The History and Romance of Crime 3

The History and Romance of Crime 3

The condition of Bicêtre during the Napoleonic epoch was almost

inconceivably bad. It was very convenient for the officials of the

Prefecture, who committed to it almost every one who came into their

hands. Disastrous overcrowding was the natural result. When so many

were herded together within its narrow limits, fevers and scurvy were

epidemic; diseases were particularly engendered by the waters of the

wells, which were charged with deleterious constituents. All classes

were associated together pell-mell. Prisoners of State, of good

character and cleanly life, lived constantly with the dregs of Paris

society. The interior régime was regulated upon the same lines as

those of the prisons already described. The same tyrannical treatment

prevailed, the same extortion, the same lack of even the smallest

physical comforts. It might well be styled the new sewer of Paris, and

the word Bicêtre was rightly adopted into the current _argot_ as a

pseudonym for misery and misfortune.

 

In corroborative testimony of the horrors of Bicêtre I will quote

here the description given of it by another witness, who had personal

experience of the prison. We shall hear more of Vidocq on a later page,

the well-known ex-convict who turned thief catcher and, in a measure,

originated the French detective police system.

 

“The prison of the Bicêtre,” says Vidocq in his “Memoirs,” “is a

neat quadrangular building, enclosing many other structures and many

courts, which have each a different name. There is the _grand cour_

(great court) where the prisoners walk; the _cour de cuisine_ (or

kitchen court); the _cour des chiens_ (or dogs’ court); the _cour de

correction_ (or the court of punishment) and the _cour des fers_ (or

court of irons). In this last court is a new building five stories

high. Each story contains forty cells, each capable of holding four

prisoners. On the platform, which takes the place of a roof, was night

and day a dog named Dragon, who for a time passed in the prison for the

most watchful and incorruptible of its kind. Some prisoners managed, at

a subsequent period, to corrupt him through the medium of a roasted leg

of mutton, which he had the culpable weakness to accept; so true is it

that there are no seductions more potent than those of gluttony, since

they operate indifferently on all organised beings.

 

“Near by is the old building, arranged in nearly the same way. Under

this were dungeons of safety, in which were enclosed the troublesome

and condemned prisoners. It was in one of these dungeons that for

forty-three years lived the accomplice of Cartouche, who betrayed

him to procure this commutation. To obtain a moment’s sunshine he

frequently counterfeited death, and so well did he do this that when he

had actually breathed his last sigh, two days passed before they took

off his iron collar. A third part of the building, called La Force,

comprised various rooms, in which were placed prisoners who arrived

from the provinces and were destined like ourselves to the chain.

 

“At this period the prison of Bicêtre, which is only strong from the

strict guard kept up there, could accommodate twelve hundred prisoners;

but they were piled on each other, and the conduct of the jailers in

no way assuaged the discomforts of the place. A sullen air, a rough

tone and brutal manners were exhibited to the prisoners, and keepers

were in no way to be softened but through the medium of a bottle of

wine or a pecuniary bribe. Besides, they never attempted to repress any

excess or any crime; and provided that no one sought to escape, one

might do whatever one pleased in the prison, without being restrained

or prevented; whilst men, condemned for those crimes which modesty

shrinks from naming, openly practised their detestable libertinism, and

robbers exercised their industry inside the prison without any person

attempting to check the crime or prevent the bestiality.

 

“If any man arrived from the country well clad and condemned for a

first offence, who was not as yet initiated into the customs and usage

of prisons, in a twinkling he was stripped of his clothes, which

were sold in his presence to the highest bidder. If he had jewels or

money, they were alike confiscated to the profit of the society, and

if he were too long in taking out his earrings, they were snatched out

without the sufferer daring to complain. He was previously warned that

if he spoke of it, they would hang him in the night to the bars of his

cell and afterwards say that he had committed suicide. If a prisoner,

out of precaution when going to sleep, placed his clothes under his

head, they waited until he was in his first sleep, and then tied to his

foot a stone, which they balanced at the side of his bed. At the least

motion the stone fell and, aroused by the noise, the sleeper jumped up;

and before he could discover what had occurred, his packet, hoisted by

a cord, went through the iron bars to the floor above. I have seen in

the depths of winter these poor devils, having been deprived of their

property in this way, remain in the court in their shirts until some

one threw them some rags to cover their nakedness. As long as they

remained at Bicêtre, by burying themselves, as we may say, in their

straw, they could defy the rigor of the weather, but at the departure

of the chain, when they had no other covering than frock and trousers

made of packing cloth, they often sank exhausted and frozen before they

reached the first halting place.”

 

The origin and early history of the Conciergerie has been given in

a previous volume, but its records are not yet closed, for it still

stands on the Island of the City in close proximity to the Palace

of Justice. It has many painful memories associated with its later

history, and is more particularly notable as having been the last

place of durance of the unfortunate Marie Antoinette. The cell she

occupied is still preserved and is decorated nowadays with pictures and

memorial inscriptions. Through all the changes that have come over the

old prison, the cell in which the Queen of France awaited execution

has always been kept religiously intact, although many right-thinking

people are ashamed of this hideous relic of an atrocious national

crime. The order for the Queen’s execution is still preserved in the

archives and runs as follows:--“On the 25th day of the first month of

the second year of the French Republic one and indivisible, the woman

named Marie Antoinette, commonly called of Lorraine and Austria, wife

of Louis Capet, has been removed from this house at the request of

the public accuser of the Revolutionary Tribune and handed over to

the executioner to be taken to the Place de la Revolution there to

suffer death.” The fate that overtook her contrasts painfully with the

good intentions of the mild and humane Louis XVI, who soon after his

accession sought to improve the Conciergerie prison. “We have given all

our care,” he announced in a decree in 1780, “to mend the prison, to

build new and airy infirmaries and provide for the sick prisoners.” A

separate quarter was provided for males and females, no one henceforth

was consigned to the underground dungeons, the great central court

was provided with a shelter from rain, the interior was heated. But

these reforms were short-lived. At the outbreak of the Revolution,

the worst horrors were revived. An account of the sufferings in this

prison are given by Baron Riouffe in his “Memoirs”: “I was thrown,”

says he, “into the deepest and foulest dungeon, entirely deprived of

light, the atmosphere poisonous, and inconceivable dirtiness around.

Seven of us were crowded in this small space, some of them robbers,

one a convict condemned to death. We were inspected daily by stalwart

warders accompanied by fierce dogs.” This description was confirmed by

the author of the “Almanac of Prisons” during the period. The cells

were never opened to be brushed out, but occasionally they changed the

straw; yet an exorbitant sum was demanded for rent, and it was often

said that the Conciergerie was the most profitable hotel in Paris

having regard to its charges.

 

[Illustration: _The Conciergerie_

 

The old prison of the Palais de Justice in Paris. When the palace was

inhabited by the kings of France, the name “Conciergerie” was given to

the part of the building containing the home of the concierge.]

 

Throughout the Napoleonic epoch the Conciergerie was appropriated

largely to political prisoners; and at the Restoration it was the last

resting-place of Marshal Ney, who left it only to be shot. Comte

de La Valette, who had been one of Napoleon’s aides-de-camp, and who

was arrested after Waterloo on no other charge than that of loyalty to

his old master, was sent also to the Conciergerie, and detained there

under sentence of death. The story of his escape, through the devotion

of his wife and the friendly assistance of three English gentlemen, two

of them officers of the army, is told in his own “Memoirs.” When he

was taken to the Conciergerie he was lodged in the cell which had been

occupied by Marshal Ney, a long, narrow room, terminated by a window

with a shutter that made reading impossible except for a short period

on the brightest days. He lay here for some weeks, sustaining himself

with the hope of escaping the scaffold, being told that his punishment

would be limited to a few years of imprisonment. The cell he occupied

was just over the woman’s ward, and this neighborhood irritated and

annoyed him greatly; for all day long he could hear their voices

chattering continually and using the most abominable language. The two

windows of the Queen’s prison had also looked upon this courtyard,

and she had been subjected to the same annoyance. It was a dark den

at the end of a blind corridor, and during her occupancy had held

only a common bedstead, a table and two chairs. The room was divided

by a heavy portière, and on the far side a gendarme and gaoler were

constantly on duty. When La Valette was most depressed he comforted

himself by the thought that he did not suffer as much as this high-born

daughter of a long line of emperors. Close alongside his quarters was

the condemned cell, but no one was executed while he was there. One

man, who had murdered his wife under horrible circumstances, seemed

certain to lose his life; but the violent hysterics, into which he fell

on returning from court, and which La Valette concluded were caused by

his sentence to death, were really the result of joy at his acquittal.

 

La Valette was not entirely forbidden to see his friends, and many

came, bringing him consolation and the more tangible benefits of

louis d’or, which came in most fortunately in his subsequent escape.

At last his trial came on, and although he was admirably defended he

was sentenced to death. Passion still ran high, and it was impossible

to extend mercy to an ex-aide-de-camp of the fallen emperor. Madame

de La Valette pleaded hard for her husband’s life, and she gained an

audience with the King himself. He briefly told her that he must do

his duty as he had already done it in executing Marshal Ney. Madame de

La Valette was one of the Beauharnais family, the niece of the Empress

Josephine, who had been given to La Valette as his bride by Napoleon

himself. She was possessed of great beauty and great strength of mind.

After sentence had been passed she was permitted to visit her husband

and to communicate to him the failure of her intercession. When alone

with him she apprised him of the plan formed to compass his escape. “I

shall come to-morrow evening, bringing with me some of my own clothes.

You shall wear them, and, mounting my sedan chair, shall leave the

prison in my place. You will be taken to the rue des Saints Pères where

M. Baudus will be in waiting, and you will be conducted to a safe

hiding-place, where you will wait until the danger is over and you can

leave France.”

 

La Valette at first stoutly refused to accept this proposal, which

seemed to him far-fetched, and threatened to expose Madame de La

Valette to insult and ill-usage when the escape was discovered. A brief

struggle between them ended in La Valette at last giving his consent,

and the details were arranged. Next evening Madame de La Valette

arrived dressed in a long merino mantle lined with fur, and in a small

bag she carried a petticoat of black taffeta. She was accompanied by

their daughter, a child of twelve or thirteen, and it was arranged that

at seven o’clock, La Valette, having disguised himself, should walk

out, taking his young daughter by the hand and being careful to conceal

his face as he passed out. It would have been safer to wear a veil,

but Madame de La Valette had never done so in her previous visits, and

it might cause suspicion. “Also,” she said, “be particularly careful

as you go out; any awkwardness would betray you. The doors are very

low, and you may catch the feathers of my bonnet. If everything goes

well, you will find the gatekeeper will give you his hand politely and

see you to the sedan chair.” The child was to follow closely at his

heels, and to take her place on her father’s left, so as to prevent the

gatekeeper from giving his arm to the fugitive, in which there was a

possible danger. After they had dined together, a small family party,

the disguise was put on. As La Valette was about to make his attempt

he begged his wife to step behind a screen in the room, and remain

there as long as possible so as to postpone discovery. “The gatekeeper

always comes in as soon as I ring a bell, giving him notice that I am

alone,” writes La Valette, “and if you will cough and make a movement

behind, showing some one is there, he will wait patiently for a time.

The longer this detention the more time I shall have had to get away.”