Some very pleasant blunderer is said to have declared Moore's Life of
Sheridan to be the best piece of _Autobiography_ he had ever read; and with
little more propriety can the concluding volume of _Vidocq's Memoirs_ be
said to belong to that species of literature styled Autobiography. The
early volumes, however, possessed this feature, but the present is little
more than a criminal supplement to the Memoirs. Of this defect, the
translator seems to be aware; for in his "Sequel," he says, instead of the
important disclosures promised by the Police Agent, in vol. ii., "he has
given us a nomenclature of the assassins, thieves, and swindlers of France,
and no more." He has merely brought down his Memoirs to the year 1816, and
eked out his fourth volume with anecdotes and counsels, which have in most
cases, more interest than novelty to recommend them. Still they are worth
reading, although of a different character to the scenes, or as a wag would
say, the "concerted pieces" which we have quoted from the three previous
volumes. Our present quotations will not therefore possess the interest of
complicated schemes.
At page 34, Vidocq awards to our metropolis, no very desirable
distinction--
_Town and Country Thieves._
"No capital in the world, London excepted, has within it so many thieves as
Paris. The pavement of the modern Lutetia is incessantly trodden by rogues.
It is not surprising; for the facility of hiding them in the crowd makes
all that are badly disposed resort thither, whether French or foreign. The
greater number are fixed constantly in this vast city; some only come like
birds of passage, at the approach of great occasions, or during the summer
season. Besides these exotics, there are indigenous plants, which make a
fraction in the population, of which the denominator is tolerably high. I
leave to the great calculator, M. Charles Dupin, the task of enumerating
them in decimals, and telling us if the sum that it amounts to should not
be taken into consideration in the application of the black list."
_False Keys._
"Cambrioleurs are plunderers of rooms, either by force or with false keys.
There are of this class thieves of incredible effrontery; that of one
Beaumont almost surpasses belief. Escaped from the Bagne at Rochefort,
where he was sentenced to pass twelve years of his life, he came to Paris,
and scarcely had he arrived there, where he had already practised, when, by
way of getting his hand in, he committed several trifling robberies, and
when by these preliminary steps he had proceeded to exploits more worthy of
his ancient renown, he conceived the project of stealing a treasure. No one
will imagine that this treasure was that of the _Bureau Central_ (Central
Office), now the Prefecture of Police! It was already pretty difficult to
procure impressions of the keys, but he achieved this first difficulty, and
soon had in his possession all the means of effecting an opening; but to
open was nothing, it was necessary to open without being perceived, to
introduce himself without fear of being disturbed, to work without
witnesses, and go out again freely. Beaumont, who had calculated all the
difficulties that opposed him, was not dismayed. He had remarked that the
private room of the chief officer, M. Henri, was nigh to the spot where he
proposed to effect his entrance; he espied the propitious moment, and
wished sincerely that some circumstance would call away so dangerous a
neighbour for some time, and chance was subservient to his wishes."
"One morning, M. Henri was obliged to go out. Beaumont, sure that he would
not return that day, ran to his house, put on a black coat, and in that
costume, which, in those days, always announced a magistrate, or public
functionary, presents himself at the entrance of the _Bureau Central_. The
officer to whom he addressed himself supposed, of course, that he was at
least a commissary. On the invitation of Beaumont, he gave him a soldier,
whom he placed as sentinel at the entrance to the narrow passage which
leads to the depôt, and commanded not to allow any person to pass. No
better expedient could be found for preventing surprise. Thus Beaumont, in
the midst of a crowd of valuable objects, could, at his leisure, and in
perfect security, choose what best pleased him; watches, jewels, diamonds,
precious stones, &c. He chose those which he deemed most valuable, most
portable, and as soon as he had made his selection, he dismissed the
sentinel, and disappeared."
"This robbery could not be long concealed, and the following day was
discovered. Had thunder fallen on the police, they would have been less
astonished than at this event. To penetrate to the very sanctuary!--the
holy of holies! The fact appeared so very extraordinary, that it was
doubted. Yet it was evident that a robbery had taken place, and to whom was
it to be attributed? All the suspicions fell on the clerks; sometimes on
one, sometimes on another; when Beaumont, betrayed by a friend, was
apprehended, and sentenced a second time."
"The robbery he had committed might be estimated at some hundred thousand
francs, the greater part of which were found on him."
"'There was wherewithal,' he said, 'to become an honest man; I should have
become so; it is so easy when rich! yet how many rich men are only
scoundrels!'"
"These words were the only ones he uttered, when he was apprehended. This
surprising thief was conducted to Brest; where, after half a dozen escapes,
which only served to make his subsequent confinement more rigorous, he died
in a frightful state of exhaustion."
"Beaumont enjoyed amongst his confraternity a colossal reputation; and even
now, when a rogue boasts of his lofty exploits--'Hold your tongue,' they
say, 'you are not worthy to untie the shoe-strings of Beaumont!'"
"In effect, to have robbed the police was the height of address. Is not a
robbery of this nature the _chef-d'oeuvre_ of its kind, and can it do
otherwise than, make its perpetrator a hero in the eyes of his admirers?
Who should dare to compare with him? Beaumont had robbed the police! Hang
yourself, brave Crillon! hang yourself, Coignard! hang yourself,
Pertruisard! hang yourself, Callet!--to him, you are but of Saint-Jean.
What is it to have robbed states of service? To have carried off the
treasure of the army of the Rhine? To have carried off the military
chest?--Beaumont had robbed the police! Hang yourselves!--or go to England,
they will hang you there."
_The Misanthropic Swindler._
At page 71, Vidocq tells us a strange story of a fellow named Capdeville,
who affecting misanthropy and disgust of the world, hired an apartment at a
lone house near Paris, and employed his solitude in obtaining false keys of
all the other rooms. Not quite settled here, "Capdeville published his
intention of going out to discover an hermitage where he could pass his
latter days in peace. He inquired of all the country proprietors who had
places for sale within a circuit of six leagues, and it was soon known
through the country that he was on the look-out for a place of the kind.
Every body knew, of course, something that would suit him, but he would
have only a patrimonial estate. 'Well, well,' said they, 'since he is so
scrupulous, let him look out for himself.' This, in fact, he did."
"Determined to make a tour, to examine what was most likely to suit him, he
employed himself ostensibly in preparations for his departure; he was only
to be absent three or four days, but before he departed, he was anxious to
know if there was no danger in leaving a secretary, in which were ten
thousand francs, which he did not wish to take with him. Being assured on
this point, and full of security, he did not hesitate to set out on his
proposed journey."
"Capdeville did not go to a very great distance. During his sojourn in the
house he had just left, he had had time to take impressions of all the keys
which were requisite for his entrance into the dwelling of the landlord,
who he knew was in the habit of dining in Paris, and did not return very
early in the evening. By being there at dusk, Capdeville was certain of
having before him all the time necessary for carrying on his operations.
The sun had set, and, favoured by the darkness, he passed unperceived
through Belleville, and having entered the house by the help of false keys,
he entered the abode of the landlord, which he cleared out even to the
linen."
"Towards the end of the fifth day they began to be uneasy at the
non-appearance of the misanthrope; the next day a suspicion arose.
Twenty-four hours later, and there was but one opinion respecting him; he
was the thief. After such a trick mistrust all misanthropes. To whom then
shall we trust, in whom place confidence? In philanthropists? By no means."
The misanthropy in this case must have been infectious, and the disgust of
the lodger transferred to the landlord.
Other novelties oblige us to break off here for the present, so that
another spice or two of the frauds of Paris stand over for our next.
* * * * *