The History and Romance of Crime 28

The History and Romance of Crime 28

One or two later cases possessing some of the same features may be

included here,--those of Michel Campi and of Marchandon,--which throw

up into strong relief the insecurity of life, even in the most crowded

parts of a large city. In the first instance a peaceable old gentleman

and his sister were murdered at three o’clock in the afternoon in the

rue du Regard, not far from the avenue de Clichy. In the other a lady

of good position and ample means was done to death in the middle of the

night by her own man-servant, whom she had only engaged the day before.

 

The case of Campi is as follows: On the afternoon of a tenth of

August, a man rang at the door of an apartment in the rue du Regard

where resided Du Cros de Sixt with his sister. They were both old

people. He was well to do and secretary to a religious society. Their

residence was in a pavilion apart from the principal building. Mlle.

du Cros answered the door in the absence of their maid, and Campi

at once struck down the old lady with a succession of violent blows

with a hammer. Mlle. du Cros fell screaming and her brother rushing

out was treated in the same manner. Then the miscreant, opening a

large knife, cut the poor woman’s throat and next wounded M. du Cros

mortally. Now the concierge came to the rescue, found the two bodies

lying in a pool of blood, and hurriedly called in the police. When

they arrived they found the murderer in one of the rooms hunting for

plunder. He was forthwith arrested, and without difficulty, although

he later explained this to the instructing judge by saying that had

he not broken the handle of his hammer, he would have taken other

lives. Robbery was judged to be the motive of the crime, but Campi’s

advocate wished to suggest an idea of vengeance, although no proof of

this was ever forthcoming. There was some mystery about the man and his

relations with M. du Cros which never came out. Campi was certainly

acquainted with M. du Cros and his sister, who survived for a couple

of days. When questioned, she begged piteously not to be forced to

reveal the secret of the man’s identity. Campi was perfectly well known

to the police as a criminal, who had been in prison frequently, but

his secret antecedents were never brought to light. He was said to

have served in the Carlist ranks in Catalonia. He belonged originally

to Marseilles, and his connection with the Spanish insurgents was

attested by Carlist officers who recognised him. The mystery about him

was never definitely cleared up, and it served only to increase the

interest attached to him at the time of his trial. The account given

of his last appearance differed little from those of other executions,

but he was most anxious to show no weakness, declined all assistance,

and cried: “I would rather walk alone. I am not in the least afraid.”

When he saw the guillotine, he exclaimed contemptuously, “Is that all!”

The exact truth as to his identity will never be known, but those who

knew him maintained to the last that he was not a thief; that he was

essentially an honest man, who would not stoop to murder for mere

gain; and that some family scandal would have been revealed if the

whole story of the crime had been laid bare.

 

In the case of Marchandon, his intention to murder his new mistress

without loss of time was shown by the fact that he only hired for a

single day the clothes in which he presented himself in the rue de

Sèze. He had secured employment in many houses by means of a forged

certificate of character, which was so unsatisfactory that it roused

the suspicions of the Princess Poniatowski, who had engaged him, but

would not allow him to enter her house. She had gone at once to the

registry office to warn them, but found that Marchandon had already

been placed elsewhere, in fact, with Madame Cornet, his future victim.

He proceeded promptly to carry out his crime. Having secured a livery

coat as already described, he waited at table, and, after receiving

his orders for next day, he went up to bed in the garret. About one in

the morning he went down again and entered Madame Cornet’s apartment

by means of a key which he had secured, and hid himself between the

salon and the bedroom. When Madame Cornet had undressed and gone to

bed, Marchandon attacked her. Her piercing screams disturbed the

concierge who slept above. He got up to call the chambermaid, believing

that Madame Cornet was taken ill. The two came down-stairs together

and knocked at the door, but received no reply. They listened at the

door for a time, and then left, thinking all must be right, as she was

moving about. It was the murderer whom they heard, busied in getting

rid of his blood-stained clothes, and hunting for valuables.

 

The first clue to the detection of the crime was the discovery of

the hired livery coat, which was recognised by its owner when he was

found. With it came the identification of the man-servant. He had a

snug little home of his own in Compiègne, where he lived with his

wife very comfortably. When arrested in the course of the day, he was

just sitting down to a little dinner of croutons and roast fowl. The

establishment was run with the means Marchandon acquired in Paris and

brought down to his wife, the proceeds, no doubt, of his thefts. At one

time he was in the service of the well-known M. Worth, the dressmaker

of the rue de la Paix, but always managed to get down to Compiègne

in the evening for dinner, bringing with him fish or fruit, or some

other delicacy. He was a man of simple tastes, very popular in his own

neighborhood. The raising of poultry was his favorite amusement, and

he delighted in growing flowers. He was not without a certain sense of

grim humor; and a witness deposed in court to his having exclaimed,

when reading his newspaper the day after the murder of Madame Cornet,

“Why are people so careless as to engage their servants without proper

characters!”

 

The two Roquettes, small and great, were much mixed up with the painful

drama of the Paris Commune. The junior prison was for some time

appropriated to military prisoners. Paris, as the insurrection grew,

became more and more crowded with troops, and some penal establishment

was much needed. When the Commune was in full swing, La Petite Roquette

contained about four hundred soldiers of all branches of the service,

who in their turn gave place to the juveniles brought back from other

prisons. These, to the number of 127, were retained until the end of

May, when they were released and sent out armed to take part in the

defence of the barricades. They soon returned clamorous for shelter.

Later, La Petite Roquette was utilised as a place of safe custody for

all regular soldiers found in Paris who had refused to ally themselves

with the Commune. Some twelve hundred of these more than filled the

prison.

 

A darker shadow lies upon La Grande Roquette, for it was made the place

of detention for the so-called hostages of the Commune. Many persons

of rank and authority were arrested by the Communal authorities as a

means of imposing respect upon the government of Versailles, now moving

its troops forward to recover Paris and re-establish law and order.

Some idea of the savage and bloodthirsty spirit that possessed the

insurgents had already been seen in the murder of the two generals,

Clément Thomas and Lecomte, who had been arrested and mercilessly shot

at Montmartre. Early in April it was decided to arrest Monseigneur

Darboy, Archbishop of Paris. It is said that the same priest, Abbé

Lagard, Archdeacon of St. Genevieve, who had warned Archbishop Sibour

that Verger had threatened to take his life, now desired to put M.

Darboy on his guard. The trustful prelate could not believe that anyone

wished him evil, but the very next day after the fight at Châtillon,

an order was issued to two Communist captains to secure the persons

of the Archbishop and some of his clerics, and convey them to the

Conciergerie, where they were arraigned before three members of the

Committee of Public Safety, Rigault, Ferré, Dacosta. “My children,”

began the Monseigneur, “I am here to render you any satisfaction.”

“We are not your children, but your judges,” replied Rigault. “For

eighteen centuries you and men like you have been locking up humanity;

it is now your turn.” Sentence of death was then and there passed upon

them. “These are not men, but wild beasts,” protested the Archbishop,

who was forthwith removed with his secretary to the depot of the

Prefecture, whence they were transferred to Mazas. The possession of

these and other hostages inspired the Communists to open negotiations

with Versailles, backed by the threat that they would kill their

prisoners unless their terms were conceded. But indeed, this political

murder had been resolved upon the first moment of their arrest, and on

the morning of the twenty-fourth of May, 1871, they were all brought

from Mazas to La Grande Roquette, where the Governor gave a receipt

for their bodies worded as follows: “Received forty priests and

magistrates.”

 

By this time the troops stationed at La Roquette had been strongly

reinforced, and on the evening of the twenty-fifth of May another

detachment arrived. It was frankly admitted that they were the “platoon

of execution.” A list was handed to François, a low creature who had

been a carpenter, containing the names of all his prisoners. These

names were called out one by one, Darboy, the Archbishop, first. “Let

me get my coat,” said Monseigneur, but some one called out, “You will

not want it,” and taking him by the arm they led him down to the garden

that runs round the interior of the prison. This was the first _chemin

de ronde_. The second was reached by turning to the left, and again

to the left, and was well out of sight of the ordinary prison and the

hospital. The hostages then appear to have been arranged according to

rank from right to left. The Archbishop first, then M. le President

Bonjean, and then the rest of the priests. Just before the final act,

the Archbishop raised his hand to bless and absolve his companions, six

in all, who faced the firing party at thirty paces distant. At the word

of command the execution was completed. In those days of massacre the

guillotine was deemed too slow, and the bullet took its place.

 

At daylight next morning the same process was repeated with the fifteen

remaining hostages, who were led out one by one and formed up under

the same wall. Nowadays the many sympathisers with the victims of this

dastardly act, who come from all parts of the world to visit the scene

of the murder, will find a marble tablet fixed in the wall over the

exact spot where they fell. It bears the inscription: “Respect this

place which witnessed the death of the sainted and noble victims of the

24th of May, 1871.” An iron balustrade keeps off irreverent feet, and

is constantly adorned with wreaths of immortelles. A large number of

hostages remained, many of whom were gensdarmes. They were removed from

prison and massacred in a body at Belleville.

 

After many essays at improvement the prisons of Paris have entered upon

a stage of approximate perfection, and the capital is now possessed of

a penal establishment that compares with any in the civilised world.

The great prison of Fresnes, after four years in building at immense

outlay, was completed and occupied in July, 1898. It is situated on the

very outskirts of Paris, replacing a number of old-fashioned prisons.

It covers a wide extent of ground. The entrance is on the Versailles

road (on the left of the visitor coming from Berny station), where

the great edifice with its imposing, but not too florid, architecture,

presents a view of many lofty parallel blocks, flanked by smaller

buildings appropriated to the service of the prison.

 

Passing first the gatekeeper’s lodge, in front of which stands the

Governor’s residence of ambitious dimensions, we enter a long avenue,

well planted with trees, and find on the left other dwellings occupied

by the superior staff, and on the right a great block of 156 cells in

three tiers. This cell house is the _quartier de transfèrement_; in

other words, the place of passage in which are accommodated all the

classes till now found in La Grand Roquette. Those sentenced to long

terms exceeding one year will in due course move on elsewhere to the

colonial establishment beyond the sea, or the _maisons centrales_, the

district prisons in or near Paris. Further on is the main building,

housing close upon two thousand cells, arranged in three grand

divisions, each separate and distinct and containing 508 cells. Each

affords ample provision for the different categories of prisoners to

be lodged, _prévenues_ or those waiting trial, short term prisoners

and juveniles. The first design was to receive females at Fresnes,

but Saint Lazare is eventually to be replaced by another especially

constructed prison for their reception. The main entrance of this

principal quarter is in the centre, with a gatekeeper’s lodge on

one side and a military guard under an officer on the other. Beyond

and behind them are the extensive yards and buildings required in

attending to the services of the prison, the storehouses for food

and clothing, the kitchens and bakeries and laundries, and the plant

for the generation of electricity. All these are on the left, while

on the right is the reception ward with four hundred cells of ample

dimensions, each having a cubical content of eighteen yards.