Scenes from a Courtesan's Life [215]
In fact, no one had any hold over these Great Pals. His comrades trusted him by compulsion, for the hunted life led by convicts necessitates the most delicate confidence between the gentry of this crew of savages. So Jacques Collin, a defaulter for a hundred thousand crowns, might now possibly be quit for a hundred thousand francs. At this moment, as we see, la Pouraille, one of Jacques Collin's creditors, had but ninety days to live. And la Pouraille, the possessor of a sum vastly greater, no doubt, than that placed in his pal's keeping, would probably prove easy to deal with.
One of the infallible signs by which prison governors and their agents, the police and warders, recognize old stagers (chevaux de retour), that is to say, men who have already eaten beans (les gourganes, a kind of haricots provided for prison fare), is their familiarity with prison ways; those who have been IN before, of course, know the manners and customs; they are at home, and nothing surprises them.
And Jacques Collin, thoroughly on his guard, had, until now, played his part to admiration as an innocent man and stranger, both at La Force and at the Conciergerie. But now, broken by grief, and by two deaths--for he had died twice over during that dreadful night--he was Jacques Collin once more. The warder was astounded to find that the Spanish priest needed no telling as to the way to the prison-yard. The perfect actor forgot his part; he went down the corkscrew stairs in the Tour Bonbec as one who knew the Conciergerie.
"Bibi-Lupin is right," said the turnkey to himself; "he is an old stager; he is Jacques Collin."
At the moment when Trompe-la-Mort appeared in the sort of frame to his figure made by the door into the tower, the prisoners, having made their purchases at the stone table called after Saint-Louis, were scattered about the yard, always too small for their number. So the newcomer was seen by all of them at once, and all the more promptly, because nothing can compare for keenness with the eye of a prisoner, who in a prison-yard feels like a spider watching in its web. And this comparison is mathematically exact; for the range of vision being limited on all sides by high dark walls, the prisoners can always see, even without looking at them, the doors through which the warders come and go, the windows of the parlor, and the stairs of the Tour Bonbec-- the only exits from the yard. In this utter isolation every trivial incident is an event, everything is interesting; the tedium--a tedium like that of a tiger in a cage--increases their alertness tenfold.
It is necessary to note that Jacques Collin, dressed like a priest who is not strict as to costume, wore black knee breeches, black stockings, shoes with silver buckles, a black waistcoat, and a long coat of dark-brown cloth of a certain cut that betrays the priest whatever he may do, especially when these details are completed by a characteristic style of haircutting. Jacques Collin's wig was eminently ecclesiastical, and wonderfully natural.
"Hallo!" said la Pouraille to le Biffon, "that's a bad sign! A rook! (sanglier, a priest). How did he come here?"
"He is one of their 'narks' " (trucs, spies) "of a new make," replied Fil-de-Soie, "some runner with the bracelets" (marchand de lacets-- equivalent to a Bow Street runner) "looking out for his man."
The gendarme boasts of many names in French slang; when he is after a thief, he is "the man with the bracelets" (marchand de lacets); when he has him in charge, he is a bird of ill-omen (hirondelle de la Greve); when he escorts him to the scaffold, he is "groom to the guillotine" (hussard de la guillotine).
To complete our study of the prison-yard, two more of the prisoners must be hastily sketched in. Selerier, alias l'Auvergnat, alias le Pere Ralleau, called le Rouleur, alias Fil-de-Soie--he had thirty names, and as many passports--will henceforth be spoken of by this name only, as he was called by no other among the swell-mob. This profound philosopher, who saw a spy in the sham priest, was a brawny fellow
One of the infallible signs by which prison governors and their agents, the police and warders, recognize old stagers (chevaux de retour), that is to say, men who have already eaten beans (les gourganes, a kind of haricots provided for prison fare), is their familiarity with prison ways; those who have been IN before, of course, know the manners and customs; they are at home, and nothing surprises them.
And Jacques Collin, thoroughly on his guard, had, until now, played his part to admiration as an innocent man and stranger, both at La Force and at the Conciergerie. But now, broken by grief, and by two deaths--for he had died twice over during that dreadful night--he was Jacques Collin once more. The warder was astounded to find that the Spanish priest needed no telling as to the way to the prison-yard. The perfect actor forgot his part; he went down the corkscrew stairs in the Tour Bonbec as one who knew the Conciergerie.
"Bibi-Lupin is right," said the turnkey to himself; "he is an old stager; he is Jacques Collin."
At the moment when Trompe-la-Mort appeared in the sort of frame to his figure made by the door into the tower, the prisoners, having made their purchases at the stone table called after Saint-Louis, were scattered about the yard, always too small for their number. So the newcomer was seen by all of them at once, and all the more promptly, because nothing can compare for keenness with the eye of a prisoner, who in a prison-yard feels like a spider watching in its web. And this comparison is mathematically exact; for the range of vision being limited on all sides by high dark walls, the prisoners can always see, even without looking at them, the doors through which the warders come and go, the windows of the parlor, and the stairs of the Tour Bonbec-- the only exits from the yard. In this utter isolation every trivial incident is an event, everything is interesting; the tedium--a tedium like that of a tiger in a cage--increases their alertness tenfold.
It is necessary to note that Jacques Collin, dressed like a priest who is not strict as to costume, wore black knee breeches, black stockings, shoes with silver buckles, a black waistcoat, and a long coat of dark-brown cloth of a certain cut that betrays the priest whatever he may do, especially when these details are completed by a characteristic style of haircutting. Jacques Collin's wig was eminently ecclesiastical, and wonderfully natural.
"Hallo!" said la Pouraille to le Biffon, "that's a bad sign! A rook! (sanglier, a priest). How did he come here?"
"He is one of their 'narks' " (trucs, spies) "of a new make," replied Fil-de-Soie, "some runner with the bracelets" (marchand de lacets-- equivalent to a Bow Street runner) "looking out for his man."
The gendarme boasts of many names in French slang; when he is after a thief, he is "the man with the bracelets" (marchand de lacets); when he has him in charge, he is a bird of ill-omen (hirondelle de la Greve); when he escorts him to the scaffold, he is "groom to the guillotine" (hussard de la guillotine).
To complete our study of the prison-yard, two more of the prisoners must be hastily sketched in. Selerier, alias l'Auvergnat, alias le Pere Ralleau, called le Rouleur, alias Fil-de-Soie--he had thirty names, and as many passports--will henceforth be spoken of by this name only, as he was called by no other among the swell-mob. This profound philosopher, who saw a spy in the sham priest, was a brawny fellow