CIVIC FEAST IN 1506.

(For the Mirror.)

In the court room of Salters' Hall there appears, framed and glazed, the following "Bill of fare for fifty people of the Company of Salters, A.D. 1506."

		s.	d.
Thirty-six chickens		4	5
One swan and four geese		7	0
Nine rabbits		1	4
Two rumps of beef tails		0	2
Six quails		1	6
Two oz. of pepper		0	2
Two oz. of cloves and mace		0	4
One and a half oz. of saffron		0	6
Eight lbs. of sugar		0	8
Two lbs. of raisins		0	4
One lb. of dates		0	4
One and a half lb. of comfits		0	2
Half a hundred eggs		0	2½
Four gallons of curds		0	4
One ditto gooseberries		0	2
Bread for the company		1	1
One kilderkin of ale		2	3
Herbs		1	0
Two dishes of butter		0	4
Four breasts of veal		1	5
Brawn		0	6
Quarter load of coals		0	4
Faggots		0	2
Three and a half gallons of Gascoigne wine		2	4
One bottle of Muscovadine		0	8
Cherries and tarts		0	8
Verjuice and vinegar		0	2
Paid the cook		3	4
Perfume		0	2
One bushel and a half of meal		0	8
Water		0	3
Garnishing the vessels		0	3

Total of feast for 50 people	£1	13	2½

CURIOS.

THE SELECTOR;
AND
LITERARY NOTICES OF
NEW WORKS.

VIDOCQ. (Concluded.)

We have a vulgar book called Frauds of London laid open, and Vidocq's fourth volume will serve for Paris, since he defines the nomenclature—nay the very craft of thieves with great minuteness: thus—

The Chevaliers Grimpants.

"The Chevaliers Grimpants, called also voleurs au bonjour, donneurs de bonjours, bonjouriers, are those who introduce themselves into a house and carry off in an instant the first movable commodity that falls in their way. The first bonjouriers were I am assured, servants out of place. They were at first few in number, but, soon acquiring pupils, their industry increased so rapidly, that from 1800 to 1812, there was scarcely a day that robberies were not committed in Paris of from a dozen to fifteen baskets of plate.

"The Almanach du commerce, l'Almanach royal, and that with twenty-five thousand addresses in it, are, for bonjouriers, the most interesting works that can be published. Every morning, before they go out, they consult them; and when they propose visiting any particular house, it is very seldom that they are not acquainted with the names of at least two persons in it; and that they may effect an entrance, they inquire for one when they see the porter, and endeavour to rob the other.

"A bonjourier has always a gentlemanly appearance, and his shoes always well made and thin. He gives the preference to kid before any other leather, and takes care to bruise and break the sole that it may not creak or make any noise; sometimes the sole is made of felt; at other times, and especially in winter, the kid slipper, or dogskin shoe, is replaced by list shoes, with which they can walk, go up stairs, or descend a staircase, without any noise. The theft au bonjour, is effected without violence, without skeleton keys, without burglariously entering. If a thief sees a key in a door of a room, he first knocks very gently, then a little harder, then very loudly; if no person answers, he turns the handle, and thus enters the antechamber. He then advances to the eating-room, penetrates even to the adjoining apartments, to see if there be any person there; returns, and if the key of the sideboard is not to be seen, he looks in all the places in which he knows it is generally deposited, and if he finds it, he instantly uses it to open the drawers, and taking out the plate, he places it generally in his hat, after which, he covers it with a napkin, or fine cambric handkerchief, which, by its texture and whiteness, announces the gentleman. Should the bonjourier, whilst on his enterprise, hear any person coming, he goes straight towards him, and accosting him, wishes him good morning (le bonjour) with a smiling and almost familiar air, and inquires if it be not Monsieur 'such a one,' to whom he has the honour of addressing himself. He is directed to the story higher or lower, and, then still smiling, evincing the utmost politeness and making a thousand excuses and affected bows, he withdraws. It may so happen, that he has not had time to consummate his larceny, but most frequently the business is perfected, and the discovery of loss only made too late to remedy it.

"The majority of the thieves in this particular line commence their incursions with morning, at the hour when the housekeepers go out for their cream, or have a gossip whilst their masters and mistresses are in bed. Other bonjouriers do not open the campaign until near dinner time; they pitch upon the moment when the plate is laid upon the table. They enter, and in the twinkling of an eye, they cause spoons, forks, ladles, &c. to vanish. This is technically termed goupiner à la desserte, (clearing the cloth).

"One day one of these goupineurs à la desserte was on the look out in a dining room, when a servant entered carrying two silver dishes, between which were some fish. Without being at all disconcerted, he went up to her, and said—'Well, go and bring up the soup, the gentlemen are in a hurry.'

"'Yes, sir,' said the maid, taking him for one of the guests, 'it is quite ready, and if you please you can announce the dinner.'

"At the same time she ran to the kitchen, and the goupineur, after having hastily emptied the dishes, thrust them between his waistcoat and shirt. The girl returned with the broth, the pretended guest had retired, and there was not a single piece of silver left on the table. They denounced this theft to me, and from the statement given, as well as the description of the person committing the robbery, I thought I had recognised my man. He was called Cheinaux, alias Bayer, and was discovered and apprehended in Saint Catherine's market. His shirt was marked with the circumference of the dishes, in consequence of the remains of the sauce left in them.

"Another body of bonjouriers more particularly direct their talents to furnished houses.

"The individuals forming this class are on foot from the dawn of day. Their talent is evinced by the adroit mode in which they baffle the vigilance of the porters. They go up the staircase, sometimes on one pretext, and sometimes on another, look round them, and if they find any keys in the doors, which is common enough, they turn them with the least possible noise. Once in the room, if the occupant be asleep, farewell to his purse, his watch, his jewels, and all that he has that is valuable. If he awakes, the visiter has a thousand excuses ready.

"'A thousand pardons, sir, I thought this was No. 13;' or, 'Was it you, sir, who sent for a bootmaker, tailor, hairdresser,'" &c. &c.

The Detourneurs and Detourneuses.

"The robbery à la detourne is that which is effected whilst making purchases at a shop. This species of plunder is practised by individuals of both sexes; but the détourneuses, or lady prigs, are generally esteemed more expert than the detourneurs, or gentlemen prigs. The reason of this superiority consists entirely in the difference of dress; women can easily conceal a very large parcel.

"In retail shops it would be an advisable plan, when there are many customers to serve, that from time to time the shopmen should say to each other, deux sur dix (two on ten), or else allumez les gonzesses (twig the prigs). I will bet a thousand to one, that on hearing these words, the thieves, who have very fine ears, will make haste to take themselves away.

"Shopkeepers of what class soever, particularly retailers, cannot be too much on their guard; they should never forget that in Paris there are thousands of male and female thieves à la detourne, I here only speak of robbers by profession; but there are also amateurs, who, beneath the cover of a well-established reputation, make small acquisitions slyly and unsuspectedly. They are very honest people they say, who with little scruple indulge their propensity for a rare book, a miniature, a cameo, a mosaic, a manuscript, a print, a medal, or a jewel that pleases them; they are called Chipeurs. If the Chipeur be rich, no heed is paid to him, he is too much above such a larceny to impute it to him as a crime; if he be poor, he is denounced to the attorney-general, and sent to the galleys, because he robbed from necessity. It must be owned that we have strange ideas as to honesty and dishonesty."

This is what we call Shoplifting. A milliner once told us that ribands and flowers not unfrequently attach themselves to the cuffs and sleeves of fair purchasers.

Careurs

Belong to the same class of thieves, and are gipsies, Italians, or Jews. The female Careurs are very expert in robbing priests; and Vidocq apprehended a mother and daughter for more than sixty such offences.

"The gipsies do not confine themselves to these means of appropriating to themselves the property of another: they frequently commit murder, and they have the less objection to commit a murder, because they have no feeling of any kind of remorse; and they have a peculiar kind of expiation whereby they purify themselves. For a year they wear a coarse woollen shirt, and abstain from 'work' (robbing). This period elapsed, they believe themselves white as snow. In France, the majority of the persons of this caste call themselves Catholics, and have every external show of great devotion. They always carry about them rosaries and a crucifix; they say their prayers night and morning, and follow the service with much attention and precision. In Germany, they seldom exercise any other calling than that of horse doctor, or herbalist: some addict themselves to medicine, that is to say, profess to be in possession of secret means of effecting cures. A vast number of them travel in bodies, some tell fortunes, others mend glass, china, pots, and pans; woe to the inhabitants of the country overrun by these vagabonds. There will infallibly be a mortality amongst the cattle, for the gipsies are very clever in killing them, without leaving any traces which can be converted into a charge of malevolence against them. They kill the cows by piercing them to the heart with a long and very fine needle, so that the blood flowing inwardly, it may be supposed that the animal died of disease. They stifle poultry with brimstone; they know that then they will give them the dead birds; and whilst they imagine that they have a taste for carrion, they make good cheer, and eat delicious meat. Sometimes they want hams, and then they take a red herring and hold it under the nose of a pig, which, allured by the smell, would follow them to the world's end."

Rouletiers

Are fellows who plunder carriages of portmanteaus, imperials, &c.

"One day I followed a famous rouletier named Gosnet. On reaching the Rue Saint Denis, he jumped up on a coach, put on a cloak and cotton cap which he found lying close to his hand, and in this dress got down again with a portmanteau under his arm. It was not later than two o'clock in the afternoon; but to elude all suspicion, Gosnet, on alighting, went straight to the conducteur (guard), and after having spoken to him, turned down a street close at hand. I was in waiting for him, he was apprehended and sentenced."

Tireurs,

Or pickpockets are as abundant as mushrooms.

"There was in Paris a thief of such incredible dexterity that he robbed without an accomplice. He placed himself in front of a person, put his hand behind him, and took either a watch or some other valuable. This species of thievery is called the vol à la chicane.

"A fellow named Molin, alias Moulin le Chapelier, being under the portico des Français, was desirous of stealing a gentleman's purse: the sufferer, who was near the wall, thought he felt some one picking his pocket; Molin, full of presence of mind, effected his object in an instant, the purse was torn from the pocket, he opened it, and taking out a coin, asked for a ticket for the play. At the same moment the person robbed said to him—'But, sir, you have taken my purse, give it to me.'—'The devil I have,' replied Molin with an air of affected surprise, 'are you quite sure?' Then looking attentively at it—'By heavens! I thought it was mine. Oh! sir, I ask your pardon.'

"At the same time he returned the purse, and all the bystanders were persuaded that he had done it involuntarily. This is being fly, or I know nothing about it.

"At the time of the great fog, Molin and a pal named Dorlé were stationed at the environs of the Place des Italiens. An old gentleman passed, and Dorlé stole his watch which he passed to Molin. The darkness was so great that he could not discern if it were a repeater or not, and to ascertain this, Molin pressed down the spring: the hammer instantly struck on the bell, and by the sound the old man knew his watch, and instantly cried out—'My watch! my watch! pray restore me my watch, it belonged to my grandfather, and is a family piece.'

"Whilst uttering these lamentations, he endeavoured to go in the direction whence the sound had proceeded, to get his watch as he expected and hoped to do. He came close up to Molin, who, under cover of the dense fog, put his hand with the watch in it close to the old gentleman's ear, and pushing the spring again, said, whilst the watch was striking—'Listen then to its sounds for the last time;' and with this cruel advice the two thieves then went away, leaving the worthy undone elderly to bewail his loss.

"The ancient voleurs à la tire cite still, as amongst the celebrated personages of their profession, two Italians, the brothers Verdure, the eldest of whom, convicted of forming one of a band of chauffeurs, was sentenced to death. On the day of execution, the younger, who was at liberty, wished to see his brother as he left the prison, and with several of his comrades took his station on the road. When thieves go out in the evening into a crowd they generally have a preconcerted word of alarm or summons, by which to call or distinguish their accomplices. Young Verdure, on seeing the fatal car, uttered his, which was lorge, to which the criminal, looking about him, replied lorge. This singular salute given and returned, it may be imagined that young Verdure retired. On his road he had already stolen two watches; he saw his brother's head fall from the block, and either before or afterwards he was determined to carry matters to their utmost.

"The crowd having dispersed he returned to the cabaret with his comrades. 'Well, well,' said he, laying down on the table four watches and a purse, 'I think I have not played my cards amiss. I never thought to have made such a haul at my frater's death; I am only sorry he's not here to have his share of the swag.'"

Ring-droppers, and Emporteurs ("gentlemen who lose themselves") are next shown up: to the latter class belong the fellows who, under pretence of inquiring their road, fall into conversation with you, invite you to billiards, and cheat you.[²] Ring-droppers are very troublesome in Paris, especially in the Champs Elyseés, where you may be teazed to buy a copper-framed eye-glass which they have just "found."

Riffaudeurs, or Chauffeurs,

Were thieves assuming the garb of country dealers, or travelling hawkers; and they sought to wring from their victims a confession of where they had concealed their treasure, by applying fire to the soles of their feet.

The Fourth Volume closes abruptly with a story of a gang of them, which has all the horrors of rack and torture. In the Translator's sequel we find the following:—

"Since the commencement of these Memoirs, M. Vidocq has given up his paper manufactory at St. Mandé, and has been subsequently confined in Sainte Pelagie for debt. His embarrassments are stated to have arisen from a passion for gambling, a propensity which, once indulged, takes deep root in the human mind; and few indeed, lamentably few, are those who can effectually eradicate the fatal passion. Vidocq, who could assume all shapes like a second Proteus, who underwent bitter hardships, and unsparingly jeopardized his life at any time, could not resist the fell temptation which has brought him to distress and a prison.

"It has been stated in some of the Journals that Vidocq has a son named Julius, who was condemned to the galleys, and when liberated was employed by his father at Sainte Mandé. This must be another bitter in his life's cup, which Vidocq seems condemned to drain to the very dregs."

We need hardly be told why Vidocq has withheld the information respecting the state of crime in France, which he promised, and made a grand parade of possessing. The length to which his Memoirs have been spun out is tedious, and the air of romance which he has given to some scenes in the concluding volume, almost invalidates its forerunners. Still we are bound to confess that his adventures are equal in interest to any work of fact or fiction that has appeared for several years. We omit the translations of some slang songs, one of which appeared recently in Blackwood's Magazine; still, they are exceedingly clever in their way.

The present volume has a portrait of Vidocq, upon which we hope the physiognomists will speculate; for with all his peccadilloes, (and a hard set of features which the engraver has probably hardened) the author must be a clever and a very pleasant fellow; and we wish some myrmidon of our police—some English Vidocq—would write four pretty pocket volumes like those of the French policeman. Perhaps some of the new appointed will take this hint.

To conclude, after what we have said, our readers need not be recommended to turn to Vidocq's Memoirs. They will find the translation generally well executed, although we have detected several slips in the last volume.