Where can i read papillon

Just like a Christmas card. Shaken by the wind, the trees had dropped their mantles of snow, black silhouettes against the white. It was Christmas; it was even Christmas in part of the prison. The Administration had made an effort for the convicts in transit: we were allowed to buy two squares of chocolate. I said two squares, not two bars. The restrictions of justice had turned me into a pendulum. This shuttle back and forth in my cell made up my entire universe.

It had been mathematically worked out. Nothing, absolutely nothing was to be left in the cell. The prisoner must have no distractions. Had I been caught looking through the crack in my window, I would have been severely punished. Actually they were right, since to them I was only a living corpse. By what right did I permit myself to enjoy a glimpse of nature? A butterfly flew past, light blue with a thin black stripe, and a bee bumbled not far from the window. What were these little beasts looking for?

Drunk with the winter sun, perhaps, unless they were cold and wanted to get into prison. A butterfly in winter is like life after death.

And why had the bee left its hive? How foolishly bold of them to come here! Tribouillard was a true sadist. I had a feeling something would happen between us and unfortunately I was right.

The day after the visit of my charming insects, I got sick. I was suffocating with loneliness. I needed to see a face, hear a voice, even an angry one, but at least a voice.

I had to hear something. Standing naked in the glacial cold of the corridor, facing the wall with my nose almost against it, I was the next to the last in a row of eight men waiting their turn to see the doctor.

I wanted to see people … and I succeeded too well. The trusty came upon us at the moment I was talking under my breath to Julot, the man with the hammer. One whack of his fist against the back of my head and I was almost done for. The blood spurted out, and, as I picked myself up, I made a tentative gesture of protest.

That was all the giant needed. He gave me a sharp kick in the gut which flattened me again, then he went on to flog me with his bull-whip. That was too much for Julot. He jumped on him; there was a wild struggle. Since Julot was getting the worst of it, the guards stood by impassive.

No one took any notice of me. I looked around for some kind of weapon. Suddenly I saw the doctor leaning forward in his office chair to see what was going on in the corridor, and at the same time I noticed a lid bobbing over some boiling water.

The steam probably served to purify the air. He let out a terrible scream. He rolled around on the floor trying to peel off his three woolen sweaters.

When he got to the third, his skin came off with it. The neck of the sweater was tight, and in his effort to get it over his head, the skin of his chest, his cheeks and part of his neck came too, stuck to the wool. His only eye was scalded, so he was blind as well. He finally got to his feet, hideous, bloodied, his flesh raw, and Julot took the opportunity to give him a violent kick in the groin.

The giant collapsed and started to vomit and froth at the mouth. He had got his. The two guards who had watched the scene were too cowed to attack. They called for help. It came from all sides and the clubs rained down on us like hail. When I came to, I was two floors below, completely naked in a dungeon flooded with water. I slowly came to my senses and felt my bruises. They hurt. There were at least a dozen bumps on my head.

What time was it? In this place there was neither day nor night. Then I heard a knocking on the wall. It came from far away. Pang, pang, pang, pang, pang, pang. The knocks were the ringing of the telephone. I had to knock twice if I wanted to get on the line. Knock, yes, but with what? I moved closer to where I thought the door must be; it was a little lighter there. I banged into the grill.

Feeling around, I figured that the door to the dungeon must be about three feet beyond and that the grill prevented me from reaching it. You could talk to him, throw water on him, throw food at him, insult him, all with impunity. The knocking resumed. Who was trying to get in touch with me? The guy certainly deserved a reply—he was taking a big chance. As I walked around in the dark, my foot slipped on something round and hard, and I almost fell flat on my face.

It was a wooden spoon. I grabbed it and got ready to reply. Ear to the wall, I waited. Pang, pang, pang, pang, pang. Pang, pang. I answered: pang, pang. The taps began: pang, pang, pang—the letters of the alphabet rolled by quickly— a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p , stop.

It stopped at the letter p. I tapped a hard pang. This was to tell him I had registered the letter p , then came an a , a p , an i , etc. You really got it. I have a broken arm. It was Julot. We telephoned for over two hours, oblivious to the danger. We were carried away. I told him that I had broken nothing, that my head was covered with bumps, but that I had no open wounds. He had seen me being pulled down the stairs by the foot and told me that at each step my head had banged against the one above.

He had never lost consciousness. He thought that Tribouillard had been badly burned and because of the wool was in serious condition. He was through for a while, at least. Three quick taps warned me that there was trouble coming.

I stopped. I heard someone shout:. Get back, you bastard! Get to the back of the cell and come to attention! It was the new trusty. My name is Batton and my name suits my profession. He let out a savage yell, then put the lantern up to his face. I saw that he was smiling, and not unkindly. He placed a finger to his lips and pointed to the things he was leaving me.

There must have been a guard in the corridor, yet he wanted me to know that he was not my enemy. In the bread I found a big piece of boiled meat and, in the pocket of the pants—oh riches! Here such presents were worth a million. Two shirts instead of one, and woolen underwear that reached to my ankles. What it meant was that he was rewarding me for getting rid of Tribouillard.

Before the incident he had been only an assistant trusty. Now, thanks to me, he had the full title. We spent the entire day sending messages back and forth. From him I learned that our departure was imminent: in three or four months. Two days later we were led out of the dungeon and, each of us flanked by two guards, were taken to the office of the director. Three men sat behind a table facing the door. It was a kind of tribunal. The director acted as president, and the assistant director and the head warden were the associate judges.

Julot was very pale, his eyes were swollen, and he probably had a fever. His arm had been broken for three days now; he must be in great pain. He answered very quietly, I have a broken arm. Well, you asked for it. That should teach you not to attack people. I hope it will be within the week. The wait will be good for you; perhaps the pain will teach you something.

Open navigation menu. Close suggestions Search Search. User Settings. Skip carousel. Carousel Previous. Carousel Next. What is Scribd? Cancel anytime. Start your free 30 days Read preview. Publisher: HarperCollins. Released: May 29, ISBN: Format: Book. Also available as All categories. About the author.

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Related Articles. Gentlemen, the court! By eleven that night the game was over. Check and mate. I, who was innocent, was found guilty. Will the prisoner please stand. A murmur rose from a group of specially invited ladies sitting behind the Bench. Will a guard please remove the prisoner, said the President. Then this fifty-year-old jailer who had seen everything and knew my own case very well had these kind words for me: Those bastards! They must be crazy! Thanks, chief. What is it? A voice answered, Nothing.

What does it say? I got fifteen years. What about you? I heard they really screwed you. I got life. Are you going to appeal? Ten thousand francs in pounds sterling. Oh, nothing interesting, Dega answered. Courtroom indigestion? The slob burst out laughing. I got up for a drink of water. So much thinking had given me a headache.

Thanks to you I got my plan. When you go to the toilet, wash it well before you put it back. What are you planning to do, Dega? Listen, Dega, what are you really afraid of?

Is it the other cons? We embraced. The pact was sealed. What can I do for you? Would you step into the next room? What did you do? Who was it? A pimp. Do you want to pray with me? Father, forgive me, but I never had religious instruction.

We sat down on the bed again, side by side. How long has it been since you last cried? Fourteen years. My mother died. He took my hand in his and said, Forgive those who have made you suffer.

Thirty-four years later I agreed with him. Break a rule. What rule? What shall I use for an excuse? That you forgot your breviary. He returned in no time. Dega had agreed. We undressed slowly. It was cold. I had gooseflesh. Get dressed! Right turn, single file! Ready, march! The director will now address you. Toreador, sir. I heard someone shout: Get back, you bastard!

What have you to say for yourselves? Start your free 30 days. Reviews What people think about Papillon 4. Rate as 1 out of 5, I didn't like it at all. Rate as 2 out of 5, I didn't like it that much. Rate as 3 out of 5, I thought it was OK. Rate as 4 out of 5, I liked it. Rate as 5 out of 5, I loved it. Rating: 0 out of 5 stars. Write a review optional. Reader reviews karenduff. Firstly what I learned from this book is that sometimes Dad is right and I owe him an apology.

He said I would like this and find it engrossing, I doubted him afterall the very fact that the book was written tells you that he did escape. Despite knowing that eventually Papillon would succeed in his attempt to escape I found myself routing for him with each attempt,even though I knew that most of these attempts were doomed to failure and that it would only be with the ninth attempt that he would finally succeed.

I actually found some of the other people in this story far more interesting than Papillon himself, like the lepers he meets during his first attempt who give him food,shelter and money to try and also sell him a boat and gun at discount prices to try and help him get to the South American mainland so that maybe he can have the freedom that because of their leprosy they could never have even if they were to escape.

Thank you Dad for the recommendation. My all-time favourite adventure book, complete with solitary confinement, lepers, a native Indian tribe, rafts, poligamy and non-stop action. There is everything you could ever possibly want here, with the extra bonus of having the mystique of a true story.

A rousing tale of adventure that gives the account of the only man ever to escape from Devil's Island. There has been questions over the years about the book's authenticity, but -- true or false -- it's perfect escapist fare pun intended.

An amazing story about an innocent man's will to survive and escape the abhorrent conditions of the French penal institutions in Guiana in It is book full of adventure, intrigue, friendship,sorrow, joy, heartache, revenge, life, persistence and fate! Wonderful story about a prisoner and his decades long attempts to escape from his life sentence in a French colonial prison.

The story had a lot in common with Hugo's Les Miserables in terms of his treatment by those who knew that he was an escaped convict. There were those that were kind beyond belief and others that were cruel for no good reason. Of course, throughout, there was the question of God and "his" hand in his life.

If you believe this is all true as it's supposed to be then it's surely one of the best and most exciting real life stories of all time.

Even if you don't believe it and some of the bits seemed to have been exaggerated it's still one heck of a gripping read. The endless stretches of solitary confinement, which could have been boring, made for some of the most haunting reading I have encountered in literature.

It was fascinating to hear about the protocol of escaping from a penal colony. Arriving after one successful breakout on an island under British administration, the French escapees immediately start acting like Brits - I had expected them to immediately go underground, but instead they presented themselves at the consulate queueing, no doubt before reporting themselves as escaped prisoners from a penal colony!

To which they were effectively told 'Jolly good, chaps, off you go now! Naysayers jumped on Henri Charriere's, aka Papillon, autobiography from the start, calling into question the truth of his harrowing tales of escapes and captures from a penal colony in French Guiana in the s and 40s. The adventures detailed here may in fact not all be those of Papillon. Perhaps Charriere did synthesize the cavales of many other bagnards and claim them all as his own.

But that should not really detract from the harrowing adventures contained in this book. They convey a truth about the brutality of the French justice system of a century ago, the capacities of man to be cruel and to suffer, but beyond everything the desire to be free, at any cost. Quite the opposite. As a matter of principle, we changed the names of all the bagnards, guards and wardens in the penal colonies.

The purpose of the book was not to attack individuals but to describe particular types in a particular society. The same holds true for dates: some are precise, others approximate. That seemed enough. And to deliver a blow like that, they went to a lot of trouble. It was the twenty-sixth of October, I was freshly shaved and carefully dressed. My suit was from a good tailor and gave me an air of elegance. A white shirt and pale-blue bow tie added the final touches. I was twenty-five but looked twenty.

The police were a little awed by my gentlemanly appearance and treated me with courtesy. They had even taken off my handcuffs. All six of us, the five policemen and I, were seated on two benches in a bare anteroom of the Palais de Justice de la Seine in Paris.

The doors facing us led to the courtroom. Outside the weather was gray. I was about to be tried for murder. My lawyer, Raymond Hubert, came over to greet me. I was. A guard appeared and motioned us in. The double doors swung wide and, flanked by four policemen and a sergeant, I entered the enormous room.

To soften me up for the blow, everything was blood red: the rugs, the draperies over the big windows, even the robes of the judges who would soon sit in judgment over me. The President stopped in front of the middle chair, the magistrates took their places on either side. An impressive silence filled the room. Everyone remained standing, myself included. Then the Bench sat down and the rest of us followed suit.

The President was a chubby man with pink cheeks and a cold eye. His name was Bevin. He looked at me without a trace of emotion. No, he would take no responsibility for the blow; he would only announce the verdict. The prosecutor was Magistrate Pradel. Pradel was the personification of public vengeance: the official accuser, without a shred of humanity. He represented law and justice, and he would do everything in his power to bend them to his will. He was at least six foot three—and he carried it with arrogance.

He kept on his red cloak but placed his cap in front of him and braced himself with hands as big as paddles. A gold band indicated he was married, and on his little finger he wore a ring made from a highly polished horseshoe nail.

With the disgusting swill the investigator has collected, I must make you seem so repulsive that the jury will cast you out of the society of men.

And I trust you have no faith in the jury. Have no illusions in that quarter. Those twelve know nothing of life. The book also explores the humane relations Papillon shared with his cell mates, and you feel for a lot of them to, he was heavy handed with the sods but easy to make friends with. Most were never repulsed by his intense obsession to break out, believing his innocence and respecting his dream to live as a free man.

It was this trust that enlivened his spirits and increased his strength to keep his sanity in the lowest ebbs of confinement, which generally were truly awful.

On finishing Papillon I put the book down feeling that, out there in the big wide world, anything is possible. This is a testament to the human spirit on a grandeur level, an adrenaline soaked, hard as nails unshakable will to live. As for his writing, he took to it like anything else, without ever imagining that he could fail, putting pen to paper, 5, words a day, and if events from 30 years before ended up feeling a little fictionalised, he still managed to get Papillon across to the reader in the most believable way.

An experience never to be forgotten. View all 11 comments. What a story! Papillon is an autobiographical novel about a man who in was charged with killing someone of course, the author claims he was innocent and he was sentenced to a life of hard labor at a penal colony in French Guiana.

After many weeks of planning, he managed to escape on a raft and sailed hundreds of miles to Colombia. He spent several months living happily in a fishing village -- with not one but two wives! He tried many other escape attempts, but it wasn't until that he managed to escape again by sea, floating away on a sack of coconuts.

Yes, a sack of coconuts. Papillon, a nickname referencing the French word for butterfly, is a wonderful storyteller and the book is filled with his adventures. I can understand why this book was a huge bestseller when it was published in ; it is compulsively readable and the stories are memorable.

Like any great storyteller, the author comes across as so clever and heroic that you wonder how much is exaggerated, but you also don't care because you're enjoying it too much. View all 3 comments. Mar 27, Aaron Arnold rated it it was amazing Shelves: read-in , fiction. I think my favorite part, out of a lot of great parts, was Papillon's moment of agonizing choice about a third of the way in, between staying in his beautiful Venezuelan paradise with his two new-found native wives, and returning to seek "vengeance" on what he thinks is the unjust society that shipped him halfway across the world to rot in a jungle charnel house.

He idiotically chooses to leave this blissful native paradise, but even when I was cursing him for being a fool I thought his reflections on the differences between the "civilized" European culture who'd condemned him and the indigenous cultures who'd adopted him were well-written and interesting in the light of the complicated relationship Western countries have had with their colonies.

The French, while not exactly angels, were often more willing than their neighbors the Spanish and the British to go native and peacefully blend into the various cultures who inhabited their colonies. While I think he overdid the Noble Savage trope a little bit, in terms of the story it makes the protagonist the perfect lone wolf badass who's as at home charming the well-to-do wives of the colonial administrators as he is getting laid with the daughters of whatever tribal chieftains he runs into.

Another one of my favorite parts was his first experience in solitary at Devil's Island - I've read other books with prison scenes in them, but his description of the soul-crushing loneliness it engenders is one of the best, and was surely the prototype for countless others. And of course all his various escape attempts are amazing too, but every part of the book can't be your favorite, that's like having dessert for every meal, something only a child would do.

This book hit me squarely on that kind of undiluted childish pleasure level. Now to go track down the movie! View 2 comments. I've seen in other review there is some question in the authenticity, and I did think that some of Papillon's adventures were over-the-top, especially making it so far in the sea on coconuts! I do think some of the book is a bit repetitive and a bit long but overall I really enjoyed it. Now I really have to watch the movie I want to see the original and then the remake.

From there, everyone who disagreed with him in some way was evil and the rest of the world always seemed eager to help him escape. Too black and white for my taste.

You might very well enjoy this book as a work of fiction, but it was just not for me. Oct 28, Bettie rated it it was amazing Shelves: nonfiction , prisoner , dodgy-narrator , winter , re-visit , film-only , autobiography-memoir , lit-richer-jan , paper-read , published Sentenced to life imprisonment in the penal colony of French Guiana, he became obsessed with one goal: "escape. Since then, it has become a treasured classic -- the gripping, shocking, ultimately uplifting odyssey of an innocent man who would not be defeated.

Lordy, how much this reminds me of my youth and how convinced at one point that this was a mirror of the Dreyfus Affair. I saved this book from the discard pile, from one of the school libraries I worked in while living in Indiana. This story was even better the second time around. I am glad I reread it.

Shelves: autobiographical , adventure , southamerica. This book is incredible. If you liked Shawshank, you'll love Papillon. Henri Charrier, called Papillon for the butterfly tattoo on his chest, was convicted in Paris in for a murder he did not convict and was shipped off to French Guiana.

It takes years and several failed attempts for Papillion to escape in this nail-biting story of amazin This book is incredible. It takes years and several failed attempts for Papillion to escape in this nail-biting story of amazing courage. The book has it all, sex for a while Papillion has two Indian wives who are sisters , drugs and a little metaphorical rock and roll. I can't recommend it enough. Charriere wrote his autobiography in , twenty years after he escaped. View all 6 comments.

Its my favorite book till date. One word for it - WOW.. Its just amazing and the way the author has described the life of a man in the prisons is amazing. Its wonderful how he tells this man's story spanning so many years.

I saw this movie as a kid.. I must be very young then maybe class 5 or younger.. Papillon means butterfly and it symbolises the protagonists' desire to get free from the clutches of jail.

The vivi Its my favorite book till date. The vivid description is just too good to miss and the book too good to be put down. I also like it because I am great fan of escape stories, prison accounts, prisoner of war and other war stories. And 'adventure' sounded like the right genre for me at that moment in time.

I read the translator's introduction last night and I'm looking forward to reading a big chunk of it tonight. To be continued I like to midnight-snack while I do my nightly reading and in a number of places over the last hundred pages I found myself rage-eating my chips - just shovelling them in, too angry with the injustice of Henri's situation to enjoy them. Usually I eat them slowly, one or two per page, savouring them so that I don't accidentally eat a whole bag in one night, something which I could easily have done while reading this book last night.

He talks about a man who hands him a cup of coffee and then exclaims "Oh, where's my finger gone? Henri finds it stuck to the outside of his cup and hands it back to him. According to Wikipedia this sequence is impossible, leprosy, despite all the old wives' tales, does not lead to body parts falling off here, there and everywhere. This next passage is taken straight from Wikipedia's page on leprosy "Initially, infections are without symptoms and typically remain this way for 5 to as long as 20 years.

Symptoms that develop include granulomas loosely described as 'a small nodule' of the nerves, respiratory tract, skin, and eyes. This may result in a lack of ability to feel pain and thus loss of parts of extremities due to repeated injuries.

Weakness and poor eyesight may also be present. To reiterate, the loss of body parts happens because of repeated injuries to these body parts, which have become numbed due to granulomas of the nerves. There is no "Oh, my finger just fell off. If untreated, leprosy can progress and cause permanent damage to the skin, nerves, limbs, and eyes. Contrary to folklore, leprosy does not cause body parts to fall off, although they can become numb or diseased as a result of secondary infections; these occur as a result of the body's defences being compromised by the primary disease.

Secondary infections, in turn, can result in tissue loss causing fingers and toes to become shortened and deformed, as cartilage is absorbed into the body. That his main motive for writing this tale of injustice wasn't to make a pile of cash, but to let the world know of what he went through.

You had everything you needed, not one but two loving wives both pregnant with your child not a comment on the fact that one of the wives was not much more than 12, or that the two girls were sisters, just a comment on what he had and what he left behind ; you had a community who accepted and revered you. You had an idyllic island paradise life, what more could you want? Deciding not to go back for revenge doesn't make you weak, it just means you've found something more important, something worth living for, which you didn't have when you first visualised getting your revenge on all the people who were involved in your imprisonment.

Now look what's happened, you've been recaptured and as you pointed out that mistake will cost you seven years of your life. Imagine how your life could have gone if you had just stayed with Lali and Zoraima. There are so many words per page, with so few paragraphs that it's really slowing down my normal reading speed. Normally, when I'm enjoying a book as much as I'm enjoying this one I look down and am amazed to have read 50 pages in half an hour, with this book I look down and find I've only read 10 pages.

Like I said, I'm enjoying the story, but I don't want to be reading it for the rest of my life, I do have other books that I want to get to that I may well enjoy even more than this plus library due dates are looming. First it turns out that GR has been fudging the page count, it's not as I was originally led to believe it's followed by numerous pages of 'extras' including an 'exclusive essay by Howard Marks'. I think I'm pleased that I've only got pages to go instead of as I'm feeling the pressure from my other books' library due dates and this really is taking a long while to read.

Forty-two days after his arrival he made his first break, travelling a thousand gruelling miles in an open boat. Recaptured, his spirit remained untamed - in thirteen years he made nine amazingly daring escapes , including one from the notorious Devil's Island. An immediate sensation upon its publication, Papillon is one of the greatest adventure stories ever told, a true tale of courage, resilience and an unbreakable will.

Nine amazingly daring escapes What the blurb really means is that he attempts to escape nine times, he only succeeds twice, the first attempt when he managed to stay out for 11 months and the final, which I'm currently in the middle of.

Learning that a book like this is pretty much just a well-imagined adventure story in the vein of Robinson Crusoe or Treasure Island takes a bit of the shine off story. It's no longer as fantastically amazing because it's not real. I went into the reading of this book believing that it was a true story and I am certainly disappointed to come to the conclusion that there's very little truth to be found anywhere in the book.

It's moving to the historical fiction shelf. Aug 27, Robert rated it it was ok. Papillon was an enjoyable enough summer read; it was just a little hard to suspend my disbelief at times for a supposedly nonfiction endeavor.

I was unsurprised to see in my post-reading research that large portions the story were disputed and that several of Charriere's fellow inmates have claimed over the years that he incorporated the experiences of other would-be escapees and presented them as his own story. I guess this book was a precursor of sorts to A Million Little Pieces in that both a Papillon was an enjoyable enough summer read; it was just a little hard to suspend my disbelief at times for a supposedly nonfiction endeavor.

I guess this book was a precursor of sorts to A Million Little Pieces in that both are perfectly good stories that would go down a lot smoother were they not presented as fact. I would like to re-read this book soon knowing what I know now, and just accept the story as a communal history of the penal colony prisoners, with Papi as the proxy for several inmates' experiences. I had read this many years ago, and of course I've seen the movie more than once.

I mean the classic one with Steve McQueen sigh as Papillon. So I knew the story but while I was living in Mexico I found the sequel at a used book table at one of the regular book fairs in the main plaza in town.

I never knew there was a sequel so I got it but promised myself to read this first. It had been a very long time since I read Papillon and some of it I didn't remember at all. But I enjoyed the book and r I had read this many years ago, and of course I've seen the movie more than once. But I enjoyed the book and rooted for Papi every time he made an escape attempt.

However, I did get a little tired this time of the way he presented himself as knowing everything about everything, being smarter and tougher then anyone else in any prison, but at the same time being an honorable man. Maybe he was really was all of that, but by the end I was rolling my eyes a bit, and I just wanted him to get to that last big escape attempt and be done with it.

This is why I changed my original four stars to three. I think I was influenced to four stars by the image of Steve McQueen sigh in my head the whole time I was reading. Oh, Papillon was called that because of a butterfly tattoo that he said he had at the base of his neck. But he also had plenty of other tattoos: "On the right side of my chest I had a guard from Calvi; on the left, the head of a woman; just above the waist a tiger's head; on my spine, a crucified sailor, and across the kidneys, a tiger hunt with hunters, palm trees, elephants and tigers.

A red cross on a white shield. In reading a bit more about the author, I saw that the educated opinion these days is that most of the book was fiction, a compilation of experiences that Papillon heard from other prisoners, not events he had gone through himself.

I will let those educated people worry about that. The story itself is good, and sometimes that is all that matters. View 1 comment. Nov 26, Trevor Wiltzen rated it it was amazing. Papillon: this is a perfect novel to read during a Pandemic. His book is marketed as an autobiography, although journalists of the era found many false or fanciful parts. The man writes with a passion and a sense of storytelling beyond compare.

He wrote his history on a whim, expecting to hand it off to an editor to be fixed or forgotten Papillon: this is a perfect novel to read during a Pandemic.

He wrote his history on a whim, expecting to hand it off to an editor to be fixed or forgotten — that no one would read it or care. He was wrong. He became a sensation. The editor barely changed a word, and the world recognized in this swashbuckling renegade an epitome of what a man can become — free in mind and spirit, regardless of the effort to destroy him.

Henri had an almost animal-like intensity. A brute of a man hardened by the prison system, he craved refinement and had a natural charm. While he professed indifference to what others thought of him, I imagine he was a proud and sensitive soul, hiding a damaged sense of self-worth and pride.

Maybe that is why he had embellished his tale — but what a tale it was. Driven by rage against the prosecutor and judge who convicted him, he vowed to escape prison to return to France to exact his revenge. But this was s France. Its brutal prison system deemed prisoners as almost inhuman. Beatings and deprivations were common. He was sentenced to serve on a penal island in South America, surrounded by tides and sharks, fronted by a mainland thick with wet jungle filled with quicksand, where escape meant either a quick death or a slow one.