#historical threads

“This Panchaud, alias Printanier, alias Bigrenaille, later featured in several criminal proceedings and has since become a celebrity crook. […] they used to talk about him in the exercise yard called the Lions’ Den at La Force. At that fabled prison, at the exact spot under the covered way where the sewer runs that was used in the incredible breakout in broad daylight of thirty detainees in 1843, you could even read, above the flagstones over the toilets, his name, PANCHAUD, boldly carved by the man himself on the parapet wall in one of his attempts at escape.”

He had spent nearly six hundred dollars on the suit. It fit him well, perfectly tailored to fit just right in every inch, to flare out just enough to hide his hips, to accent and exaggerate the breadth of his shoulders, to make every inch of him as masculine as possible.

The experimental hormones had done wonders. His muscle structure had shifted completely, revealing a sharp jaw and defined cheekbones where once had been a soft flush of flesh. His voice, once soprano, now straddled the line between baritone and tenor. The only thing one who knew him so long ago might recognise of him would be the same fired amber eyes that were somehow dark and bright at once.

He posed a dashing figure at the bottom of the steps of Capital Hill, even nervousness became of him in that moment. This was a man with pride in his presentation. He only had one shot to get this right, or all chances to do it again would be for naught.

He knew his brother would be in Congress that day. He wasn't sure how he knew, but this was most definately the right time to do it. He had to go introduce himself.

It had been nearly three decades since he last ascended these same steps. They had barely changed, but absolutely everything about them had. A new generation of politicians and tourists flocked over them. It didn't take long for a certain imposing figure to be spotted. There, at the top of the steps, stood a blond man, happily greeting folk as they milled about, there was no doubt. Though aged perhaps two or three years, that was Alfred Jones.

For a split second, fear struck his heart. Temptation to turn and flee filled his mind, or to seek out the nearest weapon to defend himself- No, he had to approach unarmed. He closed his eyes to steel himself before beginning to take the first step towards the National Representative of America.

There are many interesting references made to Les Misérables in Le Monde des Prisons (1887) by Georges Moreau. This relatively unknown work features the detailed recollections of Moreau’s own interactions and conversations with real prisoners (“reproduire mes conversations”) during his tenure as an ‘aumônier’ at La Grande-Roquette prison in Paris. 

Throughout the account, Hugo’s writings on crime and criminal archetypes as featured in Les Misérables are frequently cited. This even extends to fleeting discussions about the police and prison system (click here for a rather intriguing comparison involving Javert).

However, there is a particularly notable chapter where a real-life criminal, identified only as Molutor, is compared extensively to the character of Babet:

“Victor Hugo a crayonné de main de maitre un joli quatuor de bandits, Claquesous Gueulemer, Babet et Montparnasse, qui, dit-il, gouvernaient, de 1830 à 1835, le troisième dessous de Paris, cette cave d'où sort Lacenàire. [...] Molutor (François-Joseph), le père de notre fugitif de la Petite-Roquette, avait été plus favorisé de la fortune que le Babet de Victor Hugo. Sa femme lui avait donné trois enfants qui, pour n'être pas nés avec un mufle de veau, lui avaient rapporté une petite aisance.”

[Trans. Victor Hugo has masterfully pencilled a lovely quartet of bandits, Claquesous, Gueulemer, Babet and Montparnasse, who, he says, ruled the third substage of Paris from 1830 to 1835, the cellar from which Lacenàire emerged. [...] Molutor (François-Joseph), the father of our Petite-Roquette fugitive, had been more fortunate than Victor Hugo's Babet. His wife had given him three children who, though not being born with a calf's muzzle, had brought him a small amount of wealth.]

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I find these comparisons truly captivating, as— despite initially seeming rather trivial— allusions such as this uniquely blend real-life criminality with fictional realms.

Moreau goes on to elaborate that Molutor and the character of Babet share additional similarities because they both extend their criminal activities into theatrical spheres; Babet’s vaudeville performances and his displaying of ‘freaks’ are indirectly compared to Molutor’s activities as innkeeper of a real club named Le cabaret des Pieds. In an even more intriguing detail, Moreau describes Molutor as occasionally collaborating with a brute named ‘Gueule-de-Sac’— which makes me think of ‘Gueulemer’!

Moreover, even the physical attributes of Babet and Molutor are paralleled… echoing a disconcerting, though unfortunately unsurprising, ideology (whether on purpose or implicitly) wherein certain physical traits were believed to correspond with particular criminal behaviours.

“Ce Molutor était un homme petit, maigre, blême, anguleux, osseux, chétif, qui avait l'air malade et qui se portait à merveille; sa fourberie commençait là. Il souriait habituellement par précaution, et était poli à peu près avec tout le monde, même avec le mendiant auquel il refusait un liard. Il avait le regard d'une fouine. S'il rappelait Babet par certains côtés il faisait encore plus songer à Thénardier. Comme Thénardier, il s'était établi gargotier à Alger. / Souvent, il s'absentait plusieurs semaines de suite et l'on remarquait que c'était toujours du côté et à l'époque où nos soldats se battaient contre les Arabes. Il partait avec une petite carriole attelée d'un mauvais cheval, emportant quelques provisions qu'il vendait fort cher aux troupes.”

[Trans. “This Molutor was a short, skinny, pallid, angular, bony, puny man, who looked ill and was doing wonderfully well; his deceitfulness began there. He usually smiled as a precaution, and was polite to just about everyone, even the beggar to whom he refused a liard. He had the look of a weasel. If he reminded us of Babet in some ways, he reminded us even more of Thénardier. Like Thénardier, he had established himself as a gargotier in Algiers. / He was often away for several weeks at a time, always on the side and at the time when our soldiers were fighting the Arabs. He would leave with a small cart hitched to a bad horse, carrying a few provisions which he sold at a high price to the troops.”]

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The line “Il souriait habituellement par précaution, et était poli à peu près avec tout le monde, même avec le mendiant auquel il refusait un liard” instantly brings to mind Boulatruelle’s introduction in Les Misérables:

In this article snippet from Qui? Détective (1949), a real criminal gang is briefly compared to the fictional Patron-Minette. (source).

Some brief context on this publication— the Qui Detective magazine, which was being published weekly at this time, was regularly criticised for the “sensationalist” portrayal of crime in its articles in order to maintain “suspense”.

Within this extract we can observe how theatrical language is used to liken real-life murderers Nédelec, Babin, Planchais, and Bardy to the fictional characters Gueulemer, Montparnasse, Claquesous, Babet (and Thénardier). These individuals are referred to as “silhouettes farouches d’escarpes” who masterminded the murder of a man called Mariotti.

While I can’t imagine much thought was put into the specific comparisons made here— e.g Nédelec being a real-life Gueulemer, and Babin being a real-life Montparnasse (I really don’t think that the publication would’ve expected any readers to unpack these fleeting references at all!)— ultimately, the Patron-Minette and Thénardier are employed as a metaphor for dramatic, sensationalised crime in this context—thus providing an intriguing insight of how crime and theatrics have remained entwined in both fictional works and accounts of real-life criminality over time.

Attempted translation into English. [It's like reading a chapter from the Misérables, the one that shows us the hideous depths of the underworld: Montparnasse, Babet, Gueulemer, Claquesous... But in this Assize Court of Versailles, these actors of darkness are called Babin (that's Montparnasse); Nédelec (that's Gueulemer); Planchais (that's Claquesous). The innkeeper of Montfermeil, Thénardier, is now a Parisian innkeeper; his name is Bardy. It was at his place that the evil deeds were prepared; it was at his place that the fierce silhouettes of escarpes crept in one evening and masterminded the murder of the crémier Mariotti. The crime netted them 480,000 francs. But now they had to pay. The two ringleaders, Nédelec and Babin, were sentenced: Nédelec to death; Babin to life imprisonment; thanks to M Georgie Myers, always moving and able to win the hearts and minds of jurors, Babin saved his head: T. F.** to life imprisonment; the others were sentenced: Planchais, to 15 years' imprisonment; Bardy and Coche, to 10 years' imprisonment; Alexis Le Rhun and Victor Castori, to 3 years' imprisonment; the Golhen woman, Barby's mistress, to 5 years' imprisonment; the Gandon woman: 1 year's suspended sentence.]

(**‘T.F’ likely stands for ‘travaux forcés’, aka hard labour.)

For those curious to read more of the (very limited) information I’ve been able to source about the real-life criminals discussed in this source, please see below the cut: