I have been much interested with an account of the exploits of Monsieur
Louis Dominic Cartouche, and as Newgate and the highways are so much
the fashion with us in England, we may be allowed to look abroad for
histories of a similar tendency. It is pleasant to find that virtue is
cosmopolite, and may exist among wooden-shoed Papists as well as honest
Church-of-England men.
Louis Dominic was born in a quarter of Paris called the Courtille, says
the historian whose work lies before me;—born in the Courtille, and in
the year 1693. Another biographer asserts that he was born two years
later, and in the Marais;—of respectable parents, of course. Think of
the talent that our two countries produced about this time:
Marlborough, Villars, Mandrin, Turpin, Boileau, Dryden, Swift, Addison,
Molière, Racine, Jack Sheppard, and Louis Cartouche,—all famous within
the same twenty years, and fighting, writing, robbing à l’envi!
Well, Marlborough was no chicken when he began to show his genius;
Swift was but a dull, idle, college lad; but if we read the histories
of some other great men mentioned in the above list—I mean the thieves,
especially—we shall find that they all commenced very early: they
showed a passion for their art, as little Raphael did, or little
Mozart; and the history of Cartouche’s knaveries begins almost with his
breeches.
Dominic’s parents sent him to school at the college of Clermont (now
Louis le Grand); and although it has never been discovered that the
Jesuits, who directed that seminary, advanced him much in classical or
theological knowledge, Cartouche, in revenge, showed, by repeated
instances, his own natural bent and genius, which no difficulties were
strong enough to overcome. His first great action on record, although
not successful in the end, and tinctured with the innocence of youth,
is yet highly creditable to him. He made a general swoop of a hundred
and twenty nightcaps belonging to his companions, and disposed of them
to his satisfaction; but as it was discovered that of all the youths in
the college of Clermont, he only was the possessor of a cap to sleep
in, suspicion (which, alas! was confirmed) immediately fell upon him:
and by this little piece of youthful naïveté, a scheme, prettily
conceived and smartly performed, was rendered naught.
Cartouche had a wonderful love for good eating, and put all the
apple-women and cooks, who came to supply the students, under
contribution. Not always, however, desirous of robbing these, he used
to deal with them, occasionally, on honest principles of barter; that
is, whenever he could get hold of his schoolfellows’ knives, books,
rulers, or playthings, which he used fairly to exchange for tarts and
gingerbread.
It seemed as if the presiding genius of evil was determined to
patronize this young man; for before he had been long at college, and
soon after he had, with the greatest difficulty, escaped from the
nightcap scrape, an opportunity occurred by which he was enabled to
gratify both his propensities at once, and not only to steal, but to
steal sweetmeats. It happened that the principal of the college
received some pots of Narbonne honey, which came under the eyes of
Cartouche, and in which that young gentleman, as soon as ever he saw
them, determined to put his fingers. The president of the college put
aside his honey-pots in an apartment within his own; to which, except
by the one door which led into the room which his reverence usually
occupied, there was no outlet. There was no chimney in the room; and
the windows looked into the court, where there was a porter at night,
and where crowds passed by day. What was Cartouche to do?—have the
honey he must.
Over this chamber, which contained what his soul longed after, and over
the president’s rooms, there ran a set of unoccupied garrets, into
which the dexterous Cartouche penetrated. These were divided from the
rooms below, according to the fashion of those days, by a set of large
beams, which reached across the whole building, and across which rude
planks were laid, which formed the ceiling of the lower story and the
floor of the upper. Some of these planks did young Cartouche remove;
and having descended by means of a rope, tied a couple of others to the
neck of the honey-pots, climbed back again, and drew up his prey in
safety. He then cunningly fixed the planks again in their old places,
and retired to gorge himself upon his booty. And, now, see the
punishment of avarice! Everybody knows that the brethren of the order
of Jesus are bound by a vow to have no more than a certain small sum of
money in their possession. The principal of the college of Clermont had
amassed a larger sum, in defiance of this rule: and where do you think
the old gentleman had hidden it? In the honey-pots! As Cartouche dug
his spoon into one of them, he brought out, besides a quantity of
golden honey, a couple of golden louis, which, with ninety-eight more
of their fellows, were comfortably hidden in the pots. Little Dominic,
who, before, had cut rather a poor figure among his fellow-students,
now appeared in as fine clothes as any of them could boast of; and when
asked by his parents, on going home, how he came by them, said that a
young nobleman of his schoolfellows had taken a violent fancy to him,
and made him a present of a couple of his suits. Cartouche the elder,
good man, went to thank the young nobleman; but none such could be
found, and young Cartouche disdained to give any explanation of his
manner of gaining the money.
Here, again, we have to regret and remark the inadvertence of youth.
Cartouche lost a hundred louis—for what? For a pot of honey not worth a
couple of shillings. Had he fished out the pieces, and replaced the
pots and the honey, he might have been safe, and a respectable citizen
all his life after. The principal would not have dared to confess the
loss of his money, and did not, openly; but he vowed vengeance against
the stealer of his sweetmeat, and a rigid search was made. Cartouche,
as usual, was fixed upon; and in the tick of his bed, lo! there were
found a couple of empty honey-pots! From this scrape there is no
knowing how he would have escaped, had not the president himself been a
little anxious to hush the matter up; and accordingly, young Cartouche
was made to disgorge the residue of his ill-gotten gold pieces, old
Cartouche made up the deficiency, and his son was allowed to remain
unpunished—until the next time.
This, you may fancy, was not very long in coming; and though history
has not made us acquainted with the exact crime which Louis Dominic
next committed, it must have been a serious one; for Cartouche, who had
borne philosophically all the whippings and punishments which were
administered to him at college, did not dare to face that one which his
indignant father had in pickle for him. As he was coming home from
school, on the first day after his crime, when he received permission
to go abroad, one of his brothers, who was on the look-out for him, met
him at a short distance from home, and told him what was in
preparation; which so frightened this young thief, that he declined
returning home altogether, and set out upon the wide world to shift for
himself as he could.
Undoubted as his genius was, he had not arrived at the full exercise of
it, and his gains were by no means equal to his appetite. In whatever
professions he tried,—whether he joined the gipsies, which he
did,—whether he picked pockets on the Pont Neuf, which occupation
history attributes to him,—poor Cartouche was always hungry. Hungry and
ragged, he wandered from one place and profession to another, and
regretted the honey-pots at Clermont, and the comfortable soup and
bouilli at home.
Cartouche had an uncle, a kind man, who was a merchant, and had
dealings at Rouen. One day, walking on the quays of that city, this
gentleman saw a very miserable, dirty, starving lad, who had just made
a pounce upon some bones and turnip-peelings, that had been flung out
on the quay, and was eating them as greedily as if they had been
turkeys and truffles. The worthy man examined the lad a little closer.
O heavens! it was their runaway prodigal—it was little Louis Dominic!
The merchant was touched by his case; and forgetting the nightcaps, the
honey-pots, and the rags and dirt of little Louis, took him to his
arms, and kissed and hugged him with the tenderest affection. Louis
kissed and hugged too, and blubbered a great deal: he was very
repentant, as a man often is when he is hungry; and he went home with
his uncle, and his peace was made; and his mother got him new clothes,
and filled his belly, and for a while Louis was as good a son as might
be.
But why attempt to balk the progress of genius? Louis’s was not to be
kept down. He was sixteen years of age by this time—a smart, lively
young fellow, and, what is more, desperately enamored of a lovely
washerwoman. To be successful in your love, as Louis knew, you must
have something more than mere flames and sentiment;—a washer, or any
other woman, cannot live upon sighs only; but must have new gowns and
caps, and a necklace every now and then, and a few handkerchiefs and
silk stockings, and a treat into the country or to the play. Now, how
are all these things to be had without money? Cartouche saw at once
that it was impossible; and as his father would give him none, he was
obliged to look for it elsewhere. He took to his old courses, and
lifted a purse here, and a watch there; and found, moreover, an
accommodating gentleman, who took the wares off his hands.
This gentleman introduced him into a very select and agreeable society,
in which Cartouche’s merit began speedily to be recognized, and in
which he learnt how pleasant it is in life to have friends to assist
one, and how much may be done by a proper division of labor. M.
Cartouche, in fact, formed part of a regular company or gang of
gentlemen, who were associated together for the purpose of making war
on the public and the law.
Cartouche had a lovely young sister, who was to be married to a rich
young gentleman from the provinces. As is the fashion in France, the
parents had arranged the match among themselves; and the young people
had never met until just before the time appointed for the marriage,
when the bridegroom came up to Paris with his title-deeds, and
settlements, and money. Now there can hardly be found in history a
finer instance of devotion than Cartouche now exhibited. He went to his
captain, explained the matter to him, and actually, for the good of his
country, as it were (the thieves might be called his country),
sacrificed his sister’s husband’s property. Informations were taken,
the house of the bridegroom was reconnoitred, and, one night,
Cartouche, in company with some chosen friends, made his first visit to
the house of his brother-in-law. All the people were gone to bed; and,
doubtless, for fear of disturbing the porter, Cartouche and his
companions spared him the trouble of opening the door, by ascending
quietly at the window. They arrived at the room where the bridegroom
kept his great chest, and set industriously to work, filing and picking
the locks which defended the treasure.
The bridegroom slept in the next room; but however tenderly Cartouche
and his workmen handled their tools, from fear of disturbing his
slumbers, their benevolent design was disappointed, for awaken him they
did; and quietly slipping out of bed, he came to a place where he had a
complete view of all that was going on. He did not cry out, or frighten
himself sillily; but, on the contrary, contented himself with watching
the countenances of the robbers, so that he might recognize them on
another occasion; and, though an avaricious man, he did not feel the
slightest anxiety about his money-chest; for the fact is, he had
removed all the cash and papers the day before.
As soon, however, as they had broken all the locks, and found the
nothing which lay at the bottom of the chest, he shouted with such a
loud voice, “Here, Thomas!—John!—officer!—keep the gate, fire at the
rascals!” that they, incontinently taking fright, skipped nimbly out of
window, and left the house free.
Cartouche, after this, did not care to meet his brother-in-law, but
eschewed all those occasions on which the latter was to be present at
his father’s house. The evening before the marriage came; and then his
father insisted upon his appearance among the other relatives of the
bride’s and bridegroom’s families, who were all to assemble and make
merry. Cartouche was obliged to yield; and brought with him one or two
of his companions, who had been, by the way, present in the affair of
the empty money-boxes; and though he never fancied that there was any
danger in meeting his brother-in-law, for he had no idea that he had
been seen on the night of the attack, with a natural modesty, which did
him really credit, he kept out of the young bridegroom’s sight as much
as he could, and showed no desire to be presented to him. At supper,
however, as he was sneaking modestly down to a side-table, his father
shouted after him, “Ho, Dominic, come hither, and sit opposite to your
brother-in-law:” which Dominic did, his friends following. The
bridegroom pledged him very gracefully in a bumper; and was in the act
of making him a pretty speech, on the honor of an alliance with such a
family, and on the pleasures of brother-in-lawship in general, when,
looking in his face—ye gods! he saw the very man who had been filing at
his money-chest a few nights ago! By his side, too, sat a couple more
of the gang. The poor fellow turned deadly pale and sick, and, setting
his glass down, ran quickly out of the room, for he thought he was in
company of a whole gang of robbers. And when he got home, he wrote a
letter to the elder Cartouche, humbly declining any connection with his
family.
Cartouche the elder, of course, angrily asked the reason of such an
abrupt dissolution of the engagement; and then, much to his horror,
heard of his eldest son’s doings. “You would not have me marry into
such a family?” said the ex-bridegroom. And old Cartouche, an honest
old citizen, confessed, with a heavy heart, that he would not. What was
he to do with the lad? He did not like to ask for a lettre de cachet,
and shut him up in the Bastile. He determined to give him a year’s
discipline at the monastery of St. Lazare.
But how to catch the young gentleman? Old Cartouche knew that, were he
to tell his son of the scheme, the latter would never obey, and,
therefore, he determined to be very cunning. He told Dominic that he
was about to make a heavy bargain with the fathers, and should require
a witness; so they stepped into a carriage together, and drove
unsuspectingly to the Rue St. Denis. But, when they arrived near the
convent, Cartouche saw several ominous figures gathering round the
coach, and felt that his doom was sealed. However, he made as if he
knew nothing of the conspiracy; and the carriage drew up, and his
father, descended, and, bidding him wait for a minute in the coach,
promised to return to him. Cartouche looked out; on the other side of
the way half a dozen men were posted, evidently with the intention of
arresting him.
Cartouche now performed a great and celebrated stroke of genius, which,
if he had not been professionally employed in the morning, he never
could have executed. He had in his pocket a piece of linen, which he
had laid hold of at the door of some shop, and from which he quickly
tore three suitable stripes. One he tied round his head, after the
fashion of a nightcap; a second round his waist, like an apron; and
with the third he covered his hat, a round one, with a large brim. His
coat and his periwig lie left behind him in the carriage; and when he
stepped out from it (which he did without asking the coachman to let
down the steps), he bore exactly the appearance of a cook’s boy
carrying a dish; and with this he slipped through the exempts quite
unsuspected, and bade adieu to the Lazarists and his honest father, who
came out speedily to seek him, and was not a little annoyed to find
only his coat and wig.
With that coat and wig, Cartouche left home, father, friends,
conscience, remorse, society, behind him. He discovered (like a great
number of other philosophers and poets, when they have committed
rascally actions) that the world was all going wrong, and he quarrelled
with it outright. One of the first stories told of the illustrious
Cartouche, when he became professionally and openly a robber, redounds
highly to his credit, and shows that he knew how to take advantage of
the occasion, and how much he had improved in the course of a very few
years’ experience. His courage and ingenuity were vastly admired by his
friends; so much so, that, one day, the captain of the band thought fit
to compliment him, and vowed that when he (the captain) died, Cartouche
should infallibly be called to the command-in-chief. This conversation,
so flattering to Cartouche, was carried on between the two gentlemen,
as they were walking, one night, on the quays by the side of the Seine.
Cartouche, when the captain made the last remark, blushingly protested
against it, and pleaded his extreme youth as a reason why his comrades
could never put entire trust in him. “Psha, man!” said the captain,
“thy youth is in thy favor; thou wilt live only the longer to lead thy
troops to victory. As for strength, bravery, and cunning, wert thou as
old as Methuselah, thou couldst not be better provided than thou art
now, at eighteen.” What was the reply of Monsieur Cartouche? He
answered, not by words, but by actions. Drawing his knife from his
girdle, he instantly dug it into the captain’s left side, as near his
heart as possible; and then, seizing that imprudent commander,
precipitated him violently into the waters of the Seine, to keep
company with the gudgeons and river-gods. When he returned to the band,
and recounted how the captain had basely attempted to assassinate him,
and how he, on the contrary, had, by exertion of superior skill,
overcome the captain, not one of the society believed a word of his
history; but they elected him captain forthwith. I think his Excellency
Don Rafael Maroto, the pacificator of Spain, is an amiable character,
for whom history has not been written in vain.
Being arrived at this exalted position, there is no end of the feats
which Cartouche performed; and his band reached to such a pitch of
glory, that if there had been a hundred thousand, instead of a hundred
of them, who knows but that a new and popular dynasty might not have
been founded, and “Louis Dominic, premier Empereur des Français,” might
have performed innumerable glorious actions, and fixed himself in the
hearts of his people, just as other monarchs have done, a hundred years
after Cartouche’s death.
A story similar to the above, and equally moral, is that of Cartouche,
who, in company with two other gentlemen, robbed the coche, or
packet-boat, from Melun, where they took a good quantity of
booty,—making the passengers lie down on the decks, and rifling them at
leisure. “This money will be but very little among three,” whispered
Cartouche to his neighbor, as the three conquerors were making merry
over their gains; “if you were but to pull the trigger of your pistol
in the neighborhood of your comrade’s ear, perhaps it might go off, and
then there would be but two of us to share.” Strangely enough, as
Cartouche said, the pistol DID go off, and No. 3 perished. “Give him
another ball,” said Cartouche; and another was fired into him. But no
sooner had Cartouche’s comrade discharged both his pistols, than
Cartouche himself, seized with a furious indignation, drew his: “Learn,
monster,” cried he, “not to be so greedy of gold, and perish, the
victim of thy disloyalty and avarice!” So Cartouche slew the second
robber; and there is no man in Europe who can say that the latter did
not merit well his punishment.
I could fill volumes, and not mere sheets of paper, with tales of the
triumphs of Cartouche and his band; how he robbed the Countess of O——,
going to Dijon, in her coach, and how the Countess fell in love with
him, and was faithful to him ever after; how, when the lieutenant of
police offered a reward of a hundred pistoles to any man who would
bring Cartouche before him, a noble Marquess, in a coach and six, drove
up to the hotel of the police; and the noble Marquess, desiring to see
Monsieur de la Reynie, on matters of the highest moment, alone, the
latter introduced him into his private cabinet; and how, when there,
the Marquess drew from his pocket a long, curiously shaped dagger:
“Look at this, Monsieur de la Reynie,” said he; “this dagger is
poisoned!”
“Is it possible?” said M. de la Reynie.
“A prick of it would do for any man,” said the Marquess.
“You don’t say so!” said M. de la Reynie.
“I do, though; and, what is more,” says the Marquess, in a terrible
voice, “if you do not instantly lay yourself flat on the ground, with
your face towards it, and your hands crossed over your back, or if you
make the slightest noise or cry, I will stick this poisoned dagger
between your ribs, as sure as my name is Cartouche?”
At the sound of this dreadful name, M. de la Reynie sunk incontinently
down on his stomach, and submitted to be carefully gagged and corded;
after which Monsieur Cartouche laid his hands upon all the money which
was kept in the lieutenant’s cabinet. Alas! and alas! many a stout
bailiff, and many an honest fellow of a spy, went, for that day,
without his pay and his victuals.
There is a story that Cartouche once took the diligence to Lille, and
found in it a certain Abbé Potter, who was full of indignation against
this monster of a Cartouche, and said that when he went back to Paris,
which he proposed to do in about a fortnight, he should give the
lieutenant of police some information, which would infallibly lead to
the scoundrel’s capture. But poor Potter was disappointed in his
designs; for, before he could fulfil them, he was made the victim of
Cartouche’s cruelty.
A letter came to the lieutenant of police, to state that Cartouche had
travelled to Lille, in company with the Abbé de Potter, of that town;
that, on the reverend gentleman’s return towards Paris, Cartouche had
waylaid him, murdered him, taken his papers, and would come to Paris
himself, bearing the name and clothes of the unfortunate Abbé, by the
Lille coach, on such a day. The Lille coach arrived, was surrounded by
police agents; the monster Cartouche was there, sure enough, in the
Abbé’s guise. He was seized, bound, flung into prison, brought out to
be examined, and, on examination, found to be no other than the Abbé
Potter himself! It is pleasant to read thus of the relaxations of great
men, and find them condescending to joke like the meanest of us.
Another diligence adventure is recounted of the famous Cartouche. It
happened that he met, in the coach, a young and lovely lady, clad in
widow’s weeds, and bound to Paris, with a couple of servants. The poor
thing was the widow of a rich old gentleman of Marseilles, and was
going to the capital to arrange with her lawyers, and to settle her
husband’s will. The Count de Grinche (for so her fellow-passenger was
called) was quite as candid as the pretty widow had been, and stated
that he was a captain in the regiment of Nivernois; that he was going
to Paris to buy a colonelcy, which his relatives, the Duke de Bouillon,
the Prince de Montmorency, the Commandeur de la Trémoille, with all
their interest at court, could not fail to procure for him. To be
short, in the course of the four days’ journey, the Count Louis Dominic
de Grinche played his cards so well, that the poor little widow half
forgot her late husband; and her eyes glistened with tears as the Count
kissed her hand at parting—at parting, he hoped, only for a few hours.
Day and night the insinuating Count followed her; and when, at the end
of a fortnight, and in the midst of a tête-à-tête, he plunged, one
morning, suddenly on his knees, and said, “Leonora, do you love me?”
the poor thing heaved the gentlest, tenderest, sweetest sigh in the
world; and sinking her blushing head on his shoulder, whispered, “Oh,
Dominic, je t’aime! Ah!” said she, “how noble is it of my Dominic to
take me with the little I have, and he so rich a nobleman!” The fact
is, the old Baron’s titles and estates had passed away to his nephews;
his dowager was only left with three hundred thousand livres, in rentes
sur l’état—a handsome sum, but nothing to compare to the rent-roll of
Count Dominic, Count de la Grinche, Seigneur de la Haute Pigre, Baron
de la Bigorne; he had estates and wealth which might authorize him to
aspire to the hand of a duchess, at least.
The unfortunate widow never for a moment suspected the cruel trick that
was about to be played on her; and, at the request of her affianced
husband, sold out her money, and realized it in gold, to be made over
to him on the day when the contract was to be signed. The day arrived;
and, according to the custom in France, the relations of both parties
attended. The widow’s relatives, though respectable, were not of the
first nobility, being chiefly persons of the finance or the robe: there
was the president of the court of Arras, and his lady; a
farmer-general; a judge of a court of Paris; and other such grave and
respectable people. As for Monsieur le Comte de la Grinche, he was not
bound for names; and, having the whole peerage to choose from, brought
a host of Montmorencies, Créquis, De la Tours, and Guises at his back.
His homme d’affaires brought his papers in a sack, and displayed the
plans of his estates, and the titles of his glorious ancestry. The
widow’s lawyers had her money in sacks; and between the gold on the one
side, and the parchments on the other, lay the contract which was to
make the widow’s three hundred thousand francs the property of the
Count de Grinche. The Count de la Grinche was just about to sign; when
the Marshal de Villars, stepping up to him, said, “Captain, do you know
who the president of the court of Arras, yonder, is? It is old
Manasseh, the fence, of Brussels. I pawned a gold watch to him, which I
stole from Cadogan, when I was with Malbrook’s army in Flanders.”
Here the Duc de la Roche Guyon came forward, very much alarmed. “Run me
through the body!” said his Grace, “but the comptroller-general’s lady,
there, is no other than that old hag of a Margoton who keeps the ——”
Here the Duc de la Roche Guyon’s voice fell.
Cartouche smiled graciously, and walked up to the table. He took up one
of the widow’s fifteen thousand gold pieces;—it was as pretty a bit of
copper as you could wish to see. “My dear,” said he politely, “there is
some mistake here, and this business had better stop.”
“Count!” gasped the poor widow.
“Count be hanged!” answered the bridegroom, sternly “my name is
CARTOUCHE!”