At 6.45 A.M. all the troopers who had had their names put down on the
sick list were taken to the infirmary by the Corporal of the Week. We
awaited the Surgeon-major's arrival in a corridor; that morning there
were about fifty troopers on the sick list, and, to my great relief, I
learned that the Assistant Surgeon-major was going to pay the medical
visit. I had been specially recommended to this officer, and when I had
previously called on him with my letter of introduction he had received
me most kindly, and promised that if I ever wanted his services he
would be glad to do anything he could for me. As soon as he arrived we
were called into the consulting-room in batches, the troopers of each
squadron going in together. The consulting-room was small, the only
furniture consisting of a large table, on one side of which sat the
doctor, with the infirmary Corporal opposite to him.
When the Corporals of the Week in each squadron brought the sick
troopers to the infirmary, they handed over to the infirmary Corporal a
book drawn up as on p. 101.
As the troopers came to be examined by the Surgeon-major, this book was
placed by the infirmary Corporal before the doctor, who filled in the
figures--these signifying the number of days during which each trooper
was to be exempt from the work stated at the head of each column.
"Duty" means absolute exemption from all work, and if the trooper so
exempted was under punishment in the _Salle de Police_, he was excused
from sleeping in the cells.
"Boots" means that the trooper is excused from all exercises
necessitating the use of boots--viz., mounted and dismounted drill,
gymnastics, and _voltige_.
+-----------------+--------------------------------------------------+
| | Exemptions |
| Names. +-----+------+-------+----------+------------------+
| |Duty.|Boots.|Riding.|Dismounted| Remarks. |
| | | | | Drill. | |
+-----------------+-----+------+-------+----------+------------------+
|Dupont, Sergeant | 1 | | | | |
|Martin, Corporal | | 2 | | | |
|Duval, Trooper | | | 2 | | |
|Perrin, Trooper | | | | 4 | |
|Bouchaud, Trooper| | | | |Is able to do |
| | | | | |his work. 2 days' |
| | | | | |_Salle de Police_ |
| | | | | |for having come to|
| | | | | |the medical visit |
| | | | | |with unwashed |
| | | | | |feet. |
+-----------------+-----+------+-------+----------+------------------+
The two other columns need no explanation.
Whenever a trooper failed to be regarded as sick by the Surgeon-major,
he was invariably punished with four days' _Salle de Police_ by the
Captain commanding the squadron. The Surgeon-major always refused to
pass as "sick" troopers who were dirty, and I have seen poor fellows,
with awful excoriations, sent back to their work _because_ they were
_dirty_.
A copy of the above-mentioned book was taken by the infirmary Corporal,
who wrote down the surgeon's diagnosis of each case.
That day the troopers of our squadron were called in first, and, as I
was the sixth or seventh on the list, I watched the proceedings with
keen interest.
The first trooper called up was suffering from a boil on the thigh.
"What's the matter with you?" said the doctor.
"Well, sir," replied the trooper, a stupid recruit, "I have a sort of a
red thing--you know, sir--just there," pointing to the place, "and it
hurts me something awful when I ride."
"Well, show it," said the doctor.
The fellow tried to pull up his canvas trousers, but couldn't manage to
get them up high enough.
"Why don't you take them off?" said the doctor impatiently.
The recruit hesitated, and the doctor, losing patience, ordered the
Corporal to undress him; the boy thereupon, violently blushing, exposed
his trouble. "Oh, a boil," said the doctor, handling him pretty
roughly; and taking a lancet from his instrument case, he made a deep
incision through the swelling. The recruit howled, but the doctor told
him to shut up, adding that he would be "exempt from boots" for the
next three days. "You will come back in three days' time," he added,
and he then ordered the corporal to give him a dose of sulphate of soda.
On the table stood four very dirty tin mugs; two of them contained a
solution of sulphate of soda, and the others ipecacuanha and another
emetic, mixed with water. The Corporal handed one of the tumblers to
the trooper, and as he was going out with it the doctor cried, "No,
no, my boy, you must drink it here." With a wry face the poor recruit
swallowed the ghastly mixture, and the Corporal having ascertained
that he had drained all the contents, gave the tumbler to a trooper
who stood beside a cupboard containing medicines; without rinsing the
tumbler, the latter trooper, who was attached to the infirmary, filled
it up with another dose of sulphate of soda and replaced it on the
table. In the meantime the man next on the list had been called. He was
an _ancien_ trooper (_i.e._, one of more than one year's standing),
and when asked what was the matter with him, he showed the doctor a
huge sore on his heel, keeping the remainder of his foot inside his
clog, which he held with one hand. "Take off that clog," said the
Surgeon-major. The man hesitated to do so. "If you don't take it off at
once," roared the doctor, "I'll send you back to your duty with four
days' cells." The man obeyed, and the sight which he then displayed was
too disgusting to be dwelt upon. Suffice it to say that his toes were
encased in a cake of filth.
"Just what I expected," remarked the surgeon, "and still you're not
ashamed of yourself," he went on, addressing the man; "go and wash
yourself. The next time a trooper dares to come to me in such a state
of filth I'll give him eight days." When my turn came the doctor told
me to wait until the consultation was over, when he would see me
privately. After me came a trooper who complained of pains in his back.
"Oh, rheumatics," said the doctor; "ipecac." The man had to swallow the
contents of one of the tumblers on the table, and rushed out very pale,
in anticipation of what he knew would soon happen. He was exempted
from drill on foot. Others were suffering from sores of various kinds,
chiefly due to riding without being accustomed to it, and they were
alternately ordered a dose of sulphate of soda or of ipecac.; indeed,
these two medicines seemed to be considered a panacea in the French
army.
One man, none other than Piatte, the hero of the previous night's
contest, complained that he was not well, but the doctor could not
elicit from him any particulars of his ailment.
"Have you any pain?" asked the doctor. "Yes, sir, plenty of them,"
blandly replied Piatte.
"Where? In your stomach?"
"Oh, yes, sir, just so, in my stomach."
"Show me your tongue."
After examining this the doctor told him that his stomach could not be
out of order, as his tongue was perfectly clean.
"Well, sir," said Piatte, "my stomach hurts me in just the same way
that it does here," pointing to his back.
The doctor felt the place he had pointed out, and Piatte winced as
though it caused him intense pain. "Have you lifted any heavy load
lately?" good-naturedly said the doctor.
"Oh, yes, sir," innocently replied Piatte; "and you don't know, sir,
what I've been suffering for these last four days. I didn't like to
come to the medical visit, because I thought it would pass off; but
really to-day, sir, it's more than I can bear." The doctor fully
believed him, and exempted him from all duty for two days.
When Piatte walked out he winked at me. "Well, old chap," he whispered,
"ain't that grand? We'll have a jolly good drunk to-day and to-morrow
with yesterday's oof." If only the doctor had seen him wrestling the
previous night, Piatte would not have fared so well.
The medical visit over, the Surgeon-major called me into his private
office. "So," he said, "you've fallen out with your Sergeant-major. He
sent me a note to warn me that you have been punished with eight days'
_Salle de Police_, and he says that you are only shamming."
I told the doctor what had happened, and explained that I was really
feeling ill after the terrible night I had gone through.
"I can quite believe you," replied the doctor, "but I don't like to
exempt you altogether from duty, as I do not want to show too openly
the interest I take in you. I shall exempt you from 'boots' for a
couple of days, however, so that you will be excused from mounted and
dismounted drill, gymnastics, and _voltige_; in two days' time return
here, and I will then exempt you from duty for two days, so that you
will be able to have a good long rest in bed. If I don't come to pass
a medical visit on that day I shall mention your case to my colleague,
Surgeon-major Lesage, and he will do what I ask him."
I returned to the room, and as I was free until 11 o'clock, when I
should have to go to the schoolroom, I hurried to my bed in order to
get a refreshing sleep. De Lanoy soon turned up and asked me how I was.
I told him I was dead beat, but he remarked that I had made a blunder
in going to the medical visit. "It has," he said, "absolutely put the
Sergeant-major's back up against you; he said to me just now that you
are nothing but a lazy brute without twopennyworth of pluck." Although
this rather upset me, I felt so exhausted that I dropped asleep before
I could think the matter over. At 11 o'clock I turned up in the
schoolroom, and Sergeant Legros ordered me to come and speak to him.
"So, _Monsieur_ Decle," he sarcastically remarked, "you've made the
acquaintance of the _Boite_.[19] How do you like it?"
"Not at all, Sergeant," I answered.
"And therefore," he went on, "you thought that you would like a little
rest to-day, didn't you?"
"No, Sergeant," I said, "I assure you I'm really ill."
"Just so, just so," he went on. "But you'll soon get used to it, as I
am afraid that I shall have to send you there _more often than your
turn_." (Another regimental expression in constant use in the French
army.)
I returned to my table, and as the lesson we were told to learn that
day dealt with hippology (the care and management of horses), a subject
with which I was already conversant, I had soon learnt the page we had
been given to study, and then joined my comrades in a game of baccarat,
which a sporting member of our set had suggested. At first, as usual,
we played for small stakes, but these were soon increased, banks being
sold by auction and fetching as much as £10. In less than half an
hour's time one of my comrades had won over £30, while I was a loser
by nearly £12. These games of baccarat soon became an institution, but
I am glad to say that I never "plunged," and never played beyond my
means. One of the _Volontaires_, who did not belong to our set, asked
as a favour to be permitted to join in our gambling, and having been
allowed to do so plunged recklessly. Payments were made in I.O.U.s,
redeemable at the end of each month, but when the time came our plunger
(whose losses were a good deal over £100) explained that he could not
pay up just then as his allowance "hadn't yet arrived." Apparently
that allowance never arrived; at all events, we never saw a penny of
the money he owed us. As a matter of fact, we soon found out that his
parents only allowed him £12 a month, a sum barely sufficient to cover
the cost of his board at the canteen and the pay of the two troopers
who fagged for him; so after paying certain necessary tips, he was, of
course, left with hardly any pocket-money. While I am dealing with the
money question, I may say that £300 was the minimum required to cover
our necessary expenditure during our year's service in the cavalry, and
a good many of us spent much more than that amount.
Being exempt from "boots," I was excused from attending gymnastics
and _voltige_, and was therefore free from 12 till half-past 2, but
of course, being under punishment, I could not go out of barracks.
I proceeded therefore to hunt up the orderly of the _Capitaine
d'habillement_, as I had heard from de Lanoy that his orderly had
a room to himself, above the stores, and that, until de Lanoy was
promoted to the rank of Sergeant, he used to arrange to keep a tub and
all his washing things in that room, paying the man for the privilege
12_s._ a month. I found the fellow, but to my utter disgust he informed
me that he had already arranged with three other _Volontaires_ for
the loan of his room (Walter being one of the lucky ones), and he
absolutely declined to have another _Volontaire_ using his apartment.
"You see, old chap," he said to me, "if a lot of you fellows come to my
room, I shall soon be found out, and not only shall I lose my billet
as orderly to the Captain, but I shall be sent back to ordinary duty
in the squadron, losing the comfortable little income I am now making,
and I am not going to run the risk." I insisted earnestly, but without
avail. I then inquired whether any other orderly had a room to himself,
but found that he was the only one, and I was therefore reduced to the
pump for my ablutions.
I explained just now that troopers who were punished with _Salle de
Police_ were prohibited from using the canteen, but I discovered that
there existed, besides the two cavalry canteens, an infantry canteen
where Dragoons could go; I therefore repaired there to have a meal, as
I had been quite unable to swallow for _déjeuner_ the repulsive mixture
of bread and red beans cooked in stale fat, with a few pieces of bone
and sundry bits of tendons, served in a greasy tin pot, which formed
the fare of the day. I found the canteen quite empty at this time of
the day, and the cooking was decent; there was, besides, no chance of
being discovered by any of the cavalry non-commissioned officers, for
they all messed in a room set apart for them in each of the two cavalry
canteens, while this one stood at the top of a portion of the building
reserved for the line regiment. During the remainder of the time I
served I never failed to use this canteen whenever I was punished, and
the fact was never found out.
When I returned to my room, towards one o'clock, intending to lie
down, a Corporal came to me and ordered me out for fatigue duty: I
was to go and sweep the cells with the other troopers. I pointed out
to the Corporal that I was sick and that I was exempt from "boots,"
so that I meant to have a rest while the other _Volontaires_ were
at _voltige_. "Yes, my boy," replied the Corporal, "I'm quite aware
of that. But you're not exempt from clogs, and troopers exempt from
'boots' are not excused from fatigue duty. So, up you get, and come
along." Reluctantly I followed. The Corporal presented me with a very
dirty broom and accompanied by three other troopers I marched wearily
towards the cells. First of all, I was told off to sweep the corridor,
then the Sergeant of the Guard opened the doors of three of the cells
used for solitary confinement. It was the first sight I had had of
these cells, and I hoped that it would never fall to my lot to be
incarcerated in one of them. Each was about twelve feet by six. On one
side stood a wooden bed raised a couple of feet from the ground; and
about seven feet long and two and a half broad. A small shelf, a foot
square, suspended against the wall by two strings, was meant for the
prisoner's bread, so that the rats should not get at it. In a corner
was a small "_jules_," and alongside of it an earthenware water-jug
with an iron beaker on the top of it; the only ventilation consisted
of a small hole a foot square and strongly barred, opening above the
door, so that when the latter was closed the prisoner found himself in
almost complete darkness. While we were cleaning the cells the Sergeant
of the Guard remained marching up and down the corridor, as there was
a prisoner in one of them. His door was the last to be opened, and the
Sergeant of the Guard ordered him to step out in the passage, while we
were told off to clean his cell. The man looked the picture of misery.
He had already been confined for five days, and during that time he
had been able neither to wash nor to shave, and the short allowance of
food had told heavily on him. Prisoners in cells are only allowed the
ordinary trooper's ration every other day; during the intervening days
they get one ration of soup without meat, their other meal consisting
of dry bread and water. The prisoner asked the non-commissioned officer
to have his water-jug emptied and refilled, as there was a drowned rat
in it. I was told to hand over my broom to another trooper, and ordered
with another man to catch hold of "_jules_" and to go and empty it--a
task, as you may imagine, I hardly relished. Fortunately for me, as I
was crossing the yard I met my friend de Lanoy, who told me to put my
odoriferous burden on the ground and to follow him. He then went to the
cells and ordered the Corporal to send another man to relieve me, as he
wanted me for special work. He then ordered me to go and wait for him
outside his room while he remained behind. He soon joined me and told
me to go and have a good wash and to return to his room. I went to the
pump, and after indulging in a good scrubbing returned to de Lanoy's.
[Illustration: A FATIGUE PARTY OF DRAGOONS]
"What a filthy life this is!" I exclaimed, when I entered his quarters.
"Have you only just found that out?" he answered. "I have been
serving two years and a half, and although I have been two years a
non-commissioned officer, I am thoroughly disgusted with it. I heard
the Corporal ordering you to follow him, and I might have told him to
select another trooper for fatigue duty, but, you see, I have to be
careful; if I showed you too much favour I couldn't help you as I may
be able to under more serious circumstances. Now," he went on, "listen
to my advice. Whenever a Corporal orders you for fatigue duty just call
him aside and quietly tip him a couple of francs to drink your health
with, asking him at the same time to allow you to find another man to
do the work in your stead. You will never fail to find a trooper glad
to take the job for a franc."
I followed his advice in the future, and it was only when no other
trooper was handy that I ever did fatigue duty again.
That evening, at 7.45 I stood before the guard-room among the troopers
punished with _Salle de Police_. The Sergeant of the Guard did not
trouble to search us, but immediately marched us off to the lock-up. We
were but six that evening; as usual, when the Sergeant had retired Titi
lit his candle. After singing a few songs all the fellows dropped to
sleep with the exception of Titi and myself.
"What a life!" said Titi to me. "I much prefer to be in quod--some of
them ain't bad at all."
"What! Have you been in gaol?" I asked in astonishment.
"Have I been to gaol! Heaps of times, old chappy!" He was clearly not
in the least ashamed to own it, but felt quite proud, and enjoyed my
astonishment.
"What did you do before you joined the regiment?" I queried, in order
to change the subject.
"_J'faisais la muche_," he replied.
I did not understand what this meant, not being yet versed in low
slang; and I imagined that it meant that--like many of the Parisians in
our regiment--he had been a _vidangeur_ (scavenger). I inquired what
pay he used to draw.
"Oh," he said, "it depended; my last _marmite elle était rien épatante,
mon vieux, elle faisait ses cinq roues de derrière tous les soirs_!"
He went on telling me a lot of stories on the subject, which cannot,
unfortunately, be reproduced here, but which gave me a striking insight
into the life of a French _maquereau_ (a man who lives on unfortunates).
Seeing that he had absolutely no sense of shame, I ventured to ask him
about his convictions. He became quite keen on the subject.
"Ah, my boy," he said, "don't think that it's only poor beggars like
me who're sent to quod: I have seen there many a gentleman--yes,
_gentleman_," he repeated, as I was smiling--"gentlemen, like you, who
drove in their own cart; but that's neither here nor there. There's
one thing certain: _Y a pas d'justice en France, ma vieille!_" (There
is no justice in France, old chap.) "One day, for instance," he went
on, "I had been with some friends to the _Théâtre de la Villette_ (a
small suburban theatre), and being a bit of an artist myself--I have
been a super at the Porte St. Martin[20]--I became disgusted at the way
one of the fellows played Taillhade's part. Instead of walking like a
nobleman of the old times, and taking off his hat with a great sweep of
the arm and bowing like a prince, that actor chap just walks in like if
he had stepped into the café at the corner, and he takes his hat off
like if it had been a billycock; I got that disgusted that I couldn't
help shouting: '_Ah! malheur d'ons que tu sors?_' (Good gracious, where
do you hail from?) Chambardeau, the grocer's assistant, then says to
me: '_Tais donc ta sale gueule, Titi!_' (Shut up your ugly mug, Titi!)
'Ugly mug,' I says; 'what d'ye call that filthy beak of yours?' (_Ton
sal museau._) 'All right,' howls Chambardeau, 'I'll smash that phiz
of yours[21] when we get out.' That was too much for me, so I jumps
at him; all the people shout, 'Turn them out!' The police comes and
chucks us out, and the other boys, guessing there'll be a row outside,
follers us. Well, we first kick up a row to get our money returned;
but it was no good, and the _sergots_[22] chucks us into the street:
Chambardeau and me we goes into a side street to have it out. On the
way Chambardeau pulls his knife out of his pocket. 'Knives?' I ask.
'Yes, knives,' he says. 'All right, _mon salop_,'[23] I reply, 'I'll
soon rip open your tripe-bag.' Some of the boys had joined us, and told
us that the police were not likely to come, so Chambardeau he says:
'Are you ready?' 'Yes,' I says, and we close. Just then Mimi--she was
the grocer's daughter, and she was sweet on me, you know--'twas that
which made Chambardeau mad with me. Well, Mimi turns up. They'd gone
and told her, some of the other chaps, and when she sees us going at it
with knives she hollers, 'Murder! Murder! Police!' The _sergots_ come
at a run, and just then Chambardeau he drops down. The _sergots_ arrest
me--the cowards! There was four of them. They knock me down and kick me
all over, then they clasp the bracelets (handcuffs) on my wrists, while
the others pick up Chambardeau. 'What's the row?' one of the _sergots_
asks of him. 'Row?' he says; 'there's no row.' 'But,' says a _sergot_,
'you are wounded.' 'Am I?' says Chambardeau. 'I suppose that I fell on
my open knife while I was playing with Titi.' He was a d---- sneak,
Chambardeau was, but he never split on a pal. Well, they took us both
to the police station and locked us up--me, Chambardeau, and Mimi. We
had chucked our knives away, or else we should have had another round.
'It's a pity,' says Chambardeau, 'that the police came and spoiled
the fun!' 'You bet, old chap,' I says. But then Mimi--she ought not
to have been with us, but the cells for the women was full--she had
been crying, and, as I was saying, she takes Chambardeau's hand. 'It
was real good of you,' she says to him, 'not to have split on Titi.' 'I
split on a pal!' he exclaims. _Mimi, j'en ai soupé d'toi._[24] 'Ah,' he
goes on, excited, 'I thought I'd make you love me; but it's no use, you
must think me d---- low to imagine that I could split on a pal! Shake
hands, Titi,' he then says, 'and keep her.' Just then his wound begins
to hurt him. It was nothing--I'd only stuck him through the arm--but he
was bleeding a lot, only he would not call out for a doctor for fear
it might tell against me. So Mimi tears her apron and makes a bandage
of it. The next morning we were all brought before the Commissary of
Police; and although Chambardeau swore that it was all lies about our
having been fighting, and my having stabbed him, they sent us both to
the _Dépôt_[25] in the _Panier à salade_[26] (Black Maria). Two days
later the _Juge d'instruction_[27] examined me. He knew me, that man; I
had been twice before him already.
"'So here you are again, Martin!' he says.
"'Yes, sir,' I answers.
"'Attempted murder this time,' he goes on, reading a long report.
"'_Ah la bonne blague! C'est tout des menteries d'la police._' (Well,
that's a good one! All lies from the police.)
"'But,' he answers, 'you were caught in the act of stabbing the man
Chambardeau.'
"'Now, _Monsieur le Juge_,' I said, 'ask Chambardeau himself, ask Mimi
Robinson, the grocer's daughter: they'll both tell you if I am not
speaking God's own truth.'
"'I have seen them both,' said the judge, 'and they both accuse you.'"
"Now you see, _mon vieux_," went on Titi, waxing excited, and
shaking me by the blouse, "you see I'd been there before, and I
knew that the judge was telling a lie as big as himself. I had seen
Chambardeau in the passage at the _Dépôt_, and he had winked at me and
telegraphed--you know we had both been in quod before and had learned
there how to telegraph with our hands--so he telegraphed: 'I have not
been examined yet, and I'll swear we were playing, and I hurt myself;
I won't split.' What's more, I had caught sight of Mimi in the witness
room, and she would not have been left there if she had already been
examined, so I knew it was all lies that the judge was telling just to
make me confess. I didn't lose my head, but quite polite I replied:
"'I'm as innocent as an unborn baby, sir, and I only ask you to
confront[28] me with Chambardeau and Mimi.'
"'That will come in due time,' said the judge; 'you are not going to
teach me how to conduct my examination, are you?'
"'May the Lord Almighty preserve me from such a thought,' I replied,
quite lamb-like, and to please him I added, '--a kind, considerate, and
just magistrate like you, sir.'
"'That's enough, that's enough,' he says, but I could see that he was
pleased.
"He then sent me back to gaol, and said he'd send for me next day. I
heard afterwards that Chambardeau was examined after me: he swore on
the head of his mother that he had hurt himself by falling with the
knife, which he held open in his hand to peel an orange, and that while
we were skylarking he slipped on a bit of orange-peel. But the judge
told him that he could not possibly have inflicted that wound of his
on himself--and to prove it he read the doctor's report. Chambardeau
replied that he had always been clumsy with knives, ever since he was
two months old; but he overdid it, you know. I've always told him
so--he overdid it when he showed the judge a scar on his right arm, and
said he had cut himself there while slicing bread when he was two years
of age. The judge, of course, tried to make him believe that I had
confessed, but Chambardeau, whose temper was rather quick, replied that
he knew that was a d----d lie, and so the judge sent him back to gaol.
Mimi was fine; she said she had seen nothing of a fight, but that we
were skylarking, and that Chambardeau had slipped on some orange-peel
and fell on his knife.
"I was examined three times that week, and once the next, and on the
third week was 'confronted' with Chambardeau and Mimi. We all stuck
to our story, swore that the _sergots_ had told nothing but lies,
and everything was going on beautifully until the judge picks up our
knives that were lying on his table. One of them was still covered with
dried-up blood: it was mine; so the judge says, 'Whose knife is that?'
'Hullo, they've found my knife,' Chambardeau says natural like. 'You
are quite sure it belongs to you?' says the judge.
"'Sure!' answers Chambardeau; 'sure! a knife I've had for more than a
year: I remember the day I bought it like if it was yesterday. It was a
Monday, and it was raining hard, and it was just to get out of the rain
that I went into the shop and bought it."
"'_Greffier_,'[29] says the judge to his clerk, 'you have carefully
taken down this deposition?'
"'Yes, sir,' answers the _greffier_.
"'And this knife?' asks the judge, taking another one from the table,
'is that yours?' I saw Chambardeau wink at me, but did not understand,
so thinking it was Chambardeau's knife I said boldly, 'For sure it's my
knife, sir.'
"'Look at it carefully,' the judge says, handing it over to me. I
looked at it, and, without pretending to do so, looked at the maker's
name. 'Of course it is my knife,' I again said, handing it back to the
judge.
"'And where did you buy it?' he then asked.
"I thought that I had been jolly clever to look at the maker's name and
address, but I thought I'd keep that for the last, so I said that I had
bought it from a chap who had bought it from another chap. 'But,' I
added, 'to show you that it's my knife and no mistake, I can tell you,
sir, that it comes from Lebrun, rue de l'Arbre Sec.'
"The judge smiled in a way I didn't like, and, calling his clerk, he
showed him the knife. 'Do you know that knife?' he said. 'Of course,
sir,' replied the clerk; 'it is the knife you always keep on your desk!'
"The judge looked at me smiling, and did not say a word, but his
silence went bang through me.
"I had put my foot in it, right up to the knee, so I pretended to gaze
out of the window.
"'Chambardeau,' then said the judge, after a few minutes of
uncomfortable silence, 'and you, _fille_[30] Robinson, you have both
tried to obstruct the course of justice and to defeat its aim, but
truth cannot be hidden from it.' He went on like that for ten minutes,
old chap, and then he said to Chambardeau that, as there was nothing
against him, he would be released, and then he went for me, calling me
a sanguinary ruffian, one of those men who are a disgrace to society,
and all sorts of tommy rot of the same kind. He concluded his little
speech by saying that I would be sent for trial before the _Tribunal
Correctionnel_,[31] where he hoped I would be made an example of, and
then he dismissed us.
"Chambardeau and myself were taken back to gaol with the
_tourniquet_[32] on, held by a _Garde municipal_, and Mimi had just
time to tell me that she would see about getting a good barrister to
defend me. I told her to try and get a fellow called Lehautier, who had
already got me off once: he could speak, that man, something grand.
The last time he defended me, he told the judges that if I was before
them it was because I was an orphan who had had no mother to look
after my youth--the old lady was at the time doing five years under an
_alias_!--and he talked them round so well that he actually drew tears
from them, and I was acquitted.
"Chambardeau was released the following day, but it was not till a
month later that I was tried. My counsel came to see me twice before
the trial, and I did not like his ways. Mimi could not manage to secure
Lehautier, who had become a great man, and wanted 300 francs (£12) to
take my case up, so she got that little chap for 50 francs (£2). If
you had seen the side he put on! 'Don't tell me that you are guilty,'
he began, 'because, if you tell me so, my conscience'--_en va donc!_
(get along) his conscience!--well, his conscience would not allow him
to defend me. I told him, therefore, the story we had concocted, but he
said that would never do, and advised me to say that it was true that
I had stabbed Chambardeau, but that he had begun the row, and that I
only acted in self-defence. And a jolly mess he made of it: he never
told Chambardeau nor Mimi anything about what they had to swear; so
they swore all wrong, and then the judge presiding over the court put
me all sorts of questions about my previous convictions; and he then
called me a demoralised scoundrel and what not, and in the end I got
two months! And," added Titi, violently shaking me by the blouse, "you
call that justice! It was a fair fight, all fair and square, and I
got two months for it. _Ah malheur!_ That's what they call a Republic.
If we had both been fine gentlemen, and fought a duel with swords,
and, instead of bleeding Chambardeau a bit, I had stuck my sword right
through his guts, every one would have said what a fine fellow I was.
Instead of that, because I am only Martin, _alias_ Titi de la Villette,
I get two months, and they call me a scoundrel. _Ah malheur! malheur!
malheur!_ Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité.[33] That's all right for those
who've got money, but the poor people, _on s'en fiche!_ (Who cares
about them?)"
I am bound to admit that Titi was right on some points; but,
unfortunately, he did not realise to what depths of degradation he had
fallen.
There is not the slightest doubt that, taken as a whole, the lowest
classes in large towns, like Paris, Marseilles, Lyons, and others,
are far more degraded than the people belonging to the same class
of society in England, and the French military service, instead of
raising these men to a higher plane, only brings down to their level
those who belong to the better classes, such as peasants, small
clerks, and so on. It is true that now men who have been convicted
before serving their time are, as I have explained, sent to special
battalions in Algeria; but still, even to this day, the three years
every able-bodied Frenchman has to serve in the army are nothing but a
period of ceaseless degradation for men possessing any self-respect.
The system, one must acknowledge it, works better in Germany; and the
British army cannot, of course, be compared to either these armies
in which every citizen has to serve; but I feel certain that had the
troopers of my regiment been placed under the command of British
officers, things would have been very different from what they were.
Most of the troopers who were constantly punished would, with gentler
treatment--and if the Sergeants and officers, instead of bullying
them, had appealed to their sense of honour, and to their better
feelings--have proved some of the smartest and most reliable troopers
in the whole regiment. Instead of that they soon became discouraged,
and ceased to care whether they were punished or not. When my Sergeant,
after asking me how I liked the _Salle de Police_, added: "You will
soon get accustomed to it," he condensed in those words all the reasons
which make a blindly rigid system of discipline a complete failure.
FOOTNOTES:
[19] _Boite_ (box): slang word for _Salle de Police_.
[20] The theatre of the Porte St. Martin was then the stage where
historical melodrama was represented; it was associated with Frederick
Lemaître and Melinge Taillhade.
[21] _La fichu tête à claques._
[22] _Sergots_: slang for _sergeants de ville_ (policemen).
[23] _Mon salop_=you piece of dirt; used as a term of comradeship.
[24] I have done with you.
[25] Central lock-up, where all persons who have been arrested the
previous evening are sent in the morning. (Bailing out does not exist
in France; but in case of arrest for slight reasons, such as making
a disturbance, the Commissary of Police can release a prisoner after
taking down his name and address. This is only done when the prisoner
appears to be a gentleman.)
[26] "Salad Basket": so called because prisoners are locked up in tight
compartments, and are rudely shaken like salad in the baskets used by
French cooks to shake the water off after washing it.
[27] _Juge d'instruction_: see Appendix B.
[28] It is usual for accused and witnesses to be confronted before the
_Juge d'instruction_.
[29] Clerk.
[30] _Fille_: woman, term applied to all persons of the gentler sex in
all criminal proceedings.
[31] A kind of police-court. Only felonies are tried by jury in France.
[32] _Tourniquet_: a piece of very flexible steel cord which is passed
round the prisoner's wrist, or wrists, the two ends being held by the
guard. The slightest twist causes such excruciating agony that no
prisoner can escape.
[33] The motto of the French Republic, which is painted on all French
monuments.