Paris was dismayed and indignant when the operations grew and increased, and the police proved less able to check them. In the last months of 1719 and during 1720, widespread terror prevailed. The thieves worked their will even in daylight. After dark the city belonged to them. The richest quarters were parcelled out among the various gangs, which broke into every house and summoned every wayfarer to stand and deliver. As a specimen of their proceedings,—a party visited the mansion, once the Hotel of the Maréchal de France and now occupied by the Spanish Ambassador, entered the Ambassador’s bedroom at night and rifled it, securing a rich booty—several collars of fine pearls, a brooch adorned with twenty-seven enormous diamonds, a large service of silver plate and the whole of the magnificent wardrobe of the lady of the house. This was only one of hundreds of such outrages, which were greatly encouraged by the diffusion of luxury among the upper classes, while the lower, as we have seen, were plunged in misery and starvation.
This was the epoch of the speculations of the famous adventurer, Law, who established the great Bank of Mississippi, and for the time made the fortunes of all who joined in his schemes and trafficked in his shares. Money was almost a drug; people made so much and made it so fast that it was difficult to spend it. Houses were furnished regardless of expense with gorgeous tapestry, cloth of gold hangings, beds of costly woods encrusted with jewels and ormolu, Venetian glasses in ivory frames, candelabra of rock crystal. All this luxury played into the hands of Cartouche and his followers, who worked on a system, recognising each other by strict signs and helping each other to seize and pass away articles of value from hand to hand along a whole street. Strict order regulated the conduct of the thieves. Many were forbidden to use unnecessary violence, killing was only permitted in self defence, the same person was never to be robbed twice, and some were entrusted with the password of the band as a safe conduct through a crowd.
Meanwhile the personality of Cartouche was constantly concealed. Some went so far as to declare that he was a myth and did not exist in the flesh. Yet the suspicion grew into certainty that Paris was at the mercy of a dangerous combination, directed by and centred in one astute and capable leader. Thieves taken red-handed had revealed upon the rack the identity of Cartouche and the government was adjured to effect his capture, but without result. So daring did he become that he openly showed himself at carnival time with five of his chief lieutenants and defied arrest.
Cartouche was a popular hero, for he pretended to succor the poor with the booty he took from the rich. He was a species of Parisian Fra Diavolo, and many stories were invented in proof of his generosity, his sense of humor and his kindliness to those in distress. As a matter of fact he was a brutal, black-hearted villain, whose most prominent characteristic was his constant loyalty to his followers, by which he secured their unswerving attachment and by means of it worked with such remarkable success. To this day his name survives as the prototype of a criminal leader, directing the wide operations of a well organised gang of depredators that swept all before them. Their exploits were at times marvellous, both in initiative and execution, and owed everything to Cartouche. One among many stories told of him may be quoted as illustrating his ingenious methods. It was a robbery from the chief officer of the watch, from whom he stole a number of silver forks in broad daylight, and while actually engaged in conversation with his victim. Cartouche arrived at this official’s house in his carriage, accompanied by two tall flunkeys in gorgeous livery. He announced himself as an Englishman, and was shown into the dining-room, where dinner was in progress. Cartouche declined to take a seat, but contrived to lead the host to a corner of the room where he regaled him with a fabulous story of how an attack was being organised by Cartouche on his house. The officer quite failed to recognise his visitor, and listened with profound attention. It was not until after Cartouche had left that it was discovered that not a single fork or spoon remained upon his table, the silver having been adroitly abstracted by Cartouche, who passed it unseen to his confederates—the disguised footmen who had accompanied him. Many similar thefts were committed by Cartouche and his gang, one victim being the Archbishop of Bourges.
Cartouche, by his cleverness in disguise, long escaped capture, and it was not until October 15th, 1721, that he was finally caught and arrested. His capture naturally created an immense sensation in Paris, and became the universal topic of conversation. Cartouche had been traced to a wine shop, where he was found in bed by M. le Blanc, an employé of the War Ministry, who had with him forty picked soldiers and a number of policemen. Orders had been issued to take Cartouche, dead or alive. His capture came about through a patrol soldier who had recognised Cartouche and acted as a spy on his movements. This man had been carried to the Châtelet by Pekom, major of the Guards, and when threatened with the utmost rigor of the law confessed all he knew about the prince of thieves. The prisoner was taken first to the residence of M. le Blanc and afterwards to the Châtelet. It was found necessary to be extremely circumspect with Cartouche on account of his violence, and his cell was closely guarded by four men. Cartouche soon made an attempt to escape in company with a fellow occupant of his cell, who happened to be a mason. Having made a hole in a sewer passage below, they dropped into the water, waded to the end of the gallery and finally reached the cellar of a greengrocer in the neighborhood thence they emerged into the shop, and were on the verge of escape, but the barking of the greengrocer’s dog aroused the inmates of the house, who gave the alarm, and four policemen, who happened to be in the neighborhood, came to the rescue. Cartouche was recognised, captured and again imprisoned, being now securely chained by his feet and hands. He was later transferred to the Conciergerie and more closely watched than ever during his trial, which was concluded on November 26th, 1721, when sentence was passed upon him and two accomplices. On the day following, Cartouche was subjected to the torture “extraordinary” by means of the “boot,” which he endured without yielding, and refused to make any confession. The scaffold, meanwhile was erected in the Place de Grève where the carpenters put up five wheels and two gibbets. Directly the place of execution became known in Paris, the streets were filled with large crowds of people and windows overlooking the Grève were let at high prices. Apparently the magistrates did not care to gratify the curiosity of the public, and before the afternoon four of the wheels and one of the gibbets were removed. Towards four o’clock Charles Sanson, the executioner of the Court of Justice, went to the Conciergerie, accompanied by his assistants, and sentence was read to the culprit, who was afterwards handed over to the secular arm. Cartouche had displayed no emotion throughout the trial. He no doubt thought himself a hero, and wished to die amidst the applause of the people who had long feared him. When, however, the cortège started, Cartouche began to grow uneasy and finally his stolid indifference completely gave way. On reaching the Place de Grève he noticed that only one wheel remained, and his agitation became intense. He repeatedly exclaimed, “Les frollants!” “Les frollants!” (the traitors), thinking his accomplices had been induced to confess, and had betrayed him. Now his stoicism vanished, and he insisted upon being taken back to the Hôtel de Ville to confess his sins. On the following morning great crowds again assembled to witness the execution. The condemned man had lost his bravado, but still displayed strange firmness. His natural instincts appeared when he was placed on the Croix de St. André, and the dull thud of the iron bar descending extorted the exclamation “One” from him, as if it was his business to count the number of blows to be inflicted. Although it had been stipulated at the passing of sentence that Cartouche should be strangled after a certain number of strokes, the excitement of the clerk of the Court caused him to withhold the fact from the executioner; and so great was the strength of Cartouche that it required eleven blows to break him on the wheel.
Other executions speedily followed. Scaffold and gibbet were kept busy till 1722, and in the succeeding years five females whom Cartouche had found useful as auxiliaries to his society were put upon their trial, sentenced and executed. Many receivers of stolen goods were also brought to account before the long series of crimes that had defied the police was finally ended.
In these days the prevailing discontent against the ruling authority found voice in the manner so often exhibited by a ground-down and severely repressed people. This was the age of the libellist and the pamphleteer, and the incessant proceedings against them brought in fresh harvests to the Bastile. The class was comprehensive, and its two extremes ranged between a great literary genius such as Voltaire and the petty penny-a-liner, who frequently found a lodging in the State prisons. Of the last named category the most prolific was Gatien Sandras de Courtilz, who produced about a hundred volumes of satirical, political pamphlets and fictitious histories. Such a man was for ever within four walls or in hiding beyond the frontier. Leniency was wasted on him. Upon a petition to the Chancellor Pontchartrain, an inquiry was instituted into the reasons of his imprisonment with the result that he was released. Within two years he was found again distributing libels, and was again thrown into the Bastile, this time to remain there for ten years.
A curious specimen of this class distinguished himself in the following reign,—a certain Abbé Nicolas Lenglet-Dufresnoy, who was for ever in and out of the Bastile. He is spoken of as a man of wit and learning, an indefatigable worker, a fearless writer, but of very indifferent honesty, venial to the last degree, to be bought at any time and ready for any baseness, even to espionage. Isaac d’Israeli mentions him in his “Curiosities of Literature” and in terms of praise as a man of much erudition with a fluent, caustic pen and daring opinions. He earned a calm contempt for the rubs of evil fortune, and when a fresh arrest was decreed against him, he accepted it with a light heart. He well knew his way to the Bastile. At the sight of the officer, who came to escort him to prison, he would pick up his night-cap and his snuff-box, gather his papers together and take up his quarter in the old familiar cell where he had already done so much good work. He suffered seven distinct imprisonments in the Bastile between 1718 and 1752, and saw also the inside of the prisons of Vincennes, Strasbourg and For-l’Évêque. At his last release he signed the following declaration:
“Being at liberty, I promise, in conformity with the orders of the King, to say nothing of the prisoners or other things concerning the Bastile, which may have come to my knowledge. In addition to this I acknowledge that all my good silver and papers and effects which I brought to the said castle have been restored to me.”