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.]
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