Scenes from a Courtesan's Life [217]
spoken, the philosopher joined le Biffon and la Pouraille, and all three, greatly puzzled by the priest, walked down the yard, while Jacques Collin, lost in grief, came up it. Trompe-la-Mort, absorbed in terrible meditations, the meditations of a fallen emperor, did not think of himself as the centre of observation, the object of general attention, and he walked slowly, gazing at the fatal window where Lucien had hanged himself. None of the prisoners knew of this catastrophe, since, for reasons to be presently explained, the young forger had not mentioned the subject. The three pals agreed to cross the priest's path.
"He is no priest," said Fil-de-Soie; "he is an old stager. Look how he drags his right foot."
It is needful to explain here--for not every reader has had a fancy to visit the galleys--that each convict is chained to another, an old one and a young one always as a couple; the weight of this chain riveted to a ring above the ankle is so great as to induce a limp, which the convict never loses. Being obliged to exert one leg much more than the other to drag this fetter (manicle is the slang name for such irons), the prisoner inevitably gets into the habit of making the effort. Afterwards, though he no longer wears the chain, it acts upon him still; as a man still feels an amputated leg, the convict is always conscious of the anklet, and can never get over that trick of walking. In police slang, he "drags his right." And this sign, as well known to convicts among themselves as it is to the police, even if it does not help to identify a comrade, at any rate confirms recognition.
In Trompe-la Mort, who had escaped eight years since, this trick had to a great extent worn off; but just now, lost in reflections, he walked at such a slow and solemn pace that, slight as the limp was, it was strikingly evident to so practiced an eye as la Pouraille's. And it is quite intelligible that convicts, always thrown together, as they must be, and never having any one else to study, will so thoroughly have watched each other's faces and appearance, that certain tricks will have impressed them which may escape their systematic foes--spies, gendarmes, and police-inspectors.
Thus it was a peculiar twitch of the maxillary muscles of the left cheek, recognized by a convict who was sent to a review of the Legion of the Seine, which led to the arrest of the lieutenant-colonel of that corps, the famous Coignard; for, in spite of Bibi-Lupin's confidence, the police could not dare believe that the Comte Pontis de Sainte-Helene and Coignard were one and the same man.
"He is our boss" (dab or master) said Fil-de-Soie, seeing in Jacques Collin's eyes the vague glance a man sunk in despair casts on all his surroundings.
"By Jingo! Yes, it is Trompe-la-Mort," said le Biffon, rubbing his hands. "Yes, it is his cut, his build; but what has he done to himself? He looks quite different."
"I know what he is up to!" cried Fil-de-Soie; "he has some plan in his head. He wants to see the boy" (sa tante) "who is to be executed before long."
The persons known in prison as tantes or aunts may be best described in the ingenious words of the governor of one of the great prisons to the late Lord Durham, who, during his stay in Paris, visited every prison. So curious was he to see every detail of French justice, that he even persuaded Sanson, at that time the executioner, to erect the scaffold and decapitate a living calf, that he might thoroughly understand the working of the machine made famous by the Revolution. The governor having shown him everything--the yards, the workshops, and the underground cells--pointed to a part of the building, and said, "I need not take your Lordship there; it is the quartier des tantes."--"Oh," said Lord Durham, "what are they!"--"The third sex, my Lord."
"And they are going to scrag Theodore!" said la Pouraille, "such a pretty boy! And such a light hand! such cheek! What a loss to society!"
"Yes, Theodore Calvi is yamming his last meal," said le Biffon. "His trips will pipe their eyes, for the little
"He is no priest," said Fil-de-Soie; "he is an old stager. Look how he drags his right foot."
It is needful to explain here--for not every reader has had a fancy to visit the galleys--that each convict is chained to another, an old one and a young one always as a couple; the weight of this chain riveted to a ring above the ankle is so great as to induce a limp, which the convict never loses. Being obliged to exert one leg much more than the other to drag this fetter (manicle is the slang name for such irons), the prisoner inevitably gets into the habit of making the effort. Afterwards, though he no longer wears the chain, it acts upon him still; as a man still feels an amputated leg, the convict is always conscious of the anklet, and can never get over that trick of walking. In police slang, he "drags his right." And this sign, as well known to convicts among themselves as it is to the police, even if it does not help to identify a comrade, at any rate confirms recognition.
In Trompe-la Mort, who had escaped eight years since, this trick had to a great extent worn off; but just now, lost in reflections, he walked at such a slow and solemn pace that, slight as the limp was, it was strikingly evident to so practiced an eye as la Pouraille's. And it is quite intelligible that convicts, always thrown together, as they must be, and never having any one else to study, will so thoroughly have watched each other's faces and appearance, that certain tricks will have impressed them which may escape their systematic foes--spies, gendarmes, and police-inspectors.
Thus it was a peculiar twitch of the maxillary muscles of the left cheek, recognized by a convict who was sent to a review of the Legion of the Seine, which led to the arrest of the lieutenant-colonel of that corps, the famous Coignard; for, in spite of Bibi-Lupin's confidence, the police could not dare believe that the Comte Pontis de Sainte-Helene and Coignard were one and the same man.
"He is our boss" (dab or master) said Fil-de-Soie, seeing in Jacques Collin's eyes the vague glance a man sunk in despair casts on all his surroundings.
"By Jingo! Yes, it is Trompe-la-Mort," said le Biffon, rubbing his hands. "Yes, it is his cut, his build; but what has he done to himself? He looks quite different."
"I know what he is up to!" cried Fil-de-Soie; "he has some plan in his head. He wants to see the boy" (sa tante) "who is to be executed before long."
The persons known in prison as tantes or aunts may be best described in the ingenious words of the governor of one of the great prisons to the late Lord Durham, who, during his stay in Paris, visited every prison. So curious was he to see every detail of French justice, that he even persuaded Sanson, at that time the executioner, to erect the scaffold and decapitate a living calf, that he might thoroughly understand the working of the machine made famous by the Revolution. The governor having shown him everything--the yards, the workshops, and the underground cells--pointed to a part of the building, and said, "I need not take your Lordship there; it is the quartier des tantes."--"Oh," said Lord Durham, "what are they!"--"The third sex, my Lord."
"And they are going to scrag Theodore!" said la Pouraille, "such a pretty boy! And such a light hand! such cheek! What a loss to society!"
"Yes, Theodore Calvi is yamming his last meal," said le Biffon. "His trips will pipe their eyes, for the little