The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 5 of 6

The appearance of the prisoners, who were in this room on the day in question, offered great contrasts. Some were clad in wretched attire, others seemed to belong to the working class, and some to the wealthy citizen body. The same contrasts were remarkable amongst the visitors to the prisoners, who were nearly all women. The prisoners generally appear less downcast than the visitors, for, strange and sad to say, yet proved by experience, there is but little sorrow or shame left after the experience of three or four days spent in prison in society. Those who most dreaded this hideous community habituate themselves to it quickly; the contagion gains upon them. Surrounded by degraded beings, hearing only the language of infamy, a kind of ferocious rivalry excites them; and, either to emulate their companions in the struggle for brutalism, or to make themselves giddy by the usual drunkenness, the newcomers almost invariably display as much depravity and recklessness as the habitués of the prison.

Let us return to the reception-room. Notwithstanding the noisy hum of a great many conversations carried on in undertones on each side of the divisions, prisoners and visitors, after some experience, are able to converse with each other without being for a moment disturbed by, or attentive to, the conversation of their neighbours, which creates a kind of secrecy in the midst of this noisy interchange of words, each being compelled to hear the individual who addressed him, but not to hear a word of what was said around him.

Amongst the prisoners called into the reception-room by visitors, the one the farthest off from the turnkey was Nicholas Martial. To the extreme depression with which he was seized on his apprehension, had succeeded the most brazen assurance. Already the detestable and contagious influence of a prison in common bore its fruits. No doubt, had he been at once conveyed to a solitary cell, this wretch, still under the influence of his first terror, and alone with the thought of his crimes, fearful of impending punishment, might have experienced, if not repentance, at least that wholesome dread from which nothing would have distracted him.

And who knows what incessant, compulsory meditation may produce on a guilty mind, reflecting on the crimes committed and the punishment that is to follow? Far from this, thrown into the midst of a horde of bandits, in whose eyes the least sign of repentance is cowardice, – or, rather, treason, – which they make him dearly expiate; for, in their savage obduracy, their senseless bravado, they consider every man as a spy on them, who, sad and disconsolate, regretting his fault, does not join in their audacious recklessness, and trembles at their contact. Thrown into the midst of these miscreants, Nicholas Martial, who had for a long time, by report, known the prison manners, overcame his weakness, and wished to appear worthy of a name already celebrated in the annals of robbery and murder.

Several old offenders had known his father, who had been executed, and others his brother, who was at the galleys; he was received and instantly patronised by these veterans in crime with savage interest. This fraternal reception between murderer and murderer elevated the widow's son; the praises bestowed on the hereditary infamy of his family intoxicated him. Soon forgetting, in this horrible mood, the future that threatened him, he only remembered his past crimes to glory in them, and elevate himself still higher in the eyes of his companions. The expression of Nicholas's physiognomy was then as insolent as that of his visitor was disturbed and alarmed.

This visitor was Daddy Micou, the receiver and lodging-house keeper in the Passage de la Brasserie, into whose abode Madame de Fermont and her daughter, victims of Jacques Ferrand's cupidity, had been compelled to retreat. Father Micou knew the penalties to which he was amenable for having many a time and oft obtained at low prices the fruits of the robberies of Nicholas and many others of his stamp. The widow's son being apprehended, the receiver felt he was almost at the mercy of the ruffian, who might impeach him as a regular buyer. Although this accusation could not be supported by flagrant proofs, still it was not the less dangerous, the less dreaded by Daddy Micou, and he had thus instantly obeyed the orders which Nicholas had transmitted to him by a discharged prisoner.

"Ah, ah! how goes it, Daddy Micou?" said the brigand.

"At your service, my good fellow," replied the receiver, eagerly. "As soon as I saw the person you sent to me, I directly – "

"Oh, you are becoming ceremonious, daddy!" said Nicholas, with impatience. "Why is this, because I'm in trouble?"

"No, no, my lad, – no, no!" replied the receiver, who was not anxious to seem on terms of familiarity with this ruffian.

"Come, come, be as familiar as usual, or I shall think you have forgotten our intimacy, and that would break my heart."

"Well, well," said Micou, with a groan, "I directly went about your little commissions."

"That's all right, daddy. I knew well enough that you would not forget your friends. And my tobacco?"

"I have left two pounds at the lodge, my boy."

"Is it good?"

"Cannot be better."

"And the knuckle of ham?"

"Left at the lodge, also, with a four-pound white loaf; and I have added something that will surprise you, in the shape of a dozen hard eggs and a Dutch cheese."

"This is what I call doing the thing like a friend! And the wine?"

"Six bottles of capital. But, you know, you will only have one bottle a day."

"Well, that can't be helped, and so one must make up one's mind to it."

"I hope you are satisfied with me, my boy?"

"Certain, and I shall be so again, and for ever, Father Micou; for the ham, the cheese, the eggs, and the wine will only last just so long as it takes to swallow them; but, as a friend of mine remarked, when they are gone there'll be more where they came from, thanks to you, who will always do the handsome thing so long as I do the same."

"What! You expect – "

"That in two or three days you will renew my little stock, daddy dear."

"Devil burn me if I do! It's all very good for once – "

"For once! What d'ye mean, man? Why, ham and wine are always good, you know that very well."

"Certainly, but I have not undertaken to feed you in delicacies."

"Oh, Daddy Micou, that's shabby – indecent. What, refuse me ham! One who has so often brought you 'double tresse' (stolen lead)!"

"Hush, hush! You mischievous fellow," cried the alarmed receiver.

"No, I'll put the question to the big-wig (the judge). I'll say to him, only imagine now, sir, that Daddy Micou – "

"Hush, hush!" exclaimed the receiver, seeing with equal alarm and anger that Nicholas was much disposed to abuse the influence which their guilty companionship gave him. "I'll agree – I will renew your provision when it is consumed."

"That's all right, and what's fair. And you mustn't forget, too, to send some coffee to mother and Calabash, who are at St. Lazare; they like a cup in a morning, and they'll miss it."

"What more? Would you ruin me, you extortionate fellow?"

"Oh, just as you like, Daddy Micou, – don't say another word, but I shall ask the big-wig – "

"Well, then, they shall have the coffee," said the receiver, interrupting him. "But devil take you! Accursed be the day when I first knew you!"

"Old boy, I say quite the contrary. I am delighted to have your valuable acquaintance at this particular moment. I revere you as a nursing father."

"I hope you have nothing more to ask of me?" said Micou, with bitterness.

"Yes; say to my mother and sister that, if I was frightened when they apprehended me, I am no longer so, but as determined as they two are."

"I'll say so. Anything more?"

"Stay another moment or two. I forgot to ask you for a couple of pairs of warm woollen stockings, – you'd be sorry if I caught cold, shouldn't you?"

"I should be glad if you were dead."

"Thank ye, daddy, thank ye! But that pleasure is yet to come, and to-day I'm alive and kicking, and inclined to take things easy. If they serve me as they did my father, at least I shall have enjoyed my life while it lasted."

"It's a nice life, yours is!"

"Superb! Since I have been here I've enjoyed myself like a king. If we had lamps and fireworks, they would have lighted them up, and fired them off in my honour, when they knew I was the son of the famous Martial who was guillotined."

"How affecting! What a glorious parentage!"

"Why, d'ye see, there are many dukes and marquises. Why, then, shouldn't we have our nobility, too? – such as us!" said the ruffian, with bitter irony.

"To be sure, and Charlot (the headsman) will give you your letters of nobility on the Place du Palais."

"You may be sure it won't be the gaol chaplain. But in prison we should have the nobility of top-sawyers (noted robbers) to be thought much of; if not, you are looked upon as nobody at all. You should only see how they behave to those who are not tip-tops and give themselves airs. Now there's in here a chap called Germain, a young fellow, who appears disgusted with us, and seems to despise us all. Let him take care of his hide! He's a sulky hound, and they say he is a 'nose' (a spy); if he is, they'll screw his nose around, just by way of warning."

"Germain? A young man called Germain?"