Memoirs of Vidocq, Volume III/Chapter 45
I returned directly to Paris, and then proceeded with Pons to Versailles, where Court and Raoul were confined; immediately upon my arrival I went to see them.
"Well," said I to them, "our man is taken!"
"You have caught him!" exclaimed Court, "so much the better."
"But," inquired Raoul, "fell us how you managed to cage him, you must have had a fine business to tame so fierce a creature."
"He fierce!" said I, "on the contrary, he has been gentle as a lamb."
"What, did he make no defence? ha! ha! Raoul, do you hear that? he did not even defend himself!"
"The particulars you gave me of him," said I, "were not thrown away upon me."
Before quitting Versailles, I wished to show my sense of the kindness of the prisoners in thus aiding me in the capture of the ferocious Pons, and, accordingly, invited them to dine with me. My invitation was accepted with the most lively satisfaction, and during the remainder of the time we passed together, not the least gloom or sadness could be observed on their countenances; they appeared entirely resigned to their fate, and even their language seemed to have undergone some change, indicative of better feelings having resumed their empire over their minds.
"It must be confessed, my friend," said Court, "that we were following a rascally trade."
"Oh!" returned the other, "do not mention it; it makes no one rich in the end but the executioner."
"And that is not the worst part of it—to be in continual misery from constant alarm—never to know one moment's tranquillity—to tremble at the sight of a stranger."
"True, indeed! I used to fancy I saw spies or disguised gendarmes in all who approached me, and the least noise, nay, my own shadow, would sometimes frighten me out of my senses."
"And, for my part, if I perceived myself an object of notice to any person, I instantly supposed he was taking down the description of my person, and the blood would rush to my face with such impetuosity as to suffuse my eyeballs with a guilty blush."
"Little, indeed, are the pangs of remorse and the terrors of a guilty conscience guessed by those who are innocent of crime; for my own part, rather than endure them as I have done for years past, I would blow out my brains."
"I have two children, but if I thought they were likely to tread in the steps of their unhappy father, I would implore of their mother to strangle them."
"Ah, my friend! had we but employed half the care and reflection in doing well it has cost us to prosecute our wicked schemes, we might now be enjoying a very different lot, and anticipating far brighter prospects than those before us."
"Well, well! 'tis useless repining, I suppose it was our fate."
"Don't tell me that, there is no such thing as fate; we are the workers of our own destinies, depend upon it; and I do not seek such a weak excuse for my crimes; no, I acknowledge that to a love of bad company alone I may attribute my being the wretch I am: do you not remember how, after every fresh act of wickedness, I sought to drown the whispers of a reproachful conscience by drunken excess? I felt as though the weight of a mountain were upon me, and had I swallowed gallons it would have been insufficient to remove it."
"And, for my part, I used to feel as though I had a hot iron gnawing my very vitals; if I fell into a short sleep, a thousand devils seemed dancing around me; sometimes I fancied myself discovered in clothes dyed in blood, burying the corpse of a victim; or stopped whilst in the act of conveying it away on my shoulders: shuddering I have awoke, bathed in perspiration, wrung from me by the horrid visions of my tortured spirit; drops of agony, which might have been gathered in spoonsful, stood upon my aching brow; in vain have I sought by any change of position to taste a quiet sleep; turning upon my pillow, which seemed filled with thorns, even the pressure of my nightcap has appeared to my throbbing brain like the sharp points of an iron band, which drove its rugged teeth through my temples."
"Ah! I know well what all that is, I have felt as though a thousand needles were piercing every nerve."
"Possibly, what you have described, may be what is generally styled remorse."
"Remorse or not, it has been a fiery torment—a torment, M. Jules, which I am weary of;—I can bear it no longer, and it is time to end my misery. Some persons might owe you a grudge for the part you have acted towards us, but for my part I consider that you have done us a service; what say you, Raoul?
"Since our confession, I feel as though I were in paradise in comparison with my former sufferings. I know that we have a trying scene to go through, but our poor victims suffered as much at our hands, and it is but fair that we should serve as examples to others."
At the moment of separating from them, Raoul and Court begged of me to do them the kindness to come and see them directly they had received their sentence; this I promised, and I kept my word. Two days after they had been condemned to death, I went to them. When I entered their dungeon, they both uttered a cry of joy, and made its gloomy walls echo with the joyful welcome of their "liberator," as they termed me. They assured me that my visit afforded them the greatest pleasure they were capable of receiving, and entreated me to bestow on them one friendly embrace, in token of my forgiveness of their past, and satisfaction at their present, conduct. I had not the heart to refuse them. They were fastened to a camp bed, with their hands and feet heavily fettered. I advanced towards them, and they pressed me in their arms with all the warmth and enthusiasm with which the sincerest friends would welcome each other after a long separation. A friend of mine, who was present at this interview, experienced considerable alarm at seeing me in a manner entirely at the mercy of two assassins.
"Fear nothing," said I.
"No, no," exclaimed Raoul, "fear nothing, there is little chance of our wishing to injure our good friend M. Jules."
"M. Jules!" cried Court, "no, indeed, he is our only friend, and what is more, he does not forsake us now!"
As I was leaving them, I perceived two small books lying beside them, one of which was half open, and was entitled "Christian Meditations."
"You have been reading, my friends," said I, "is religion a favourite study with you?"
"Oh no," said Raoul, "I know very little about it; these books were left us this morning by a clergyman who has been to visit us. I have just opened them, and certainly if people would follow the precepts they contain, the world would be better than it now is."
"Yes, so I think," said Court, "I am beginning to see that religion is not such a humbug as I once thought it; depend upon it we were not sent into the world to live and die like brutes."
I congratulated the new converts upon the happy change which had taken place in them.
"Who would have thought, two months back," resumed Court, "that I should suffer myself to be noodled by a priest!"
"And you know," rejoined Raoul, "my contempt for them and their sermons, but when men stand in our present awful extremity, it becomes them to look well about them; not that death alarms me; I care as little for it, as I do for this cup of water. You will see whether I dread merely leaving this world, M. Jules."
"Ah yes!" said Court to me, "you must come."
"I will do so, I promise you."
"Honour."
"I pledge you my honour, I will be present."
The day appointed for the execution I repaired to Versailles, it was ten o'clock in the morning when I entered the prison, the two unhappy men were deeply engaged with their confessors. They no sooner perceived me, than precipitately rising, they approached me.
Raoul, (taking my hand.) "You do not know what pleasure the sight of you affords me, my friend; we were just preparing to leave this world with a clear conscience."
Myself. "Pray do not let me interfere with so sacred and important a duty."
Court. "You disturb us, M. Jules! surely you are jesting."
Raoul. "Our time draws to a close, we have but a poor ten minutes before us. (Turning to the ministers.) These gentlemen will excuse us."
Raoul's confessor. "Proceed, my son, proceed!"
Court. "There are but very few in the world like M. Jules; nevertheless he it was who caged us—but that is nothing."
Raoul. "If he had not done so, some one else would."
Court. "Yes, and some person, in all probability, who would not have treated us half so well."
Raoul. "Ah! M. Jules, I shall never forget all your kindness to me."
Court. "No friend could have done more."
Raoul. "And to come and witness the last concluding scene into the bargain."
Myself, (offering some snuff in the hope of changing the conversation.) "Come my friend, take a pinch, you will find it very good."
Raoul, (taking a hearty pinch.) "Not so bad; (he sneezes several times;) this is notice to quit, is it not M. Jules?"
Myself. "I fear you may, indeed, look upon it as such."
At this moment Raoul opened the box, which he had taken into his own hands, looked at it attentively, and offering it to Court, inquired his opinion of it. "It is a fine thing of the sort, is it not. Court? tell me of what material it is composed?"
Court, (turning away and shuddering.) "It is gold."
Raoul. "You are right to avert your eyes from the sight of that fatal metal, which has caused the ruin of man since its first introduction; alas! we are melancholy instances of the pernicious effects it has produced."
Court. "To say that for such trash we should draw down so much trouble and suffering upon ourselves; how much better had we devoted our time to honest labour. We had both of us excellent parents; what are we now but a disgrace to them and our families?"
Raoul. "That is not my greatest grief at this awful moment. Think of the gentlemen whose weasands we have cut! the unfortunate beings! my heart bitterly reproaches me for their sufferings."
Court, (embracing him.) "But you sincerely repent of your past offences, and are about to pay with your own life for those lives you have taken.—'He who sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed.' I think that was what the worthy father here was read-to me as M. Jules entered."
Court's confessor. "Come, my children, time is hastening on."
Raoul. "'Tis all in vain; the Supreme Being (if there really be one) can never pardon such guilty wretches as we are."
Court's confessor. "God's mercy is inexhaustible. Jesus Christ dying on the cross interceded with his father for the penitent thief."
Court. "May he be pleased to intercede for us likewise."
One of the confessors. "Raise your soul to God, my children, prostrate yourselves in humble prayer before him."
The two sufferers looked at me as if to discover what they ought to do. They appeared to fear my ridiculing any devotional feelings as the result of cowardice or weakness.
Myself. "Let no false shame prevent your obeying the reverend father."
Raoul, (to his comrade.) "My friend, let us recommend our souls to our Maker."
Both Raoul and Court kneeled down, and remained for about a quarter of an hour in that position. They seemed rather collected than absorbed. The clock struck half past eleven, they looked at each other, and both speaking together, exclaimed, "In half an hour it will be all over with us." As they pronounced these words they rose; I saw that they wished to speak with me, I therefore drew aside, and they approached me. "M. Jules," said Court, "we would beg a last favour in addition to those we already owe you."
"What is it? depend upon my readiness to perform whatever you may require."
"We have each of us a wife in Paris.—My kind wife! the thoughts of her breaks my heart—it overcomes me!"—tears filled his eyes, his voice became inarticulate, and he could not proceed.
"Come, Court," said Raoul, "what is the matter with you? Come, never play the baby; after all, you astonish me! can you be the brave fellow I took you for? Have not I a wife as well as you? Come, my boy, courage, courage!"
"'Tis over now," resumed Court, "what I had to say to M. Jules was respecting some commissions we would fain intrust him with for our poor widows."
I pledged my word for the exact fulfilment of their desires; and when they had made known their wishes, I renewed the assurance of their being strictly performed.
Raoul. "I was quite sure that you would not refuse us."
Court. "Ah, M. Jules, how can we hope to repay your kindness?"
Raoul. "If what our ghostly friend here asserts be true, we shall meet in another and a better world."
Myself. "I trust so; and sooner perhaps than we at present think for."
Court. "Ah, 'tis a journey that must be taken sooner or later. We are upon the eve of our departure."
Raoul. "M. Jules, is your watch correct?"
Myself. "I believe it is too fast." (I drew it from my pocket.)
Raoul. "Let us see—twelve o'clock."
Court. "The hour for our execution; heavens! how the time gallops on!"
Raoul. "Look, the large hand is just about to overtake the small one! We shall never be weary of talking with you, M. Jules, but still we must part;—here, take these prattlers, we have no further need of them." (The prattlers were the books I have before described.)
Court. "And these two crucifixes, take them also; they will at least serve to remind you of us."
A noise of carriages was heard, the two culprits turned pale.
Raoul. "It is a wise plan to repent of our sins, but what if I determine to die game?—No; let me not turn bravado as many have done, but meet my fate with the courage of a man, and the resignation of a sinner."
Court. "Well said, my friend, let us be firm, yet contrite."
The executioner arrived at the moment for ascending the fatal cart, and the sufferers bade me adieu.
"You have just embraced two death's heads," said Raoul, as he followed his friend.
The procession moved on towards the place of punishment. Raoul and Court were intently listening to their confessor, when, all at once, I saw them start;—a voice, never to be forgotten, had struck upon their ear; it was that of Fontaine, who, recovered from his wounds, had mingled with the spectators; animated by the spirit of vengeance, he abandoned himself to the most ferocious expressions of joy. Raoul recognised him, and casting a look towards me, full of contempt and pity for the unmanly exultation displayed by the man to whom he was making all the atonement in his power, he seemed to express that the presence of Fontaine was unpleasant and painful to him. As the vindictive butcher had taken his station close by me, I lost not an instant in compelling him to withdraw, and by a slight movement of the head, both Raoul and his companion testified their grateful sense of this attention to their wishes.
Court was first executed; even when he had ascended the scaffold his eye sought mine, as if to inquire whether I was satisfied with him. Raoul displayed equal firmness, he was in the very prime of life; twice did his head rebound upon the fatal plank, and the blood spirted out with so much violence as to cover the spectators even at the distance of twenty paces!
Such was the end of these two men, whose villany was less the effect of natural depravity than the consequence of having associated with dissolute characters, who in the very bosom of society form a distinct race, possessing their own principles, virtues, and vices. Raoul was only thirty-eight years of age, tall, active, agile, and vigorous; his eyebrows were high and arched, his eye small, lively, and of a sparkling black; his forehead, without being depressed, retreated backwards a little, and his ears, which stood out from his head, appeared as though grafted upon two protuberances, like the generality of the Italians, whom he likewise resembled in the olive tint of bis complexion. Court possessed one of those countenances which defy the rules of physiognomy; he had a half squint with one eye, and the whole of his features could be said to boast of neither a good nor a bad expression; unless the sharp angles and projecting cheek bones might be construed into an indication of ferocity. Probably these symptoms of a bloodthirsty disposition had developed themselves through the constant murders and other atrocious acts in which he was constantly engaged. Court was forty-five years of age, and from his youth had been continually involved in guilty courses;—to have gone on so long with impunity must have required a more than ordinary supply of boldness and cunning.
The commissions intrusted to me by the two murderers were of a nature to prove that their hearts were yet accessible to good feeling. I discharged them with punctuality; as to the presents which they made me, I have preserved them and can still show the books and the two crucifixes.
Pons Gérard, whom it was impossible to convict of the murder, was sentenced to perpetual hard labour.
END OF VOL. III.