‘ 
1829.j [ 83 J 
MEMOIRS AND CONFESSIONS OF A POLICE OFFICER.* 
Among the duties which a great man owes to his country, there is none, 
as we think, more imperative than that of publishing, in his life time, if he 
can—if not, of leaving to the care of his executors—a faithful narrative of 
the events in which he has figured, or which have come under his _per- 
sonal observation. 
It will be remembered, that greatness is a term of relation, and that 
there are many kinds of greatness ;—there is the greatness of statesmen, 
the greatness of chimney-sweepers—and men may attain to great eleva- 
tion in either pursuit—the greatness of lawyers, and the greatness of pick- 
pockets : in short, any man blessed with genius, and sua arte peritus, 
may acquire greatness. “ Major Molasses was a great man ;” and Field- 
ing thought Jonathan Wild, his hero, was fit to mate, for his greatness, 
with those of antiquity. 
Clarendon and Burnet have told us all about their own times. Mr. 
Canning is said to-have left a similar history of the events of the period 
in which he flourished ; but the (perhaps) justifiable precaution of his 
friends will prevent its seeing the light during the present generation. We 
are delighted and-grateful at what these great men have done ; but a feel- 
ing of bitter despair comes over us when we think of the other great men, 
not statesmen, who have gone down to the tomb without leaving any 
record of their achievements, and whose knowledge lies buried for ever, 
as much lost to the world as the former possessors of it. We would give 
one of our ears to read Mr. Canning’s memoirs ; and we would give both 
to have a sight of the Peachum papers, or Filch’s materials for his auto- 
biography. 
In this species of writing the French have been always our superiors, 
as they were our first masters. The last example of this is tobe found 
in the memoirs of Vidocg, for many years Chef dela Police de Sureté, 
and who is now occupying the less distinguished station of a paper 
maker at St. Mande. 
If the avidity with which his work has been read in Paris were alone 
to be considered, there could be no doubt of its merit and interest; and 
of its having hit with admirable felicity, that craving curiosity to become 
acquainted with the mysterious and necessarily secret affairs to which it 
relates, that pervades all classes of society. Not only is it to be found in 
every salon, boudoir, and cabinet throughout Paris, but the very hack- 
ney coachmen spell its pages while waiting for their fares ; and when one 
oes into a décrottcur’s shop to have one’s shoes blacked, the artiste who 
is to operate, tears himself with a sigh from the perusal of Vidocq, and 
_ takes up his volume and his sous with equal eagerness, the moment that 
his task is finished. The marchandes des modes, who are great lovers of 
_ taking titles, have invented a captivating head-dress, which, in allusion 
to this irresistible thief-taker, is called chapeau a la Vidocg ; a patent has 
been granted for a rat-trap @ la Vidocq, and half a dozen melo-drames are 
in preparation, founded on his adventures, which will probably in due 
course, be translated (since we have left off writing theatrical pieces 
ourselves), and produced for the edification of our metropolitan audiences. 
There can be no doubt that Vidocq is in every proper sense of the word, 
a “ great man ;”—his popularity abundantly proves it, and the merit of 
his book is equal to his popularity. 
* Memoirs of Vidocq, Principal Agent of the French Police, until 1827. 4 vols. 
