"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.