"Oh," he said, "it depended; my last marmite elle était rien épatante, mon vieux, elle faisait ses cinq roues de derrière tous les soirs!"
He went on telling me a lot of stories on the subject, which cannot, unfortunately, be reproduced here, but which gave me a striking insight into the life of a French maquereau (a man who lives on unfortunates).
Seeing that he had absolutely no sense of shame, I ventured to ask him about his convictions. He became quite keen on the subject.
"Ah, my boy," he said, "don't think that it's only poor beggars like me who're sent to quod: I have seen there many a gentleman—yes, gentleman," he repeated, as I was smiling—"gentlemen, like you, who drove in their own cart; but that's neither here nor there. There's one thing certain: Y a pas d'justice en France, ma vieille!" (There is no justice in France, old chap.) "One day, for instance," he went on, "I had been with some friends to the Théâtre de la Villette (a small suburban theatre), and being a bit of an artist myself—I have been a super at the Porte St. Martin[20]—I became disgusted at the way one of the fellows played Taillhade's part. Instead of walking like a nobleman of the old times, and taking off his hat with a great sweep of the arm and bowing like a prince, that actor chap just walks in like if he had stepped into the café at the corner, and he takes his hat off like if it had been a billycock; I got that disgusted that I couldn't help shouting: 'Ah! malheur d'ons que tu sors?' (Good gracious, where do you hail from?) Chambardeau, the grocer's assistant, then says to me: 'Tais donc ta sale gueule, Titi!' (Shut up your ugly mug, Titi!) 'Ugly mug,' I says; 'what d'ye call that filthy beak of yours?' (Ton sal museau.) 'All right,' howls Chambardeau, 'I'll smash that phiz of yours[21] when we get out.' That was too much for me, so I jumps at him; all the people shout, 'Turn them out!' The police comes and chucks us out, and the other boys, guessing there'll be a row outside, follers us. Well, we first kick up a row to get our money returned; but it was no good, and the sergots[22] chucks us into the street: Chambardeau and me we goes into a side street to have it out. On the way Chambardeau pulls his knife out of his pocket. 'Knives?' I ask. 'Yes, knives,' he says. 'All right, mon salop,'[23] I reply, 'I'll soon rip open your tripe-bag.' Some of the boys had joined us, and told us that the police were not likely to come, so Chambardeau he says: 'Are you ready?' 'Yes,' I says, and we close. Just then Mimi—she was the grocer's daughter, and she was sweet on me, you know—'twas that which made Chambardeau mad with me. Well, Mimi turns up. They'd gone and told her, some of the other chaps, and when she sees us going at it with knives she hollers, 'Murder! Murder! Police!' The sergots come at a run, and just then Chambardeau he drops down. The sergots arrest me—the cowards! There was four of them. They knock me down and kick me all over, then they clasp the bracelets (handcuffs) on my wrists, while the others pick up Chambardeau. 'What's the row?' one of the sergots asks of him. 'Row?' he says; 'there's no row.' 'But,' says a sergot, 'you are wounded.' 'Am I?' says Chambardeau. 'I suppose that I fell on my open knife while I was playing with Titi.' He was a d—— sneak, Chambardeau was, but he never split on a pal. Well, they took us both to the police station and locked us up—me, Chambardeau, and Mimi. We had chucked our knives away, or else we should have had another round. 'It's a pity,' says Chambardeau, 'that the police came and spoiled the fun!' 'You bet, old chap,' I says. But then Mimi—she ought not to have been with us, but the cells for the women was full—she had been crying, and, as I was saying, she takes Chambardeau's hand. 'It was real good of you,' she says to him, 'not to have split on Titi.' 'I split on a pal!' he exclaims. Mimi, j'en ai soupé d'toi.[24] 'Ah,' he goes on, excited, 'I thought I'd make you love me; but it's no use, you must think me d—— low to imagine that I could split on a pal! Shake hands, Titi,' he then says, 'and keep her.' Just then his wound begins to hurt him. It was nothing—I'd only stuck him through the arm—but he was bleeding a lot, only he would not call out for a doctor for fear it might tell against me. So Mimi tears her apron and makes a bandage of it. The next morning we were all brought before the Commissary of Police; and although Chambardeau swore that it was all lies about our having been fighting, and my having stabbed him, they sent us both to the Dépôt[25] in the Panier à salade[26] (Black Maria). Two days later the Juge d'instruction[27] examined me. He knew me, that man; I had been twice before him already.
"'So here you are again, Martin!' he says.
"'Yes, sir,' I answers.
"'Attempted murder this time,' he goes on, reading a long report.
"'Ah la bonne blague! C'est tout des menteries d'la police.' (Well, that's a good one! All lies from the police.)
"'But,' he answers, 'you were caught in the act of stabbing the man Chambardeau.'