go out against a band of robbers which
report had magnified as to numbers. But the attempt being thus defeated,
day was fast approaching, and Bruxellois saw his dismayed comrades
looking at each other with doubt, when the idea occurred to him that to
avoid discovery they would knock out his brains. With his right hand he
drew out his clasp knife with a sharp point, which he always had about
him, and cutting off his wrist at the joint, fled with his comrades
without being stopped by the excessive pain of his horrid wound.
This remarkable deed, which has been attributed to a thousand
different spots, really occurred in the vicinity of Lille, and is well
authenticated in the northern districts, where many persons yet remember
to have seen the hero of this tale, who was thence called Manchot,
(or one-armed,) executed.
[Vidocq at length escapes, quits Lille, and flies to Ostend, where he
joins a crew of smugglers.]
It was with real repugnance that I went to the house of a man named
Peters, to whom I was directed, as one deeply engaged in the pursuit,
and able to introduce me to it. A sea-gull nailed on his door with
extended wings, like the owls and weasels that we see on barns, guided
me. I found the worthy in a sort of cellar, which by the ropes, sails,
oars, hammocks, and barrels which filled it, might have been taken
for a naval depot. From the midst of a thick atmosphere of smoke which
surrounded him, he viewed me at first with a contempt which had not
a good appearance, and my conjectures were soon realized, for I had
scarcely offered my services than he fell upon me with a shower of
blows. I could certainly have resisted him effectually, but astonishment
had in a measure deprived me of the power of defence; and I saw besides,
in the court-yard, half-a-dozen sailors and an enormous Newfoundland
dog, which would have been powerful odds. Turned into the street, I
endeavoured to account for this singular reception, when it occurred to
me that Peters had mistaken me for a spy, and treated me accordingly.
This idea determined me on returning to a dealer in hollands, who
had told me of him, and he, laughing at the results of my visit,
gave me a pass-word that would procure me free access to Peters.—[He
succeeds.]—I slept at Peters's house with a dozen or fifteen smugglers,
Dutch, Danish, Swedish, Portuguese, and Russian; there were no
Englishmen, and only two Frenchmen. The day after my installation, as
we were all getting into our hammocks, or flock beds, Peters entered
suddenly into our chamber, which was only a cellar contiguous to his
own, and so filled with barrels and kegs, that we could scarcely find
room to sling our hammocks. Peters had put off his usual attire, which
was that of ship-caulker, or sail-maker, and had on a hairy cap, and a
long red shirt, closed at the breast with a silver pin, fire-arms in his
belt, and a pair of thick large, fisherman's boots, which reach the top
of the thigh, or may be folded down beneath the knee.
"A-hoy! a-hoy!" cried he, at the door, striking the ground with the butt
end of his carbine! "down with the hammocks, down with the hammocks! We
will sleep some other day. The Squirrel has made signals for a landing
this evening, and we must see what she has in her, muslin or tobacco.
Come, come, turn out, my sea-boys."
In a twinkling every body was ready. They opened an arm-chest, and every
man took out a carbine or blunderbuss, a brace of pistols, and a cutlass
or boarding pike, and we set out, after having drunk so many glasses of
brandy and arrack that the bottles were empty. At this time there were
not more than twenty of us, but we were joined or met, at one place or
another, by so many individuals, that on reaching the sea side we were
forty-seven in number, exclusive of two females and some countrymen from
the adjacent villages, who brought hired horses, which they concealed in
a hollow behind some rocks.
It was night, and the wind was shifting, whilst the sea dashed with so
much force, that I did not understand how any vessels could approach
without being cast on shore. What confirmed this idea was, that by the
starlight I saw a small boat rowing backwards and forwards, as if it
feared to land. They told me afterwards that this was only a manoeuvre
to ascertain if all was ready for the unloading, and no danger to be
apprehended. Peters now lighted a reflecting lantern, which one of the
men had brought, and immediately extinguished it; the Squirrel raised
a lantern at her mizen, which only shone for a moment, and then
disappeared like a glow-worm on a summer's night. We then saw it
approach, and anchor about a gun-shot off from the spot where we were.
Our troop then divided into three companies, two of which were placed
five hundred paces in front, to resist the revenue officers if they
should present themselves. The men of these companies were then placed
at intervals along the ground, having at the left arm a packthread which
ran from one to the other: in case of alarm, it was announced by a
slight pull, and each being ordered to answer this signal by firing his
gun, a line of firing was thus kept up, which perplexed the revenue
officers. The third company, of which I was one, remained by the
sea-side, to cover the landing and the transport of the cargo.
All being thus arranged, the Newfoundland dog already mentioned, and
who was with us, dashed at a word into the midst of the waves, and
swam powerfully in the direction of the Squirrel, and in an instant
afterwards returned with the end of a rope in his mouth. Peters
instantly seized it, and began to draw it towards him, making us signs
to assist him, which I obeyed mechanically. After a few tugs, I saw that
at the end of the cable were a dozen small casks, which floated towards
us. I then perceived that the vessel thus contrived to keep sufficiently
far from the shore, not to run a risk of being stranded. In an instant
the casks, smeared over with something that made them waterproof, were
unfastened and placed on horses, which immediately dashed off for the
interior of the country. A second cargo arrived with the same success;
but as we were landing the third, some reports of fire-arms announced
that our outposts were attacked. "There is the beginning of the ball,"
said Peters, calmly; "I must go and see who will dance;" and taking up
his carbine, he joined the outposts, which had by this time joined each
other. The firing became rapid, and we had two men killed, and others
slightly wounded. At the fire of the revenue officers, we soon found
that they exceeded us in number; but alarmed, and fearing an ambuscade,
they dared not to approach, and we effected our retreat without any
attempt on their part to prevent it. From the beginning of the fight
the Squirrel had weighed anchor and stood out to sea, for fear that the
noise of the firing should bring down on her the government cruiser.
I was told that most probably she would unload her cargo in some other
part of the coast, where the owners had numerous agents.
[Vidocq returns to Lille, where he is taken by two gendarmes, and
concerts the following stratagem for escape:—]
This escape, however, was not so very easy a matter as may be surmised,
when I say that our dungeons, seven feet square, had walls six feet
thick, strengthened
with planking crossed and rivetted with iron; a
window, two feet by one, closed with three iron gratings placed one
after the other, and the door cased with wrought iron. With such
precautions, a jailor might depend on the safe keeping of his charge,
but yet we overcame it all.
I was in a cell on the second floor with Duhamel. For six francs, a
prisoner, who was also a turnkey, procured us two files, a ripping
chisel, and two turnscrews. We had pewter spoons, and our jailor was
probably ignorant of the use which prisoners could make of them. I knew
the dungeon key; it was the counterpart of all the others on the same
story; and I cut a model of it from a large carrot; then I made a mould
with crumb of bread and potatoes. We wanted fire, and we procured it by
making a lamp with a piece of fat and the rags of a cotton cap. The key
was at last made of pewter, but it was not yet perfect; and it was only
after many trials and various alterations that it fitted at last. Thus
masters of the doors, we were compelled to work a hole in the wall, near
the barns of the town-hall. Sallambier, who was in the dungeons below,
found a way to cut the hole, by working through the planking.
THE PRISON OF BICETRE AT PARIS.
The prison of Bicêtre is a neat quadrangular building, enclosing many
other structures and many courts, which have each a different name;
there is the grande cour (great court) where the prisoners walk; the
cour de cuisine (or kitchen court;) the cour des chiens (or dog's
court;) the cour de correction (or court of punishment;) and the cour
des fers (or iron court.) In this last is a new building five stories
high; each story contains forty cells, capable of holding four
prisoners. On the platform, which supplies the place of a roof, was
night and day a dog named Dragon, who passed in the prison for the most
watchful and incorruptible of his kind; but some prisoners managed at a
subsequent period to corrupt him through the medium of a roasted leg of
mutton, which he had the culpable weakness to accept. The Amphytrions
escaped whilst Dragon was swallowing the mutton; he was beaten and taken
into the cour des chiens, where, chained up and deprived of the free air
which he breathed on the platform, he was inconsolable for his fault,
and perished piecemeal, a victim of remorse at his weakness in yielding
to a moment of gluttony and error.
Near the erection I speak of is the old building, nearly arranged in
the same way, and under which were dungeons of safety, in which were
enclosed the troublesome and condemned prisoners. It was in one of these
dungeons that for forty-three years lived the accomplice of Cartouche,
who betrayed him to procure this commutation! To obtain a moment's
sunshine, he frequently counterfeited death so well, that when he had
actually breathed his last sigh, two days passed before they took
off his iron collar. A third part of the building, called La Force,
comprised various rooms, in which the prisoners were placed who arrived
from the provinces, and were destined to the chain.
At this period, the prison of Bicêtre, which is only strong from the
strict guard kept up there, could contain twelve hundred prisoners; but
they were piled on each other, and the conduct of the jailors in no way
assuaged the inconvenience of the place.
If any man arrived from the country well clad, who, condemned for a
first offence, was not as yet initiated into the customs and usages of
prisons, in a twinkling he was stripped of his clothes, which were sold
in his presence to the highest bidder. If he had jewels or money, they
were alike confiscated to the profit of the society, and if he were too
long in taking out his ear-rings, they snatched them out without the
sufferer daring to complain. He was previously warned, that if he spoke
of it, they would hang him in the night to the bars of his cell, and
afterwards say that he had committed suicide. If a prisoner, out of
precaution, when going to sleep, placed his clothes under his head, they
waited until he was in his first sleep, and then they tied to his foot a
stone, which they balanced at the side of his bed; at the least motion
the stone fell, and aroused by the noise, the sleeper jumped up, and
before he could discover what had occurred, his packet hoisted by a
cord, went through the iron bars to the floor above. I have seen, in
the depth of winter, these poor devils, having been deprived of their
property in this way, remain in the court in their shirts until some one
threw them some rags to cover their nakedness. As long as they remained
at Bicêtre, by burying themselves, as we may say, in their straw, they
could defy the rigour of the weather; but at the departure of the chain,
when they had no other covering than the frock and trousers made of
packing cloth, they often sunk exhausted and frozen before they reached
the first resting place.
[As we have said, the present is but a fourth portion of Vidocq's
exploits; and if the remaining three are of equal interest,
the work
will be one of the most extraordinary of our times. We scarcely remember
a counterpart, although the Memoirs of James Hardy Vaux are of the same
stamp. The fate of the latter work was curious enough. The manuscript
was sent by the author from New South Wales, whither he had been
transported. It was printed in two small volumes, and published by an
eminent west-end bookseller, who, for some unexplained motive withdrew
the edition, which is, we believe, now in the printer's warehouse. The
Editor of the "Autobiography" has, however, reprinted Vaux's memoirs in
his series; their style is very superior to that of Vidocq's, (which is
a translation) and as scores of worse books are printed annually, we
rejoice at their rescue from oblivion.]
