Memoirs of Vidocq, Volume III/Chapter 35

by Eugène François Vidocq

CHAPTER XXXV.

The newsmongers of mishaps—The echo of the street of Jerusalem and the circumjacent places—Nothing but "Vidocq"—The Athenians and Aristides—Ostracism and shells—The cat's paw-I create robbers—The two Guillotins—The cloaca of Desnoyers—Chaos and creation—Monsieur Double-croche and the chicken-coop—A genteel appearance—The supreme bon ton—War with the greenhorns—Le Cadran bleu de la Canaille—A well-compacted society—The Orientalists and the Argonauts—The mutton of the salt-marshes—The cat's tail—The quids and the Chabut—Riboulet and Manon la Blonde—The triumphal entry—The little black father—Two ballads—Hospitality—The college friend—The Children of the Sun.

I ask pardon of the reader for having expatiated at so much length on my own tribulations and the petty spite of my agents: I could well desire to have spared him a chapter which only concerns my reputation; but, before I proceeded, I was anxious to show that it is not adways right to give ear to the tales of enemies. What have not the spies, the robbers, and the pickpockets endeavoured by every means in their power, as well as many others, to get me dismissed from the police?

"Such a one is grabbed," said a knight of the post to his wife, on returning at evening to his lair.

"Impossible!"

"No, by heaven 'tis as I tell you."

"By whom?"

"Why need you ask T by that ——— Vidocq."

Two of those gossips so numerous on the pavé of Paris meet;—

"Have you heard the news? Poor Harrison is at La Force."

"Monsieur, you are joking."

"I wish it was a joke; he was just ready to receive a quantity of merchandise. I should have had my commission; well! the devil mingled in the dance, just as he had received the notice of delivery he was apprehended."

"And by whom?"

"By Vidocq."

"The wretch!"

A capture of the highest importance was announced at the police-office; If I had seized any great criminal, of whom the most cunning agents had a hundred times lost scent, instantly all the flies began buzzing, "It is that cursed Vidocq who has nabbed him at last." It was then that recrimination followed recrimination without end: along the streets of Jerusalem and Sainte-Anne, from cabaret to cabaret, echo repeated in the accents of malice, "Vidocq again! always Vidocq!" and this name sounded more harshly in the ears of the cabal, than did that of the Just on the ears of the ancient Athenians, as applied to Aristides.

How great would have been the happiness of the gangs of robbers, vagabonds, and spies, if, expressly to offer them a chance of getting rid of me, they had revived the old law of Ostracism! How shells would then have accumulated! But, except by plots like those from which M. Coco and his accomplices expected so fortunate a result, what could they do? In the hive they silenced the drones. "Look at Vidocq," said the chief, "take example from him; what activity he exerts! always on the alert, day and night, he never sleeps; with four such men as he, the safety of the capital would be ensured."

These encomiums irritated the sluggards, but they did not follow the advice given: if they were awake, they always had a glass in their hands; and instead of going on wings to the place where duty summoned, they formed themselves into small parties, and amused themselves by picking my coat to pieces.

"No, it is not possible," said one, "to take these expert cracksmen, unless he has some understanding with them."

"Parbleu!" replied another, "he sets them on, and makes a cat's-paw ——".

"Oh, he is a malicious brute," added a third.

Then a fourth, placing a copestone upon the whole, cried out with a stentorian voice, "When there are no robbers, he makes them."

Now, see how I made robbers.

I do not think that amongst the readers of these Memoirs one will be found who, even by chance, has set foot at Guillotin's.

"Eh! what?" some one will exclaim, "Guillotin!"

Ce savant médecin
Que l’amour du prochain
Fit mourir de chagrin.

"You are mistaken, we all know the celebrated doctor, who——;" but the Guillotin of whom I am speaking is an unsophisticated adulterator of wines, whose establishment, well known to the most degraded classes of robbers, is situate opposite to the Cloaque Desnoyers, which the raff of the Barrière call the drawing-room of la Courtille. A workman may be honest to a certain extent and venture in, en passant, to papa Desnoyers'. If he be awake, and keep his eye on the company, although a row should commence, he may, by the aid of the gendarmes, escape with only a few blows, and pay no one's scot but his own. At Guillotin's he will not come off so well, particularly if his toggery be over spruce, and his pouch has chink in it.

Picture to yourself, reader, a square room of considerable magnitude, the walls of which, once white, have been blackened by every species of exhalation. Such is, in all its simple modesty, the aspect of a temple consecrated to the worship of Bacchus and Terpsichore. At first, by a very natural optical illusion, we are struck by the confined space before us, but the eye, after a time, piercing through the thick atmosphere of a thousand vapours which are most inodorous, the extent becomes visible by details which escape in the first chaotic glimpse. It is the moment of creation, all is bright, the fog disappears, becomes peopled, is animated, forms appear, they move, they are agitated, they are no illusory shadows, but, on the contrary, essentially material, which cross and recross at every moment. What beatitudes! what a joyous life! Never, even for the Epicureans, were so many felicities assembled together. Those who like to wallow in filth, can find it here to their hearts content: many seated at tables, on which, without ever being wiped away, are renewed a hundred times a day the most disgusting libations, close in a square space reserved for what they call the dancers. At the further end of this infected cave there is, supported by four worm-eaten pillars, a sort of alcove, constructed from broken-up ship-timber, which is graced by the appearance of two or three rags of old tapestry. It is on this chicken coop that the music is perched: two clarinets, a hurdy-gurdy, a cracked trumpet, and a grumbling bassoon—five instruments whose harmonious movements are regulated by the crutch of Monsieur Double-Croche, a lame dwarf, who is called the leader of the orchestra. Here all is in harmony—the faces, costumes, the food that is prepared; a genteel appearance is scouted. There is no closet in which walking-sticks, umbrellas, and cloaks are deposited; the women have their hair all in confusion like a poodle dog, and the kerchief perched on the top of the head, or in a knot tied in front, with the corners in a rosette, or, if you prefer it, a cockade, which threatens the eye in the same manner as those of the country mules. As for the men, it is a waistcoat with a cap and falling collar, if they have a shirt, which is the regulated costume; breeches are not insisted on; the supreme bon ton would be an artilleryman's cap, the frock of an hussar, the pantaloon of a lancer, the boots of a guardsman, in fact the cast-off attire of three or four regiments, or the wardrobe of a field of battle; and there is no out and outer thus attired but is the fancy man of these ladies, who adore the cavalry, and have a decided taste for the dress of the whole army; but nothing so much pleases them as mustachios, and a broad red cap adorned with leather of the same colour.

In this assembly, a beaver hat, unless napless and brimless, would be very rare; no one ever remembers to have seen a coat there, and should any one dare to present himself in a great coat, unless a family man, he would be sure to depart skirtless, or only in his waistcoat. In vain would he ask pardon for those flaps which had offended the eyes of the noble assembly; too happy would he be if, after having been bandied and knocked about with the utmost unanimity as a greenhorn, only one skirt should be left in the hands of these youthful beauties, who, in the fervour of gaiety, rather roar out than sing these characteristic words:—

Laissez-moi donc, j'veux m'en aller
Tout débiné z'a la Courtille.
Laissez-moi donc, j'veux m'en aller
Tout débiné chez Desnoyers!

Desnoyers' is the Cadran bleu de la Canaille, (the resort of the lower orders;) but before stepping over the threshold of the cabaret of Guillotin, even the canaille themselves look twice, as in this repository are only to be seen prostitutes with their bullies, pick-pockets and thieves of all classes, some prigs of the lowest grade, and many of those nocturnal marauders who divide their existence into two parts, consecrating it to the duties of theft and riot. It may be supposed that slang is the only language of this delightful society: it is generally in French, but so perverted from its primitive signification, that there is not a member of the distinguished "company of forty" who can flatter himself with a full knowledge of it, and yet the "dons of Guillotin's" have their purists: those who assert that slang took its rise in the East, and without thinking for a moment of disputing their talent as Orientalists, they take that title to themselves without any ceremony; as also that of Argonauts, when they have completed their studies under the direction of the galley-serjeants, in working, in the port of Toulon, the dormant navigation on board a vessel in dock. If notes were pleasing to me, I could here seize the opportunity of making some very learned remarks. I should, perhaps, go into a profound disquisition, but I am about to paint the paradise of these bacchanalians; the colours are prepared,—let us finish the picture.

If they drink at Guillotin's they eat also, and the mysteries of the kitchen of this place of delights are well worthy of being known. The little father Guillotin has no butcher, but he has a purveyor; and in his brass stewpans, the verdigrise of which never poisons, the dead horse is transformed into beef à-la-mode; the thighs of the dead dogs found in Rue Guénegaud become legs of mutton from the salt-marshes; and the magic of a piquant sauce gives to the staggering bob (dead born veal) of the cow-feeder the appetizing look of that of Pontoise. We are told that the cheer in winter is excellent, when the rot prevails; and if ever (during M. Delaveau's administration) bread were scarce in summer during the "massacre of the innocents," mutton was to be had here at a very cheap rate.

In this country of metamorphoses the hare never had the right of citizenship; it was compelled to yield to the rabbit, and the rabbit—how happy the rats are!

"O fortunati nimium—si nôrint."

It was the Domine of St. Mandé who taught me this quotation; he told me it was Latin, perhaps it may be Greek or Hebrew;—no matter, I leave it, come what may, to the will of God; but still, if the rats could ever have seen what I have seen, unless they had been an ingrate and perverse race, they would have opened a subscription for the erection of a statue to the Liberator, little father Guillotin.

One evening, led by my inclination, which a good Frenchman always follows, I went out; in my road I accidentally pushed against a door, it gave way, and, by the freshness of the air, I found I was in a court; the place was propitious, and I groped along, until I made a trip over some paving stones which had been left in the way. I stretched out my arms to recover myself, and whilst with one hand I grasped hold of a post, I seized with the other something very soft and very long. I was in darkness, but fancied I saw several sparks shining, and by the touch I thought I recognised a certain velvet appendage of a quadruped's vertebral column. I kept hold of a bunch of it, and drawing it through my hand, there remained a packet of spoils, with which I entered the room at the very moment when M. Double-Croche, pointing out the figures to the dancers, was howling out "la queue du chat."

It needs not to be asked how very à propos this was; there was throughout the assembly a general mewing, but it was only a joke; the lovers of fricassee mewed like the rest, and, after having taken their caps off, they said, "Come on, here is the good stuff! Covered by cat-skin, and fed on cats, we shall not soon be in want; the mother of tom-cats is not yet dead."

Father Guillotin consumed generally more oil than cotton, but I can, nevertheless, affirm, that, in my time, some banquets have been spread at his cabaret, which, subtracting the liquids, could not have cost more at the café Riche or at Grignon's. I remember six individuals, named Driancourt, Vilattes, Pitroux, and three others, who found means to spend 166 francs there in one night. In fact, each of them had with him his favourite bella. The citizen no doubt pretty well fleeced them, but they did not complain, and that quarter of an hour which Rabelais had so much difficulty in passing, caused them no trouble; they paid like grandees, without forgetting the waiter. I apprehended them whilst they were paying the bill, which they had not even taken the trouble of examining. Thieves are generous when they are caught "i' the vein." They had just committed many considerable robberies, which they are now repenting in the bagnes of France.

It can scarcely be believed that in the centre of civilization, there can exist a den so hideous as the cave of Guillotin; it must be seen, as I have seen it, to be believed. Men or women all smoked as they danced, the pipe passed from mouth to mouth, and the most refined gallantry that could be offered to the nymphs who came to this rendezvous, to display their graces in the postures and attitudes of the indecent Chahut, was, to offer them the pruneau, that is, the quid of tobacco, submitted or not, according to the degree of familiarity, to the test of a previous mastication. The peace-officers and inspectors were characters too greatly distinguished to appear amongst such an assemblage, they kept themselves most scrupulously aloof, to avoid so repugnant a contact; I myself was much disgusted with it, but at the same time was persuaded, that to discover and apprehend malefactors it would not do to wait until they should come and throw themselves into my arms; I therefore determined to seek them out, and that my searches might not be fruitless, I endeavoured to find out their haunts, and then, like a fisherman who has found a preserve, I cast my line out with a certainty of a bite. I did not lose my time in searching for a needle in a bottle of hay, as the saying is; when we lack water, it is useless to go to the source of a dried-up stream and wait for a shower of rain; but to quit all metaphor, and speak plainly,—the spy who really means to ferret out the robbers, ought, as much as possible, to dwell amongst them, that he may grasp at every opportunity which presents itself of drawing down upon their heads the sentence of the laws. Upon this principle I acted, and this caused my recruits to say that I made men robbers; I certainly have, in this way, made a vast many, particularly on my first connection with the police.

On a particular afternoon of the winter of 1811, I had a presentiment that a visit to Guillotin's would not be without its results. Without being superstitious, I know not why, I have always followed these inspirations; I put my wardrobe in requisition, and, after having suited myself so as not to bear any appearance of being a greenhorn, I left my house with another secret agent, named Riboulet, a downy cove, (arsouille consommé,) whom all the houris of the boozing ken (quinche) claimed as their chevalier, as did also the milliners' girls, who considered him as a complete kiddy. For such an excursion, a woman was an indispensable portion of the baggage, and Riboulet had one who just suited us; she passed as his mistress, and was a common woman, called Manon la Blonde, on whom he assured me that reliance could be placed. In two seconds she rent her woollen stockings in twenty places, tore the edges of her red cloak, begrimed her shawl, trod her shoes down at heel, dishevelled her locks, and gave to the kerchief with which she graced her brows that indescribable appearance which was necessary. She was highly delighted with the character she had to perform.

Thus attired and prepared, we set out together, arm-in-arm, towards la Courtille. On reaching the cabaret, we seated ourselves at a table in the corner, that we might the more easily watch whatever should pass. Riboulet was one of those men whose very appearance commanded instant attention: he had not spoken nor had I, but yet we were instantly attended to.

"You see," said he, "the cove knows the time o'day, the lush (wine), meat, and salad."

I asked if we could not have a matelote of eels.

"Snakes," cried Manon, "do you want; cag-mag and snivellers (stinking meat and onions) would be as good."

I said no more, and we began to eat with as much appetite as if we had never been initiated into the mysteries of papa Guillotines cookery.

During the repast, a noise at the door attracted our attention. It proceeded from some conquerors who made their triumphal entry: men and women six in number, forming three couples of individuals whose "human face divine" was most tremendously disfigured: they all had scratched countenances and black eyes; by the bloody disorder of their attire, and the freshness of their dilapidations in face and garments, it was easy to perceive that they were the heroes of some spree, in which on both sides the quarrel had been decided by fisty-cuffs. They approached our table.

One of the Heroes. "By your leave, my trumps, is there room for us on this here seat?"

I. "We shall be squeezed a little, but never mind." (making room.)

Riboulet (addressing me.) "Come, my covey, make room for the gentlemen."

Manon (to the fresh arrivals.) "Are these ladies with you?"

One of the Heroines. "Vat is it you say? (turning to her friends,) vat does she say?"

Her Pal. "Hold your jaw, Titine, (Celestine,) the lady said nothing to affront you."

The whole party seated themselves.

A Hero. "Halloo! come here daddy Guillotin; a little black father, four year old, for eight mag." (A four quart jug for eight sous.)

Guillotin. "Coming, coming."

The Waiter (with the jug in his hand.) Thirty-two mag, if you please."

"I'll give you two and thirty kicks of the ——, you're chaffing us my rum 'un.

Waiter. "No, my knowing ones, but it's the custom, or, if you like, the way of this here house."

The wine was poured into all the glasses, and they also filled ours. "Excuse the liberty," said the Ganymede of the party.

"Oh, there's no harm done," replied Riboulet.

"You know one politeness requires another."

"But you are too polite."

"Oh no, drink away, nunky pays for all."

"You are right, my boys, so push the wine about."

We did push it about, and so well that about ten o'clock in the evening all the sympathy left between us was manifested by protestations, sight being lost; and by those explosions of drunken tenderness which develope all the infirmities of the human heart.

When the hour of parting had arrived, our new acquaintances, and particularly the softer sex, were completely drunk. Riboulet and his mistress were only somewhat elevated, as well as myself; they had preserved their senses, but to appear all in unison we pretended to be so tipsy as to be unable to walk; formed into a phalanx, because in that way the gusts of wind are less to be feared, we left the theatre of our pleasures. Then, that we might neutralize, by the aid of a chant, the reeling tendencies of our troop, Riboulet, with a voice whose echoes vibrated in every court and alley, began to sing, in the most finished slang of his time, one of those ballads with a chorus, which are as long as to-day and to-morrow.

En roulant de vergne en vergne^[1]
Pour apprendre à goupiner,^[2]
J'ai rencontre la mercandière,^[3]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Qui du pivois solisait,^[4]
Lonfa malura dondé.

J'ai rencontré la mercandière,
Qui du pivois solisait.
Je lui jaspine en bigorne,^[5]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Qu'as-tu donc à morfiller?^[6]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Je lui jaspine en bigorne
Qu'as-tu donc à morfiller?
J'ai du chenu pivois sans lance^[7]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Et du larton savonné,^[8]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Ja'i du chenu pivois sans lance
Et du larton savonné
Une lourde, une tournante^[9]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Et un pieu pour roupiller^[10]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Une lourde, une tournante
Et un pieu pour roupiller,
J'enquille dans sa cambriole^[11]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Espérant de l'entifler^[12]
Lonfa malura dondé.

J'enquille dans sa cambriole
Espérant de l’entifler
Je rembroque au coin du rifle^[13]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Un messière qui pionçait^[14]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Je rembroque au coin du rifle
Un messière qui pionçait;
J'ai sondé dans ses vallades,^[15]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Son carle j'ai pessigué^[16]
Lonfa malura dondé.

J'ai sondé dans ses vallades,
Son carle j'ai pessigué
Son carle, aussi sa tocquante^[17]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Et ses attaches de cé^[18]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Son carle, aussi sa tocquante
Et ses attaches de cé,
Son coulant et sa montante^[19]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Et son combre galuché^[20]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Son coulant et sa montante
Et son combre galuché,
Son frusque, aussi sa lisette^[21]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Et ses tirants brodanchés^[22]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Son frusque, aussi sa lisette
Et ses tirants brodanchés,
Crompe, crompe, mercandière^[23]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Car nous nous serions bequillés^[24]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Crompe, crompe, mercandière,
Car nous serions bequillés
Sur la placarde de vergne^[25]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Il nous faudrait gambiller^[26]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Sur la placarde de vergne
Il nous faudrait gambiller
Allumés de toutes ces largues^[27]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Et du trepe rassemblé^[28]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Allumés de toutes ces largues
Et du trepe rassemblé,
Et de ces charlats bons drilles,^[29]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Tous aboulant goupiner^[30]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Riboulet having been safely delivered of his fourteen couplets, Manon la Blonde was desirous of evincing the powers of her lungs. "Now for another!" said she; "attend to one I learnt at Lazarre; open your listenere, and repeat after me."

Un jour à la Croix-Rouge
Nous étions dix à douze.

(She interrupted herself with "just as we now are.")

Nous étions dix à douze
Tous grinches de renom,^[31]
Nous attendions la sorgue^[32]
Voulant poisser des boques^[33]
Pour faire du billon.^[34] (bis)

Partage ou non partage
Tout est à notre usage;
N'épargnons le poitou^[35]
Poissons avec adresse^[36]
Messières et gonzesses^[37]
Sans faire de regout.^[38] (bis)

Dessus le pout au change
Certain argent-de-change
Se criblait au charron,^[39]
J'engantai sa toquante^[40]
Ses attaches brillantes^[41]
Arec ses billemonts.^[42] (bis)

Quand douze plombes crossent,^[43]
Ses pegres s'en retournant^[44]
Au tapis de Montron^[45]
Montron ouvre ta lourde,^[46]
Si tu veux que j'aboule,^[47]
Et piausse en ton bocsin.^[48] (bis)

Montron drogue à sa larque,^[49]
Bonnis-moi donc girofle^[50]
Qui sont ces pegres-là?^[51]
Des grinchisseurs de bogues,^[52]
Esquinteur de boutoques,^[53]
Les connobres tu pas?^[54] (bis)

Et vite ma culbute;^[55]
Quand je vois mon affure^[56]
Je suis toujours paré^[57]
Du plus grand cœur du monde
Je vais à la profonde^[58]
Pour vous donner du frais. (bis)

Mais déjà la patrarque,^[59]
Au clair de la moucharde,^[60]
Nous reluque de loin.^[61]
L'aventure est étrange,
C'était l'argent-de-change,
Que suivait les roussins.^[62] (bis)

A des fois l'on rigole^[63]
Ou bien l'on pavillonne^[64]
Qu'on devrait lansquiner^[65]
Raille, griviers, et cognes^[66]
Nous ont pour la cigogne^[67]
Tretons marrons paumés.^[68] (bis)

This chorus, which we took up, as it were, from Manon's mouth, before she had finished uttering them, was repeated eight or ten times, in a manner which almost broke the windows of the house about us. After this burst of bacchanalian hilarity, the first fumes of wine, which are usually most potent, beginning somewhat to dissipate, we entered into conversation. The chapter of confidences, according to custom, opened by interrogatories. I did not require to be much questioned, but went beyond the communications which they desired to know: a stranger in Paris, I had only known Riboulet in prison at Valenciennes, when he was sent back to his regiment as a deserter; he was a college chum, (a fellow-prisoner,) whom I had met again. As to the rest, I took care to represent myself in colours which charmed them: I was a thorough out-and-outer (sacripan fini.) I know not what I had not done, and was ready to do any thing. I unbosomed myself that they might unbosom as freely in their turn; it is a tactic which has often been successful with me: the party soon chattered like magpies, and I became as well acquainted with all their doings as if I had never been separated from them. They told me their names, residences, exploits, misfortunes, hopes; they had met a man who was really worthy of their confidence: I returned it, I suited them, and all was said.

Such explanations always make a man thirsty, more or less: all the liquor-shops in our road were visited: more than a hundred toasts were drank in honour of our new convention, and we were not to separate again. "Come along with us, come," they said, and they were so pressing, that, quite unable to refuse their importunities, I agreed to go to their abode. Rue des Filles-Dieu, No. 14, where they lodged in a furnished house. Once in their abode, it was impossible to refuse a share of their bed: it is difficult to describe what good fellows they were; and so was I, and they were the better convinced of it, as, during an hour, whilst I pretended to be sleeping, my friend Riboulet passed an eulogy on me, in a low tone of voice, of which not even half was true, or I should have richly merited a sentence for ten times the term of my natural life. I was not born coiffeur, like a certain personage whom the witty Figaro ridicules, I was born coiffé, and had the happiness of killing a generation of honest men with vexation. At last Riboulet had so completely placed me in good odour with our hosts, that about break of day they proposed to me to go out upon a job with them, a robbery which they had planned in the Rue de la Verrerie.

I had only just time to warn the chief of the second division, who made his arrangements so well, that they were apprehended with the property about their persons. Riboulet and I remained on the look out, to give alarm in case of danger, as the thieves believed, but, in fact, to see if the police were on their posts. When they passed near us, all three in a coach, whence they could not see us, "Well!" said Riboulet, "there they are, like Manon's song, tretons marrons paumés," (taken in the very act.) They were also condemned, and if the names of Debuire, Rolé, and Hippolyte, called la Biche, are still on the muster-roll at the Bagnes, it is the result of an evening passed at Guillotin's amongst the children of the sun, (aux enfants du soleil.)

 

1. City to city
2. To work.
3. The shopkeeper.
4. Sold wine.
5. I ask him in slang.
6. To eat.
7. Good wine without water.
8. White bread.
9. A door and a key.
10. A bed to sleep upon.
11. I enter her chamber.
12. To make myself agreeable to her.
13. I observe in the corner of the room.
14. A man lying asleep.
15. Search his pockets.
16. I took his money.
17. His money and watch.
18. His silver buckles.
19. His chain and breeches.
20. Gold edged hat.
21. His coat and waistcoat.
22. Embroidered stockings.
23. Take care of yourself, shopkeeper.
24. Hanged.
25. On the Place de Ville.
26. To dance.
27. Looked at by all these women.
28. People.
29. Thieves; good fellows.
30. All coming to rob.
31. Thieves.
32. Night.
33. Watches.
34. Money.
35. Let us be cautious.
36. Let us rob.
37. Citizen and wife.
38. Awaken suspicion.
39. Cried "thief".
40. I took his watch.
41. His diamond buckles.
42. His bank notes.
43. Twelve o'clock strikes.
44. The thieves.
45. At the cabaret.
46. Your door.
47. Give money.
48. Sleep at your house.
49. Asks his wife.
50. Say, my love.
51. These thieves.
52. Watch stealers.
53. Burglars.
54. Do you not know them?
55. Breeches.
56. Profit.
57. Ready.
58. Cellar.
59. Patrol.
60. The moon.
61. Looks at us.
62. Spies.
63. Laugh.
64. Jokes.
65. To weep.
66. Exempt, soldiers, and gendarmes.
67. Palace of justice.
68. Taken in the act.