The prisons of the two Châtelets were dark, gruesome receptacles. Contemporary prints preserve the grim features of the Petit Châtelet, a square, massive building of stone pierced with a few loopholes in its towers, a drawbridge with a portcullis giving access to the bridge. The Grand Châtelet was of more imposing architecture, with an elevated façade capped by a flat roof and having many “pepper pot” towers at the angles. The cells and chambers within were dark, dirty, ill-ventilated dens. Air was admitted only from above and in such insufficient quantity that the prisoners were in constant danger of suffocation, while the space was far too limited to accommodate the numbers confined. The titles given to various parts of the interior of the Grand Châtelet will serve to illustrate the character of the accommodation.
There was the Berceau or cradle, so called from its arched roof; the Boucherie, with obvious derivation; the chaîne room, otherwise chêne, from the fetters used or the oak beams built into it; the Fin d’Aise or “end of ease,” akin to the “Little Ease” of old London’s Newgate, a horrible and putrescent pigsty, described as full of filth and over-run with reptiles and with air so poisonous that a candle would not remain alight in it. A chamber especially appropriated to females was styled La Grieche, an old French epithet for a shrew or vixen; other cells are known as La Gloriette, La Barbarie, La Barcane or Barbacane, lighted by a small grating in the roof. The Châtelet had its deep-down, underground dungeon, the familiar oubliettes of every mediæval castle and monastery, called also in pace because the hapless inmates were thrown into them to be forgotten and left to perish of hunger and anguish, but “in peace.” The worst of these at the Châtelet must have been La Fosse, the bottom of which was knee deep in water, so that the prisoner was constantly soaked and it was necessary to stand erect to escape drowning; here death soon brought relief, for “none survived La Fosse for more than fifteen days.”
Monstrous as it must appear, rent on a fixed scale was extorted for residence in these several apartments. These were in the so-called “honest” prisons. The Chaîne room, mentioned above, La Beauvoir, La Motte and La Salle cost each individual four deniers (the twelfth part of a sou) for the room and two for a bed. In La Boucherie and Grieche it was two deniers for the room, but only one denier for a bed of straw or reeds. Even in La Fosse and the oubliettes payment was exacted, presumably in advance. Some light is thrown by the ancient chronicles upon the prison system that obtained within the Châtelet. The first principle was recognised that it was a place of detention only and not for the maltreatment of its involuntary guests. Rules were made by the parliaments, the chief juridical authorities of Paris, to soften the lot of the prisoners, to keep order amongst them and protect them from the cupidity of their gaolers. The governor was permitted to charge gaol fees, but the scale was strictly regulated and depended upon the status and condition of the individuals committed. Thus a count or countess paid ten livres (about fifty francs), a knight banneret was charged twenty sous, a Jew or Jewess half that amount. Prisoners who lay on the straw paid one sou. For half a bed the price was three sous and for the privilege of sleeping alone, five sous. The latest arrivals were obliged to sweep the floors and keep the prison rooms clean. It was ordered that the officials should see that the bread issued was of good quality and of the proper weight, a full pound and a half per head. The officials were to visit the prisons at least once a week and receive the complaints made by prisoners out of hearing of their gaolers. The hospitals were to be regularly visited and attention given to the sick. Various charities existed to improve the prison diet: the drapers on their fête day issued bread, meat and wine; the watchmakers gave a dinner on Easter day when food was seized and forfeited and a portion was issued to the pauper prisoners.
In all this the little Châtelet served as an annex to the larger prison. During their lengthened existence both prisons witnessed many atrocities and were disgraced by many dark deeds. One of the most frightful episodes was that following the blood-thirsty feuds between the Armagnacs and the Bourguignons in the early years of the fifteenth century. These two political parties fought for supreme authority in the city of Paris, which was long torn by their dissensions. The Armagnacs held the Bastile but were dispossessed of it by the Bourguignons, who were guilty of the most terrible excesses. They slaughtered five hundred and twenty of their foes and swept the survivors wholesale into the Châtelet and the “threshold of the prison became the scaffold of 1,500 unfortunate victims.” The Bourguignons were not satisfied and besieged the place in due form; for the imprisoned Armagnacs organised a defense and threw up a barricade upon the north side of the fortress, where they held out stoutly. The assailants at last made a determined attack with scaling ladders, by which they surmounted the walls sixty feet high, and a fierce and prolonged conflict ensued. When the attack was failing the Bourguignons set fire to the prison and fought their way in, driving the besieged before them. Many of the Armagnacs sought to escape the flames by flinging themselves over the walls and were caught upon the pikes of the Bourguignons “who finished them with axe and sword.” Among the victims were many persons of quality, two cardinals, several bishops, officers of rank, magistrates and respectable citizens.
The garrison of the Châtelet in those early days was entrusted to the archers of the provost’s guard, the little Châtelet being the provost’s official residence. The guard was frequently defied by the turbulent population and especially by the scholars of the University of Paris, an institution under the ecclesiastical authority and very jealous of interference by the secular arm. One provost in the fourteenth century, having caught a scholar in the act of stealing upon the highway, forthwith hanged him, whereupon the clergy of Paris went in procession to the Châtelet and denounced the provost. The King sided with them and the chief magistrate of the city was sacrificed to their clamor. Another provost, who hanged two scholars for robbery, was degraded from his office, led to the gallows and compelled to take down and kiss the corpses of the men he had executed. The provosts themselves were sometimes unfaithful to their trust. One of them in the reign of Philip the Long, by name Henri Chaperel, made a bargain with a wealthy citizen who was in custody under sentence of death. The condemned man was allowed to escape and a friendless and obscure prisoner hanged in his place. It is interesting to note, however, that this Henri Chaperel finished on the gallows as did another provost, Hugues de Cruzy, who was caught in dishonest traffic with his prisoners. Here the King himself had his share in the proceeds. A famous brigand and highwayman of noble birth, Jourdain de Lisle, the chief of a great band of robbers, bought the protection of the provost, and the Châtelet refused to take cognizance of his eight crimes—any one of which deserved an ignominious death. It was necessary to appoint a new provost before justice could be meted out to Jourdain de Lisle, who was at last tied to the tail of a horse and dragged through the streets of Paris to the public gallows.
In the constant warfare between the provost and the people the latter did not hesitate to attack the prison fortress of the Châtelet. In 1320 a body of insurgents collected under the leadership of two apostate priests who promised to meet them across the seas and conquer the Holy Land. When some of their number were arrested and thrown into the Châtelet, the rest marched upon the prison, bent on rescue, and, breaking in, effected a general gaol delivery. This was not the only occasion in which the Châtelet lost those committed to its safe-keeping. In the latter end of the sixteenth century the provost was one Hugues de Bourgueil, a hunch-back with a beautiful wife. Among his prisoners was a young Italian, named Gonsalvi, who, on the strength of his nationality, gained the goodwill of Catherine de Medicis, the Queen Mother. The Queen commended him to the provost, who lodged him in his own house, and Gonsalvi repaid this kindness by running away with de Bourgueil’s wife. Madame de Bourgueil, on the eve of her elopement, gained possession of the prison keys and released the whole of the three hundred prisoners in custody, thus diverting the attention from her own escapade. The provost, preferring his duty to his wife, turned out with horse and foot, and pursued and recaptured the fugitive prisoners, while Madame de Bourgueil and her lover were allowed to go their own way. After this affair the King moved the provost’s residence from the Châtelet to the Hôtel de Hercule.
References are found in the earlier records of the various prisoners confined in the Châtelet. One of the earliest is a list of Jews imprisoned for reasons not given. But protection was also afforded to this much wronged race, and once, towards the end of the fourteenth century, when the populace rose to rob and slaughter the Jews, asylum was given to the unfortunates by opening to them the gates of the Châtelet. About the same time a Spanish Jew and an habitual thief, one Salmon of Barcelona, were taken to the Châtelet and condemned to be hanged by the heels between two large dogs. Salmon, to save himself, offered to turn Christian, and was duly baptised, the gaoler’s wife being his godmother. Nevertheless, within a week he was hanged “like a Christian” (chrétiennement), under his baptismal name of Nicholas.
The Jews themselves resented the apostasy of a co-religionist and it is recorded that four were detained in the Châtelet for having attacked and maltreated Salmon for espousing Christianity. For this they were condemned to be flogged at all the street corners on four successive Sundays; but when a part of the punishment had been inflicted they were allowed to buy off the rest by a payment of 18,000 francs in gold. The money was applied to the rebuilding of the Petit Pont. Prisoners of war were confined there. Eleven gentlemen accused of assassination were “long detained” in the Châtelet and in the end executed. It continually received sorcerers and magicians in the days when many were accused of commerce with the Devil. Idle vagabonds who would not work were lodged in it.
At this period Paris and the provinces were terrorised by bands of brigands. Some of the chief leaders were captured and carried to the Châtelet, where they suffered the extreme penalty. The crime of poisoning, always so much in evidence in French criminal annals, was early recorded at the Châtelet. In 1390 payment was authorised for three mounted sergeants of police who escorted from the prison at Angers and Le Mans to the Châtelet, two priests charged with having thrown poison into the wells, fountains and rivers of the neighborhood. One Honoré Paulard, a bourgeois of Paris, was in 1402 thrown into the Fin d’Aise dungeon of the Châtelet for having poisoned his father, mother, two sisters and three other persons in order to succeed to their inheritance. Out of consideration for his family connections he was not publicly executed but left to the tender mercies of the Fin d’Aise, where he died at the end of a month. The procureur of parliament was condemned to death with his wife Ysabelete, a prisoner in the Châtelet, whose former husband, also a procureur, they were suspected of having poisoned. On no better evidence than suspicion they were both sentenced to death—the husband to be hanged and the wife burned alive. Offenders of other categories were brought to the Châtelet. A superintendent of finances, prototype of Fouquet, arrested by the Provost Pierre des Fessarts, and convicted of embezzlement, met his fate in the Châtelet. Strange to say, Des Fessarts himself was arrested four years later and suffered on the same charge. Great numbers of robbers taken red-handed were imprisoned—at one time two hundred thieves, murderers and highwaymen (épieurs de grand chemin). An auditor of the Palace was condemned to make the amende honorable in effigy; a figure of his body in wax being shown at the door of the chapel and then dragged to the pillory to be publicly exposed. Clement Marot, the renowned poet, was committed to the Châtelet at the instance of the beautiful Diane de Poitiers for continually inditing fulsome verses in her praise. Weary at last of her contemptuous silence he penned a bitter satire which Diane resented by accusing him of Lutheranism and of eating bacon in Lent. Marot’s confinement in the Châtelet inspired his famous poem L’Enfer, wherein he compared the Châtelet to the infernal regions and cursed the whole French penal system—prisoners, judges, lawyers and the cruelties of the “question.”
Never from the advent of the Reformation did Protestants find much favor in France. In 1557 four hundred Huguenots assembled for service in a house of the Rue St. Jacques and were attacked on leaving it by a number of the neighbors. They fought in self-defense and many made good their escape, but the remainder—one hundred and twenty persons, several among them being ladies of the Court—were arrested by the lieutenant criminel and carried to the Châtelet. They were accused of infamous conduct and although they complained to the King they were sent to trial, and within a fortnight nearly all the number were burnt at the stake. Another story runs that the lieutenant criminel forced his way into a house in the Marais where a number of Huguenots were at table. They fled, but the hotel keeper was arrested and charged with having supplied meat in the daily bill of fare on a Friday. For this he was conducted to the Châtelet with his wife and children, a larded capon being carried before them to hold them up to the derision of the bystanders. The incident ended seriously, for the wretched inn-keeper was thrown into a dungeon and died there in misery.