CHAPTER 1055: CHAPTER 80: THE BROKEN THREAD

As a city of crime comparable to London, in 19th-century Paris, there were many renowned prisons.

The most famous among them was naturally the symbol of the Great Revolution—the Bastille.

Next was La Conciergerie, which once held Queen Mary Antoinette, and the Sanctuary Prison, which once served as the headquarters of the Knights Templar in France.

After these prisons, the one that most terrified Parisians was the St. Pelagie Prison.

This prison, located on Saint-Jacques Street in the fifth arrondissement of Paris, was initially built as a religious women’s prison. After the Great Revolution, it no longer had gender requirements for its occupants, was indifferent to religious beliefs, and even uninterested in one’s specific political stance.

In the early days of the Great Revolution, it mainly held Royalists, including some who bore noble titles.

As the Revolution progressed, the prisoners became increasingly diverse.

Before long, Mr. Camille Desmoulins, one of the initiators of the French Revolution, was imprisoned here, accused by the Jacobins of colluding with the remnants of the Girondists. However, his stay was short because he was soon sent to the guillotine.

The executioner responsible was actually the father of Mr. Samson, the old executioner of Paris whom Arthur had once met.

During the Directory’s governance, after the fall of the Jacobins, Mr. Francois-Noel Babeuf, the leader of the Equalists, was also honorably awarded a room in St. Pelagie Prison due to his conspiracy to overthrow the Directory. He stayed here for a few months before being sent to the guillotine.

After the Bourbon Dynasty’s restoration, the writer Paul Louis Courier and composer Pierre-Jean de Beranger were both jailed in St. Pelagie Prison for writing political satire and creating songs satirizing the government.

However, after the July Revolution, the number of those imprisoned for writing satire articles and songs decreased significantly.

Unfortunately, caricaturists, fascinated with drawing ducks and pears, quickly filled the vacancies left by writers and composers.

This echoed the adage, each generation has its own St. Pelagie Prison.

As such, finding a vacant room in St. Pelagie Prison today remains quite challenging.

Fortunately, Arthur and Victor did not come here today to book a room, so they didn’t need to worry about it.

Arthur looked out of the carriage window towards St. Pelagie Prison, scrutinizing the heavily guarded old building.

The massive stone walls towered high, their surfaces rough and mottled. Moss and vines spread at the corners, and if you looked closely, you could see sword and bullet marks hidden beneath the moss and vines. These marks bore witness to how many riots, jailbreaks, and revolutions this prison had endured since its establishment.

Perhaps due to experiencing so many upheavals, its defenses now could not compare to its early years.

The main entrance of the prison was a heavy iron gate embedded with large, fist-sized rivets and complex locks.

The stone pillars on each side of the door were carved with ancient patterns, though faded, they still displayed the exquisite craftsmanship of years past.

The windows were covered by thick iron bars, each rusted and blotched, yet unbreakable. The narrow windows made it nearly impossible to see inside, one could only faintly glimpse the darkness and shadows through the bars.

At the entrance of the prison, numerous heavily armed guards could be seen. Since the assassination attempt on Louis Philippe, both prison guards and the Paris police have heightened their vigilance. These guards bore stern expressions and rarely left their posts, casting wary glances whenever pedestrians passed by.

Nonetheless, perhaps due to an unwillingness to associate with the prison’s ill-fortune, there wasn’t much foot traffic or many carriages on this street. Aside from the vehicle carrying Arthur and Victor, the only carriages that passed by the empty cobblestone road were those transporting prisoners. The heavy sound of wheels and the jangling of iron chains intertwined, making it clear that the individuals inside were certainly not ordinary.

Arthur and Victor’s carriage was queued among a line of prison carts, and while waiting, Arthur lit a pipe and began inquiring with Victor about the information on the now-deceased forger.

"How did you come to know Maxi Francos?"

"Me? We go way back."

Victor glanced at the vehicles ahead, raising an eyebrow as he lit his own smoke and took a leisurely puff.

"It seems we have some time, so let me tell you a story."

"At your leisure."

Victor cleared his throat and began to recount the story of his early years.

"When I first served as a commissioner in the police, I was in charge of the area around St. Anthony Street in Paris. The street had many courtyards, alleys, and dead ends extending in all directions, inhabited mostly by scoundrels teetering on the brink of poverty and starvation, eager to get involved in some chaos or serve as accomplices to robbers or thugs."

In one of these alleys lived a man named Jean Monette. This guy had gone through a lot over the years but managed to endure it all and remained full of vigor. He was a widower, living on the fifth floor of a courtyard with his only daughter Emma. It was said that he had been in business and gradually became wealthy but was too frugal to spend any money, saving year after year to accumulate a large sum for his daughter before he died.