Man of Risk: The Adventures of Eugene Vidocq

By David Crane

Eugene Francois Vidocq was only sixteen when he left his native town of Arras in search of fortune and glory. A trouble maker, a thief, and a gifted natural swordsman, he wishes to reach America, become rich and marry a beautiful girl who captures his heart. But France is in a grip of bloody revolution. The monarchy has fallen and chaos, crime, and anarchy reign supreme. Struggling for survival, Vidocq makes his way across the country fighting for his life and dream with wit, fists, stick and sharp blade. Forced to become a criminal in order to survive, he earns a reputation as one of the most dangerous men in France. When a young and ambitious general Napoleon Bonaparte seizes power from the corrupt revolutionary regime, Vidocq sees a chance of redeeming himself from his past sins. Offering his services to Napoleonic police, he becomes an outlaw who hunts his own kind and in the process becomes one of the finest detectives in France.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463418441

David Crane

David Crane's first book, ‘Lord Byron’s Jackal’ was published to great acclaim in 1998, and his second, ‘The Kindness of Sisters’ published in 2002, is a groundbreaking work of romantic biography. In 2005 the highly acclaimed 'Scott of the Antarctic' was published, followed by ‘Men of War’, a collection of 19th Century naval biographies, in 2009. His ‘Empires of the Dead’ was shortlisted for the 2013 Samuel Johnson Prize. He lives in north-west Scotland.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Bait for Four Fools

Arras, France, June 1793

Jerome leaned against the wall and casually pulled a stolen apple out of the pocket of his canvas jacket. He weighed the ripe fruit on his hand, admiring its bright red color and fragrance. Stealing apples was easy. In general stealing anything was easy if you worked out a good plan. Jerome reached into his other pocket and felt three copper coins there. Enough money to buy some sweets but that was about it. At the thought of honeyed cakes, he felt his mouth water and he looked longingly at the apple he was holding. It was a good apple and a symbol of sin if the priest Father Goddard was to be believed. Jerome was comfortable with sins. All one had to do was to confess them and the absolution was granted. Whether one could get into heaven was another matter entirely.

Like most boys in Arras, Jerome went to church, said proper prayers and prayed for salvation. Mother and Father told him time and again when he was old enough to understand that God was all powerful, all merciful, and saw everything that was happening on earth and in mortal hearts and minds. Sometimes Jerome had problems with the Almighty. God worked in mysterious ways and very often he would simply overlook the fact that there were bad people who lied, cheated, stole and committed acts that simply could not grant them absolution. The pampered rich did not pay taxes, the poor suffered and King Louis didn’t care about any of this. And the king was God’s viceroy on earth. Why did God tolerate such kings?

Jerome sighed and turned his head. The quiet narrow street paved with cobblestones was empty. Windows were closed in spite of the warmth of the late spring, and the good citizens of Arras were taking their afternoon rest. But while they rested, Jerome felt restless. He looked down at his worn clothes and dirty boots and wished he had the money to dress better. Money was the problem. It was always a problem for everyone. One could not earn good money by breaking one’s back and doing honest work. Stealing money was easier but very dangerous. The boy sighed again and licked his lips, remembering how he and his friend Eugene Vidocq had begun their friendship and how Vidocq, who was known in Arras as the Wild Boar, took him under his wing after rescuing him from an angry traveler, who nearly killed him when Jerome tried to clean his pockets.

Vidocq was a thief and a scoundrel, and he was a terror of Arras. Many God fearing folk wished him a fast trip to the gallows but Vidocq was immune to empty threats and replied in kind when he was provoked. Vidocq was strong and fearless and was never afraid to fight. And he was a handsome devil too. If he didn’t have such a bad reputation, girls would be happy to see him without fear of discovery by their parents. In contrast, Jerome was skinny and short and an ideal target for bullies. But today bullies would get their due. Vidocq, armed with a stick was hiding just around the corner…

Hey, Jerome! cried a voice down the street.

Finally, Jerome said through clenched teeth. The fools are here at last.

He raised his eyes from his apple and turned his head. Right on time, he thought, feeling the familiar tension in his muscles. Fear and excitement raced through him like water and fire. Jerome brushed his blond hair from his eyes and bit into the apple. His teeth pierced the thin crimson skin and for a moment he enjoyed chewing on the piece he bit off. The apple tasted good but not as good as what was coming.

O, Jerome! the voice repeated.

Jerome tilted his head to the side and saw four boys coming from around the corner. He recognized them instantly because they were hard to forget. Nicholas, Robert, Luc and Jean, the four big fools who liked to pick fights with anyone who was smaller. Jerome had already experienced their fists on his skin and he wasn’t about to repeat their first unpleasant meeting. The boys strode casually down the street. The four fools believed that skinny helpless Jerome could again be shaken for a few coins and given a few more bruises. The boys stopped and surrounded him. The expression on their faces promised nothing good. Jerome felt a familiar trembling in his knees but forced it down. There was nowhere to run.

Got any money, Jerome? asked Robert.

Maybe I do and maybe I don’t.

Luc, the smallest of the four pointed a stubby finger at him.

You always have something in your pockets, Jerome, he said. Don’t you?

I need money, Jerome said suddenly. Would you mind sparing a few francs?

The four boys exchanged puzzled glances. It suddenly dawned on them that Jerome stood up straighter and made no attempt to escape. The confusion did not last long. Jerome suddenly threw his apple at Luc, hitting the smaller boy in the face. As Luc staggered backward, Jerome seized the opportunity and rushed through vacant space. He would have made it around the corner if he hadn’t slipped on a patch of wet dirt. A few moments later, he was under a pile of bodies with fists pummeling him from every direction while one pair of fast hands went through his pockets. Jerome cursed and writhed, fighting hard for his three copper coins.

You stupid shit, Jerome, Nicholas, the oldest and the strongest boy was saying as he pulled Jerome’s hands behind his back. Jerome managed to kick out with his leg, and his foot connected with something soft. Someone on top of him yelled in pain, but Jerome’s copper coins already left his pocket. Jerome twisted and the pocket ripped open. Pain shot up his right arm, and he gasped as Nicholas grasped a handful of his hair with his other hand. Robert was in the process of raising his fist when something flew through the air and hit him on the head. Robert went over sideways, and the missile that brought him down rolled on the cobblestones under Jerome’s very nose. It was a large potato, round and gray with white spots where its roots were severed. A second missile hit another boy, Jean, between his shoulder blades, knocking the wind out of him. Luc, who had taken the money from Jerome’s torn pocket managed to duck as the third potato sailed over his head and harmlessly hit the stone wall breaking into several pieces.

A tall and large boy suddenly emerged from around the corner. He was thickly built but not fat, naturally muscular. His clothes consisted of gray shirt and brown jacket with black trousers and old boots that needed the attention of a shiner. The boy had a ruggedly handsome face with large nose, prominent black eyebrows, and mischievous green eyes that seemed to sparkle from under his thick, brown shoulder length hair. There were no more potatoes in his hands but there was a stick. The stick was thick and long enough to do some serious damage.

Surprise, morons! cried the boy as he charged forward.

Vidocq, said Jerome, his mouth with a split lower lip curled into a smile.

Vidocq! yelled Robert. Damn it, it’s Vidocq!!!

Run! Luc screamed.

Jerome suddenly felt the weight lift from his body and rolled away. He was just coming to his feet when Vidocq swung his stick like a club, connecting it with Robert’s back. Without stopping, his hand reversed the direction and landed on Nicholas’s shoulder. Both boys howled in pain and did their best to escape the incoming blows. Jean, who managed to pick up one of the fallen potatoes to throw at Vidocq quickly dropped it and sprinted after Luc. Robert and Nicholas first retreated under a storm of blows then simply turned and ran. Jerome, who was sitting on the ground, reached for one of the fallen potatoes, got up and threw it after the retreating boys.

Cowards! he yelled picking up the second potato.

Vidocq, swore then lowered his stick and saw Jerome take aim at the retreating backs of Robert and Nicholas. Jerome threw the potato and missed. He turned his face, flushed with excitement, toward Vidocq. Then the excitement turned to anger.

What took you so long? Jerome demanded as he began dusting himself off. They almost killed me! And they took all my money, thanks to you! It was supposed to be the other way around!

Oh, so now it is my fault? Vidocq said leaning on his stick. I helped you, didn’t I?

Sure you did. You were supposed to watch me. Where were you?

Around the corner, Vidocq replied.

You might as well have been a league away.

Now I am insulted. The least you could do is to say thank you.

Thank you, Jerome grumbled.

That’s better, Vidocq frowned. Well, what’s the matter?

Jerome touched his split lip tenderly and winced. He showed Vidocq his ripped pocket, and Vidocq shook his head sympathetically.

They took my money, Jerome cried slapping his hips.

We will get it back, Vidocq replied confidently. Stop whining.

Jerome gave him a dirty look and shook his head. Just tell me why you waited so long. We are friends, right? You protect me, I help you steal. I want the truth. And don’t tell me you fell asleep.

Fine, Vidocq said. I will tell you-

The answer came but not what Vidocq and Jerome had expected. A window suddenly opened above them and both were instantly drenched from head to toe in cold water. Following the torrent appeared Madame Charbet. Red faced, plump and with a short temper, Madame Charbet was no doubt awakened from her afternoon slumber by the noise and began her impressive monologue that shattered the stillness of the quiet street like a cannon shot.

Vidocq! she screeched. I know you, you little thief! You bandit! Who stole my laundry ropes? Who broke my window last week? Who beat up my nephew George? Who broke my window? It was you Vidocq! You and your friend whose name I don’t care to know! You will grow up to be a criminal and end up on the gallows!

Vidocq and Jerome beat a retreat before more voices were added to that of Madame Chabert. Vidocq waved at the woman and Jerome showed her his long tongue. Laughing, both boys sprinted around the corner and down the street, pursued by the echoes of Madame Charbet’s impressive voice. Five blocks down the boys stopped and sat in the shadow of an old oak that grew near the fence of an old Calais Abbey. It was July and the air was fresh with the smells of summer. Vidocq rested his stick in his lap, patting it like one might pat a dog. Jerome, who now had the time to adjust his clothes and swallow his wounded pride waited for his friend to speak. Vidocq broke the silence by tapping the heel of his boot twice on the old cobblestone.

Are you still angry with me, Jerome?

I still am. You were never late to save my hide before.

I had a good reason.

You found a gold nugget? Jerome said with sarcasm.

Better. I saw the most beautiful girl.

Jerome licked his broken lip and tasted saltiness in his mouth. His ribs hurt from the brawl with the four fools, but nothing appeared to be twisted, dislocated or broken. He thanked God for his good fortune and kissed the copper cross he wore around his neck. He cast a sidelong glance at Vidocq, who appeared blissfully unaware of his friend’s discomfort. Jerome scratched the back of his head and sighed as he gathered his thoughts.

You forgot about me because you saw a beautiful girl?

Briefly, Vidocq admitted. You should have seen her, Jerome, she’s a real beauty.

Well, I didn’t see her, Jerome retorted. All I saw was these four idiots who were beating me up while you were looking at the beautiful girl. Our plan was to beat them up and take their money. It was a good plan but you…

Yes? Vidocq turned his head slowly to look him in the face.

I thought you were my friend, Eugene.

I am still your friend, Jerome, Vidocq said and squeezed his shoulder.

Easy, you oaf. Nicholas almost broke my arm.

I will break his teeth next time I see him, Vidocq promised. How much money have you lost?

Three coppers, I think.

Three coppers? Only three coppers? Jerome, that’s not enough to buy even a bowl of soup! If you are ready to cry over it, turn away so I don’t have to see it. And, mind you, I don’t have a spare handkerchief.

Jerome rolled his eyes but thought better than to further accuse Vidocq. Jean, Nicholas, Luc and Robert got what was coming to them. He smiled remembering Vidocq’s dramatic entrance preceded by flying potatoes. Eugene Vidocq was well known in Arras as a troublemaker. Vidocq once told him that when he was born, a great storm swept across Northern France, rattling the windows and igniting the sky with furious bolts of lighting and thunder. The midwives delivering the baby had crossed themselves, and one of them, a fortune teller said that this boy’s life would be a stormy one…

Do you know her? Jerome asked, changing the subject.

What are you talking about?

The girl who captured your attention, Jerome licked his broken lip again.

No, Vidocq admitted. But I am sure I will see her again.

The bells on the Nord De Calais cathedral rang and Vidocq looked up at its sharp spire that pierced the blue sky like a giant gray spear adorned by a golden cross. The cross itself shone under the sun as if calling to all faithful to look up and acknowledge the existence of God. The bells of the Nord De Calais did not call the faithful to prayer. It wasn’t even a holiday and there was nothing to celebrate. The cathedral bells simply announced the afternoon hour. Every hour, a monk would come up and pull at the ropes, making the giant bells heard all across the city and beyond. Vidocq wondered why the priests did not go deaf from having their ears assaulted by the bells ringing every hour. He squinted at the golden cross and wondered if it contained some kind of message from the Almighty. It had been a while since he went to the church to confess his sins. But who has the time when you are only fifteen and you had too many sins to confess? Vidocq sighed and looked at his friend. Jerome didn’t look that bad, and the bruise on his cheek made him somehow look funny.

Here, he said reaching into his jacket and coming up with a handful of coins. Jerome looked at his hand like a puppy that got an offer of a tasty meat bone. He reached for the coins and Vidocq dropped them into his palm. Jerome counted the copper circles and whistled.

Ten francs! Eugene, I am in your debt.

Yes you are, and don’t you forget it. The four fools had learned their lesson. They won’t bother you again, I think.

You think? Jerome looked meaningfully at Vidocq’s stick. What if they have sticks the next time they see me? I don’t know how to fight. Look at me. No wonder Nicholas called me a girl the first time they roughed me up. I have got to do something.

Learn to fight. Come with me to the armory. I know this good sergeant who can teach you how to use a foil or a saber, your choice.

No, thanks, Jerome said. I would rather get a pistol.

Vidocq rolled his eyes and sighed. Then join the army. I heard they pay well.

I am too young. They would never take me.

Then lie about your age. I know some boys who did. Now they wear nice uniforms and get all the girls.

And they can get killed if they go to war.

They can, Vidocq agreed. Still it’s good money. And no one will dare raise a hand against you once you put on that uniform. You get lucky you can become an officer. Then life would really be sweet.

Then why don’t you do it? You look older than me.

My parents would be horrified at the idea, Vidocq replied. Besides, I have other plans to make my fortune. I deliver bread, and my father wants me to take over the family trade. I don’t think I am made to knead dough and stand all morning in front of the oven. There are better things in life than baking.

Like what? Jerome persisted. His eyes gleamed conspiratorially. You want to run away? he whispered, leaning closer. Become a sailor? See other countries?

Maybe, Vidocq said thoughtfully. He got up and brushed the dust from his clothes. "I have got to go, Jerome. Come to my house tomorrow around eleven. We will go to the market and buy some goods. At the mention of the goods, Jerome rubbed his hands together. What Vidocq really meant was go fruit hunting to gorge on stolen cherries, peaches and Anjou pears. If they were lucky, maybe they would take a money pouch off someone who was busy looking at the fruits and the pretty women who sold them. Vidocq and Jerome had done it before. And they would do it again. Saying goodbye, the two friends parted. Jerome went to his house and Vidocq back to the bakery. As he walked home, Vidocq could not get the pretty girl he had seen passing by on the other side of the street out of his head. She lived here in Arras and he had to find her. Tomorrow morning he would deliver fresh bread. There was a chance he could meet her and talk to her. She was like an angel…

I think I am in love, he said out loud as he felt warmth spreading across his chest.

CHAPTER 2

Words for Breakfast

Arras, Vidocq House, Rue Petit

Vidocq dreamed about the beautiful stranger he had seen yesterday. She passed him on the other side of the street, offering him a curious glance but nothing more. But in his imaginative mind he was already with her, presenting himself to her as a man of stature or a sailor who had just returned from exotic lands. The golden haired beauty wore a peasant dress, but she walked like a princess. She was carrying something in her straw basket covered by a sheet of cloth. She was too far away from him to see the color of her eyes. He tossed and turned in his bed, imagining his hands around her, his hardness and her softness…

He turned and opened his eyes. His senses became alive and he took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the unmistakable smell of freshly baked bread. Father and Mother as usual awoke before dawn to knead the dough and shove the ready pasty pieces into the oven. Out would come steaming buns and breads, some golden, some dark, soft, crusty and delicious, especially with a slice of cheese and fresh steaming milk. Vidocq stretched in his bed and squinted against the light of the morning sun, whose golden spears attempted to penetrate the thin opening between the window curtain and the wall. He could stay in bed longer but the thought of seeing the golden haired girl was enough to make him get up and grunt with pleasure. He stretched again like a big cat and quickly rinsed his mouth, brushed his teeth and splashed his face and chest liberally with cold water from a small wooden tub. He brushed his long brown hair back and put on his shirt and canvas vest before venturing into the bakery proper.

Francois Vidocq was just pulling several breads from the oven using a wide wooden spade when his son entered. He was a big man with reddish face, thinning black hair and heavy chin. His brown eyes framed a bulbous nose smeared with dough. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his massive arms and the graying hair on his chest was visible through the open shirt. The reddish light from the oven made his sweaty face glow. He nodded in acknowledgement and turned the wooden spade sideways, depositing the breads onto a wide table where three dozen large breads lay like small round shields. Marie Vidocq, a thickly built woman with kind gray eyes and black hair tied into a bun, was pouring milk into carved wooden cups from a large clay jar. On the dining table, a simple but hearty peasant meal awaited the family: yellow cheese, breads, butter, and an assortment of fruits.

Bonjour Mama, Bonjour Papa, Vidocq said cheerfully.

I was about to go and wake you, his mother said placing the milk jar back on the table. You sleep like a bear in winter, Eugene. Now, this morning you woke up on your own.

I had a good dream, Mama, Vidocq said and kissed her.

We all dream of the day when we stop receiving complaints from our respected neighbors, his father said closing the oven and wiping his sweaty brow with a wet towel. He walked up to the table and sat heavily, then reached for his cup of milk. His mother sat down and Vidocq followed, ready to hear yet another lecture about his immoral behavior. He took his own milk cup and was about to take a sip when his father looked at him sharply. Vidocq felt his cheeks turn red. No morning meal began without thanking the Lord for the bread and health he provided. As his father said a short prayer, Vidocq put his hands together and waited. The fresh bread made his mouth water and he greedily sank his teeth into its crust the moment the prayer ended. He ate with gusto, enjoying his meal and thinking about yesterday’s battle with the four fools. The silence was broken by his father, who leaned forward after wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.

I don’t want any trouble from you, Eugene, he said. Not today, not tomorrow, not after tomorrow. Why can’t you be just like the rest of good people in this town?

Like the rest? Vidocq asked. I can’t be like the rest, Papa. I am special.

His mother smiled but her smile was quickly replaced by a neutral expression. Francois Vidocq sighed and shook his head.

And what is so special about you, son? People say you steal things, that you start fights, mock and beat people up, not just boys but the others as well. I have been told priests cross themselves when they see you on the street. And that little thief, what’s his name…?

Jerome.

That little thief Jerome; you make a wonderful pair, a thief and a bully. Madame Chabert told me you beat up her nephew. And he is smaller than you.

He insulted me. I just taught him some manners.

His mother shook her head.

Eugene, she said softly. What will you do if the man who insults you happens to be bigger than you?

"I will use a stick to defend myself.

His father shook his head.

You deliver bread, son, but I want you to learn how to be a baker. It’s a good trade, people always have to eat. But you can’t be a good baker if one day someone breaks your arms for being a fool. People don’t call you a wild boar for nothing. All that strength, all that energy you could be using for something good.

I will use it for something good, Papa. I think I will join the army.

His mother paled.

You want to become a soldier? she said. Eugene, that is very dangerous.

More dangerous than you can imagine, his father added. He stood up and placed his hands on his hips. I know you visit the armory. Some half crazed old fool there is teaching you to use a foil. He is giving you fencing lessons. Where do you get the money to pay him?

That’s my business.

You have been stealing again, Eugene.

Time to deliver bread, Vidocq said getting up from the table, steering the conversation away from the topic he did not wish to discuss with the family. Where he got his money was none of their business, and an occasional borrowing of a few francs from the family money drawer did not hurt his father’s trade one little bit. Vidocqs could never be called rich but they were doing well. On holidays, Vidocq was able to afford decent clothes, and if the harvest was particularly good, the family could afford a trip to the capital or relax in the countryside. Vidocq’s uncle from his mother’s side had an old house just outside of Arras, where the cold northern winds, forests and the hot summer sun created an ideal spot to forget all the troubles.

The elder Vidocq sighed and washed his hands off the whole conversation for the time being. Eugene Vidocq, sated with good meal and with thoughts of the golden haired girl dominating his mind dutifully took the large bread basket and stuffed it with fresh breads. Donning his shoes, he threw the leather thong over one shoulder and walked out of the house and into the street. The summer morning was glorious. Birds were cheerfully greeting the sun and the white puffy clouds reminded Vidocq of fluffy lambs pasturing on the infinite field of blue. He took in a deep breath of fresh and cool morning air and smiled. He had to find that girl, and maybe then, her angelic presence would calm his heart and soothe his soul. Never one to believe in all miracles created by God, Vidocq was certain that angels did exist.

CHAPTER 3

Giselle

Arras, Rue Le Blanc

The angel’s name was Giselle Mollyneux. Vidocq was very surprised to meet her so soon. Delivering bread around the city, he became speechless when she opened the door. The moment the door opened, a second sun beamed on Vidocq. The heartwarming vision he saw yesterday didn’t do justice to the young girl standing in front of him. Her skin was white and smooth, and her face was sweet and radiant like the image of a female saint. Her heart shaped face glowed with health and pink lips when they parted revealed very white teeth. Her eyes were hazel, with just a hint of gold suspended in them, small nose and a disobedient lock of thick blonde hair falling on the smooth curve of her forehead. Her light brown dress and white cotton blouse underlined the natural femininity in all the right places.

Oh, the girl said breaking into a smile. Fresh bread! Thank you Monsieur.

Vidocq was already grinning in return, showing her a half filled baskets of aromatic breads. The girl looked him over and apparently she liked what she saw. Vidocq gave a small bow and took the weight of the basket off his shoulder, placing it on the ground.

Mademoiselle, he said. I am Eugene Vidocq. My father owns the best bakery in Arras. Just look at these breads! Believe me when I say it, they taste even better than they look.

Ah. Are you the one they call the Wild Boar?

Evil minds make evil tongues, Vidocq replied.

How interesting, but are you the one they talk about?

I am.

Are you as bad as they say you are?

Only when I am angry, Vidocq smiled. And you are?

My name’s Giselle.

It’s a beautiful name.

I haven’t seen you before, Vidocq said. Did you come to Arras recently?

A week ago, Giselle replied. I came from Paris.

Paris?

My uncle sent me to Arras. There’s trouble in Paris. Did you hear about Bastille?

Only rumors, Vidocq answered. So what happened?

People stormed Bastille, killed the King’s soldiers and took the fortress apart.

Pardon, Vidocq said confused. Did you say they took it apart?

Yes, Giselle said. They destroyed it, razed it to the ground and carried away the stones.

Dear God! Vidocq whistled in surprise. And the king did nothing?

Giselle bit her lip and frowned.

There was nothing King Louis could do, she said. After Bastille fell, a huge mob marched on the royal palace. I have never seen so many angry people.

What did they want?

They wanted bread. The very same bread you sell. People are hungry and they want bread. And they also want justice. But everything is in chaos. There are riots in the streets, people breaking windows and attacking anyone who has money. I was sent to Arras to wait until things calm down. But how the things could calm down if the King’s soldiers have joined the mob?

So the rumors were true. Then his expression brightened. Well, we are long way from Paris. I saw you yesterday on the street and I am really glad to meet you. Giselle blushed and then her lips curled into a warm smile.

Thank you, monsieur Vidocq. Now, about the breads, we will take those three long ones and two round ones, one black, one white, how much for everything?

Thirty francs, Vidocq said.

The girl rummaged in the pocket of her apron and took out her hand and counted the coins. Thirty francs, she said passing them to Vidocq. Please count it, monsieur."

I trust you.

You trust me? Why?

Because I now know where you live and would come back for the money if you didn’t pay the full sum, Vidocq explained with a serious face but his green eyes were smiling. Giselle tilted her head to the side and cradled the breads like children close to her bosom. At that moment something passed between them, lighter than air and stronger than stone. Giselle inhaled the smell of fresh breads and licked her pink full lips appreciatively. She wanted to say something but an older woman’s voice carried forth from the depths of the house: Giselle! What’s taking so long?

It’s my mother. You have to go."

Can I see you again? Vidocq said. I very much want to see you again, Giselle.

Giselle frowned and said, What will people think if they see us together?

Vidocq squared his shoulders and his eyebrows came together in a frown.

Whoever insults you will regret it, he said earnestly. No one will dare.

Giselle!!!

Coming, Mama! Giselle yelled back. Behind the St. Augustine Abbey, two o’clock, she spoke quickly. Promise you will be there?

I promise.

Giselle stepped back and closed the door. Vidocq picked up his bread basket and threw the sling over his shoulder. Two o’clock tomorrow behind the St. Augustine Abbey. The Abbey was being rebuilt and tomorrow was Sunday, which meant there won’t be anyone around. What a clever girl. He smiled and continued on his way until his breadbasket was empty and his pockets heavy with coins. Unable to believe his luck he brought spring in his step and began to whistle. When he passed down the street under the windows of Madame Chabert’s house, he called out her name and even said hello. Madame Chabert, the fat, vengeful creature asked him to wait. She appeared with a large cast iron chamber pot and he instinctively backed away just in time. The steamy contents of the chamber pot missed its intended mark, soiling the street with brownish yellow goo. The chamber pot itself followed but was deflected by Vidocq’s bread basket which he used as a shield.

Vidocq, you will end up on the gallows! Madame Chabert yelled.

I have heard it before, he yelled back. He continued down the street resuming his whistling, followed by the bombastic monologue of Madame Chabert. Her efforts produced the usual result. Half a dozen voices of her neighbors joined in telling her to shut up. A powerful verbal battle with colorful insults and expressions followed, but Vidocq was too far away to care what was being said. His heart sang with joy and he rolled the name of his angel on his tongue like a sweet honey candy. Giselle…Giselle…Giselle…

CHAPTER 4

Taste of Love

Arras, St. Augustine Abbey

Vidocq arrived at the abbey one hour before his meeting with Giselle. For his angel in flesh he put on his best clothing and made sure his shoes were cleaned and his shirt washed. Earlier in the morning after his usual delivery of breads, he and Jerome managed to make some good money from stolen silverware. Knowing that his parents would ask about their disappearance, Vidocq decided to steal silver spoons and forks from another source and replace the stolen ones when no one was looking. Besides, the family used silver only on holidays and therefore would not find out that a switch had been made. A silver spoon, knife and a fork lay wrapped in cloth in the pocket of his short jacket, a gift for Giselle.

The sun seemed to emerge from behind the clouds when Giselle appeared. She looked so lovely in her light brown dress, decorative apron, and red shirt with tastefully sewn in cords that hung over her bosom. Her golden hair was tied into a bun with a single cord. She walked with a feline grace and her shoes clicked on the cobblestones like Spanish castanets. Vidocq felt his chest expand with pleasure. Blood seemed to flow faster in his veins and warmth spread from the center of the body to all his extremities, right to the very tips of his fingers and toes.

Giselle, he whispered.

Monsieur Vidocq, she said as she approached.

Vidocq offered her a bow and she playfully curtsied in return. He could not take his eyes off her. She smelled of jasmine and he found the scent deliciously intoxicating. She agreed to see the Wild Boar, he thought with pride. Come to think of it, other girls would have run away. Why would anyone bother being with a boy who was known to half of Arras as the terror of everything that moved and breathed? Well, terror might be an exaggeration, but he was not a person to be trifled with.

You look like a princess, he said.

I look like a peasant princess? she said with a smile.

Would you like to be the real one? he asked coming closer. Giselle’s blue eyes met his own. The silence between them lasted only a few moments and then Giselle said with a soft sigh, Only in my dreams.

Why do you think God gives men dreams? he asked as he took her hand and they started walking along the tall, gray wall of the old abbey. She considered the question carefully and finally replied, I don’t know, Eugene. I think dreams show us what might have been. My mother believes dreams can tell the future. My father thinks dreams are the memories of the past. Papa met his dead grandfather several times in his dreams. But when he woke up, he could not remember what they talked about. I know people who don’t dream at all.

You get nothing if you don’t dream at all, Vidocq commented, feeling her small and warm hand in his. A Wild Boar and an angel, he thought with a smile. Now there’s something for the people to talk about. They will be seeing us together and wonder what she saw in me. Well, fellow citizens of Arras, you just wait and see. When I return here, I will be a rich and powerful landowner. Across the ocean lies a land of unbelievable riches…

Eugene?

Huh? He shook his head and his mind returned to reality.

Where were you just now?

In my dream, Vidocq said. Would you like to know my dream?

Tell me about your dream.

Well, it’s a special dream, a really big one. We live in the land of nobles and peasants, Giselle. What if I told you that there’s a land far away from here across the ocean where every dream is possible?

Sounds like magic. How do you know about this place?

Heard it from a friend and some sailors, then I saw it on the map.

And where is this magic land?

America, he said. They used to be British colonies but the English king was probably worse than our Louis. All I know for a fact is that the colonials have defeated the English armies and forced King George to acknowledge their independence.

This is incredible! How big is America?

Well, it’s no smaller than France but there’s a great river beyond which there’s an untamed land. Sailors say it’s beautiful and savage and inhabited by natives who paint their bodies and use spears bows and arrows. The man said they have red skin and know the best hunting places. Think of it, Giselle! Beyond those thirteen colonies lie thousands of leagues of virgin land. It’s a free land. Free!

The young girl made a face and grimaced.

Thirteen is not a lucky number, she said. Do you really want to go there?

Yes. Sometimes in my dreams I am standing on a ship’s deck, seeing this land coming out of the morning mist. This is a dream that will become a reality. Once I am ready I will go there. And when I return, I will take you with me.

You are serious about this?

Look into my eyes, Giselle. People think of me as a troublemaker. They curse me, and they already think they know my future. Madame Chabert is absolutely certain that I will end up on a gibbet as a lesson to others. Stupid woman she is I tell you. I have no intention ending up as a food for the crows.

Giselle stopped, turned and looked into his eyes. She had beautiful eyes, clear and bright. Vidocq read a hidden worry in them, a sense of longing and concern for the future.

Tell me one thing, Eugene, she said as they reached the gates of the old abbey. The wide and thick wooden gates were reinforced with iron. Narrow windows, some square, others in the shape of a cross gave the old abbey a distinctive look of an ancient fortress. Only this sanctuary probably guarded old books, relics and reliquaries and its spiritual warriors were seldom seen outside its walls. Vidocq turned his eyes from the main gate and took Giselle’s other hand into his own.

All I can say is this…

Their lips and bodies touched and at this very moment the world around them fell silent. Their senses came together in a primal connection as both sought to quench their thirst from the sweet cup of wine of passion. Giselle’s heart hammered in her chest and she felt a stab of delicious pain. She felt as if one of Cupid’s arrows had pierced her. Caught in the sweetness of the moment, she didn’t want for it to stop. Vidocq, in turn felt his soul reach heavenly heights. He hung there, free from pain, worry sickness and death until God decided to send him back. The Almighty wasn’t ready for him yet.

They parted, both gasping for breath. At this very moment, Vidocq was ready to conquer the whole world for her, slay men and beasts become a sinner or a saint. Giselle inhaled his musky scent and her small hand reached to caress his cheek.

I love you, Vidocq whispered.

Giselle’s response was another sweet kiss that lasted longer and deeper.

CHAPTER 5

Crimson Stones

Arras, Rue De Grande

Vidocq walked down the street with the look and feel of a conquering hero. His pockets were now lighter because he spared no expense pleasing Giselle by buying her sweets and presents at the local market. It was pure pleasure to walk around treating her like a princess. Evil tongues will no doubt spread rumors about Vidocq the Wild Boar and Giselle the Angel. Giselle’s parents would have something to say about that. But the others would say that he, Eugene Francois Vidocq behaved like a gentleman, showing Giselle great respect. At this very moment, Giselle was going home with a basket full of sweet goods for herself and her family. And a man who meant harm would never treat her the way he did.

Giselle’s kiss transformed everything around him. The streets seemed cleaner, the people friendlier and even waste in the gutters didn’t smell so bad. He wondered if his friend Jerome would be jealous of his recent success. Not that Jerome wouldn’t one day marry and have children, but he didn’t seem the type girls were drawn to. Giselle was the only person who knew about his ambitious plans to reach America. He asked her not to tell anyone until he was on his way across the ocean. Would Jerome go with him if he asked him to? One thing about Jerome was that he wasn’t sure about anything in life besides death and taxes. America had free land. America had gold. And once you crossed the ocean with all its rocking and stormy weather, you were offered a chance of a lifetime…

Turning on the Rue De Grande, he saw a large group of men gathering near Café Voyage. On one wall, cracked with time hung a freshly printed proclamation with letters as big as Vidocq’s fingers. The curious citizens of Arras wanted to know the latest news, and since this was an official proclamation, He shouldered his way through, habitually keeping an eye on the people around him. The crowds were an ideal harvesting ground for pickpockets and thieves such as himself. Whether it was a holiday or a public hanging, crowds were the source of income to those with skillful hands and fast feet. Keeping his hand close to his pockets, he read the proclamation printed on a large sheet of slightly yellowed paper:

Citizens of Arras!

King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette have committed an act of treason against France and all her citizens. Abandoning their palace and breaking their solemn oath before the National Assembly and Citizen’s Council, the King and the Queen planned to escape to Austria to raise a foreign army to restore the despotic and decadent regime of their predecessors. Against every law of decency and morality, Louis and Marie Antoinette turned their backs on France and men, women and children they swore to protect. The royal couple has been arrested on the road to the Austrian border with their money and jewels. In response to this dastardly act, the Revolutionary Committee has decreed that king Louis and his queen be stripped of all titles and be known as Citizens Louis Capet and Marie Antoinette. The fate of these two traitors will be decided by the Revolutionary Court and imposed sentence carried out with full accordance to the Revolutionary Law.

Signed, Maximilian Robespierre,

President of the Revolutionary

Committee of Public Safety

Vidocq read the proclamation one more time and moistened his dry lips with his tongue. Can this be true? The people around him shook their heads and murmured to one another. He tried to imagine King Louis without his titles. No titles meant No wealth. No wealth meant No power. No power meant that someone had it, and the King did not. The most powerful man in France tried to escape the country to raise foreign troops against his own people? This was unbelievable! And yet it was true. No one would dare to claim otherwise if it wasn’t. Citizen Louis Capet. With one stroke of a quill, the king is reduced in rank to an ordinary man; and the man who signed the proclamation… Maximilian Robespierre!

Vidocq shook his head at the way fortune favored and abandoned the mortals. His own house was just a few blocks away from the house where Robespierre was born. The man was sixteen years his senior, yet at the age of thirty one he had become the most important and the most powerful man in France. Robespierre, the President of the Committee for Public Safety. Vidocq tried to imagine Robespierre on the throne and failed. Robespierre came from the family of lawyers and often liked to brag to Vidocq’s father’s friends about welcoming the king in Paris on the day of his coronation. Robespierre came a long way from being a schoolboy and a lawyer.

Something brushed past Vidocq and he looked down. A twelve year old boy expertly slipped between Vidocq and a tall gentleman in a tri cornered hat and rich looking long coat. Vidocq had to admire the skill with which the boy slipped his hand into the man’s pocket. But at the very moment of the boy’s triumph someone had bumped into him from behind. His hand hesitated in the gentleman’s pocket long enough for the pocket’s owner to turn his head and try to grab the little thief. But the boy, still holding his prize ducked under the man’s sweep and like a salmon threading the opposing current began making his way out of the crowd.

Thief! hollered the man in the tri cornered hat. Hold the little bastard!

But the little bastard was too quick for the big men who tried to grab him. He slipped between them like a snake, hitting one of the men in the shin. Several men ran after him. The boy ran like a cat, swerving this way and that. His speed was incredible and Vidocq hoped that he could evade his pursuers. Of course, if it was his own money, he would have taught the brat a lesson he would not soon forget. The boy almost reached the street corner, when a carriage drawn by a pair of powerful horses appeared without warning carrying a huge barrel of water. Someone in the crowd screamed. The boy disappeared under the horses’ hooves and the carriage driver pulled on the reigns. People ran forward, and Vidocq was among the first to reach the boy.

Jesus and Mary! gasped one of the men in horror.

The men surrounded the boy but no one dared to approach. Even the man whose money was stolen stood ashen faced, the red hot anger on his pinched face replaced by shock. Vidocq stepped forward and leaned over the boy. The little one was coughing up blood in such volumes that his death was a foregone conclusion. The carriage had crushed his right hand and broke several ribs that pierced his organs. The boy’s eyes, so clear just a few moments ago lost their focus. He shuddered several times and became still. Vidocq touched his neck and forehead, and moved by the sudden tragedy closed the boys eyes. Something sparkled in his peripheral vision; he turned his hand and saw a single gold coin in boy’s good hand. It shone under the rays of the sun and the gray stone on which the boy lay turned red with blood.

CHAPTER 6

Queen of Hearts

Old House Trieste outside Arras, July 1793

This is your idea of a castle? Giselle said playfully as she and Vidocq stopped in front of an old house. Located at the outskirts of Arras, their place of refuge from prying eyes was certainly not a castle. Constructed from large slabs of stone, cemented forever by an ancient mortar, the house looked like a square boulder that has been repeatedly assaulted by sun and rain. It had cracked and faded roof tiles and broken windows. The wooden fence was rotten, and it was a miracle it was still standing. Thick wooden doors led them into the house proper. There was no furniture, just heaps of old hay. The whole place smelled of rusty iron, burned wood, leaves, and horses.

Not a castle but it will have to do, Vidocq remarked as he noticed the wooden ladder leading upstairs. Unless, of course, you prefer your own bedroom at home and pray that I don’t break my legs jumping out of the window if your mother catches us together.

Giselle laughed. That would be a sight to remember, she said with a playful sparkle in her blue eyes. I once heard a story like that from my friend Georgette. There was this prince who really liked to cuckold his subjects. He would sneak out of his castle at night and go and see his mistresses in various disguises. He was so good that no one could catch him and because he paid well, no woman could say no. But one day the prince ran out of luck and was shot in the buttock by an enraged husband as he was jumping out the window. The Prince survived but he never became a king.

Why?

He died in a jousting accident.

Couldn’t sit firmly in the saddle after that fateful day I bet, he said. Here ends the lesson, do not chase other men’s wives.

Giselle smiled again and squeezed his hand. This is our third time.

Yes, it is. There was nothing like the first time. But you were crying. I apologize for being so rough. It’s just…well…you know.

I know, she said and kissed him. It hurt the first time but not the second time.

This time it will be even better. I promised you a picnic and we have everything we need. He reached into his pants pocket and