All my resolution abandoned me when I reached the low doors, private
stairs, and interior corridors, which are only entered by the condemned.
The Officer still accompanied me: the Priest had left me for a couple of
hours--perchance to read the papers!
I was then taken to the Governor, into whose charge the Officer gave me.
They made an exchange. The Director told him to wait a moment, as he had
some “game” for him to take back in the Van to the Bicêtre. No doubt it
was the man condemned to-day. He is to sleep to-night on the bundle of
straw which I have not had time to wear out.
“Oh, very well,” said the Officer to the Governor, “I will wait with
pleasure; we can make out the two papers together, and it will be very
convenient.”
They then placed me in a small room adjoining the Governor’s office, and
left me, locked in, alone.
I know not of what I was thinking, or how long I had been there, when a
sudden and loud burst of laughter in my ear dispersed my reverie.
I raised my eyes with a start. I was no longer alone in the cell; a man
was beside me. He was about fifty-five years old, middle-sized,
wrinkled, stooping, and bald: with a sinister cast in his grey eyes, and
a bitter sneer on his countenance; he was dirty, half-clothed, ragged,
disgusting.
We looked at each other steadfastly for some moments; he prolonging his
bitter laugh, while I felt half astonished, half alarmed.
“Who are you?” said I to him at last.
“That is a funny question,” said he. “I am a _friauche_.”
“A friauche?” said I; “what does that mean?”
This question redoubled his merriment.
“Why,” cried he, in the midst of a shout of laughter, “it means that
they will play the same game with my head in six weeks hence, as they
will with thine in six hours! Ha! ha! ha! thou seem’st to understand
now!”
And truly I was pale, and my hair stood on end. This, then, was the
other condemned prisoner, the one just sentenced, whom they expected at
the Bicêtre; the heir of my cell.
He continued: “Never mind! Here’s _my_ history. I am son of a famous
thief; it is a pity that they gave him one day a hempen cravat; it was
during the ‘reign of the Gallows by the grace of Heaven.’ At six years
of age I had neither father nor mother; in summer I turned summersets in
the dust on the high-road, that carriage-travellers might throw me
money; in winter I walked with naked feet in the mud, in ragged clothes,
and blowing on my purple hands to excite pity. At nine years old I began
to use my fingers; at times I emptied a pocket or a reticule; at ten
years old I was a pilferer: then I made acquaintances, and at seventeen
I became a thief. I broke into a shop, I robbed the till; I was taken
and sent to the Galleys. What a hard life that was! Sleeping on bare
boards, drinking plain water, eating black bread, dragging a stupid
fetter which was of no use; sun-strokes and whip-strokes: and then all
the heads are kept shaved, and I had such fine chesnut hair! Never mind!
I served my time; fifteen years. That wears one famously!
“I was two-and-thirty years old; one fine morning they gave me a map of
the road, a passport, and sixty-six francs, which I had amassed in my
fifteen years at the Galleys, working sixteen hours a-day, thirty days
a-month, twelve months a-year. Never mind! I wished to be an honest man
with my sixty-six francs; and I had finer sentiments under my rags than
you might find beneath the cassock of a priest. But deuce take the
passport! It was yellow, and they had written upon it ‘_Freed convict_.’
I was obliged to show this at every village, and to present it every
week to the mayors of the towns through which I was ordered to pass. A
fine recommendation! a galley-convict! I frightened all the folk, and
little children ran away, and people locked their doors. No one would
give me work; I expended the last of my sixty-six francs,--and then--one
must live. I showed my arms, fit for labour; the people shut their
doors. I offered my day’s work for fifteen sous, for ten sous, for five
sous! and no one would have me. What could be done? One day, being
hungry, I knocked my elbow through a baker’s window; I seized on a loaf,
and the baker seized on me. I did not eat the loaf, yet I was condemned
to the Galleys for life, with three letters branded on my shoulder; I’ll
show them to you if you like. They call that sort of justice _the
relapse_. So here I was, a returned horse. I was brought back to
Toulon,--this time among the Green-caps (galley-slaves for life); so now
I decided to escape. I had _only_ three walls to pierce, two chains to
break, and I had one nail! I escaped. They fired the signal gun; for we
convicts are, like the Cardinals of Rome, dressed in red, and they fire
cannons when we depart! Their powder went to the sparrows! This time, no
yellow passport, but then no money either. I met some comrades in the
neighbourhood who had also served their time or broken their chains.
Their captain proposed to me to join the band. They killed on the
highways. I acceded, and I began to kill to live. Sometimes we attacked
a Diligence, sometimes it was a post-chaise, sometimes a grazier on
horseback. We took the money, we let the horses go, and buried the
bodies under a tree, taking care that their feet did not appear; and
then we danced on the graves, so that the ground might not seem fresh
broken.
“I grew old this way, hiding in the bushes, sleeping in the air, hunted
from wood to wood, but at least free and my own master. Everything has
an end, and this like the rest: the gendarmes one night caught us at our
tricks; my comrades escaped; but I, the oldest, remained under the claw
of these cats in cocked hats. They brought me here. I had already
mounted all the steps of the justice-ladder, except one. Whether I had
now taken a handkerchief or a life was all the same for me. There was
but one ‘relapse’ to give me,--the executioner. My business has been
short: faith, I began to grow old and good for nothing. My father
_married the widow_ (was hanged); I am going to retire to the Abbey of
Mont-à-Regret (the Guillotine); that’s all, comrade!”
I remained stupefied during the recital. He laughed louder than at the
beginning, and tried to take my hand. I drew back in horror.
“Friend,” cried he, “you don’t seem game. Don’t be foolish on the
scaffold: d’ye see? There is one bad moment to pass on the board, but
that’s so soon done. I should like to be there to show you the step!
Faith, I’ve a great mind not to plead, if they will finish me with you
to-day. The same Priest will serve us both. You see I’m a good fellow,
eh? I say, shall we be friends?”
Again he advanced a step nearer to me.
“Sir,” I answered, repulsing him, “I decline it.”
Fresh bursts of laughter at my answer.
“Ha, ha, ha! Sir, you must be a Marquis.”