Precedence has been given to the two Châtelets in the list of ancient prisons in Paris, but no doubt the Conciergerie runs them close in point of date and was equally formidable. It originally was part of the Royal Palace of the old Kings of France and still preserves as to site, and in some respects as to form, in the Palais de Justice one of the most interesting monuments in modern Paris. “There survives a sense of suffocation in these buildings,” writes Philarète Chasles. “Here are the oldest dungeons of France. Paris had scarcely begun when they were first opened.” “These towers,” says another Frenchman, “the courtyard and the dim passage along which prisoners are still admitted, have tears in their very aspect.” One of the greatest tragedies in history was played out in the Conciergerie almost in our own days, thus bringing down the sad record of bitter sufferings inflicted by man upon man from the Dark Ages to the day of our much vaunted enlightenment. The Conciergerie was the last resting place, before execution, of the hapless Queen Marie Antoinette.
When Louis IX, commonly called Saint Louis, rebuilt his palace in the thirteenth century he constructed also his dungeons hard by. The concierge was trusted by the kings with the safe-keeping of their enemies and was the governor of the royal prison. In 1348 he took the title of bailli and the office lasted, with its wide powers often sadly abused, until the collapse of the monarchical régime. A portion of the original Conciergerie as built in the garden of Concierge is still extant. Three of the five old towers, circular in shape and with pepper pot roofs, are standing. Of the first, that of Queen Blanche was pulled down in 1853 and that of the Inquisition in 1871. The three now remaining are Cæsar’s Tower, where the reception ward is situated on the very spot where Damiens, the attempted regicide of Louis XV, was interrogated while strapped to the floor; the tower of Silver, the actual residence of “Reine Blanche” and the visiting room where legal advisers confer with their clients among the accused prisoners; and lastly the Bon Bec tower, once the torture chamber and now the hospital and dispensary of the prison.
The cells and dungeons of the Conciergerie, some of which might be seen and inspected as late as 1835, were horrible beyond belief. Clement Marot said of it in his verse that it was impossible to conceive a place that more nearly approached a hell upon earth. The loathsomeness of its underground receptacles was inconceivable. It contained some of the worst specimens of the ill-famed oubliettes. An attempt has been made by some modern writers to deny the existence of these oubliettes, but all doubt was removed by discoveries revealed when opening the foundations of the Bon Bec tower. Two subterranean pits were found below the ordinary level of the river Seine and the remains of sharpened iron points protruded from their walls obviously intended to catch the bodies and tear the flesh of those flung into these cavernous depths. Certain of these dungeons were close to the royal kitchens and were long preserved. They are still remembered by the quaint name of the mousetraps (or souricières) in which the inmates were caught and kept au secret, entirely separate and unable to communicate with a single soul but their immediate guardians and gaolers.
The torture chamber and the whole paraphernalia for inflicting the “question” were part and parcel of every ancient prison. But the most complete and perfect methods were to be found in the Conciergerie. As a rule, therefore, in the most heinous cases, when the most shocking crimes were under investigation, the accused was relegated to the Conciergerie to undergo treatment by torture. It was so in the case of Ravaillac who murdered Henry IV; also the Marchioness of Brinvilliers and the poisoners; and yet again, of Damiens who attempted the life of Louis XV, and many more: to whom detailed references will be found in later pages.
The For-l’Évêque, the Bishop’s prison, was situated in the rue St. Germain-l’Auxerrois, and is described in similar terms as the foregoing: “dark, unwholesome and over-crowded.” In the court or principal yard, thirty feet long by eighteen feet wide, some four or five hundred prisoners were constantly confined. The outer walls were of such a height as to forbid the circulation of fresh air and there was not enough to breathe. The cells were more dog-holes than human habitations. In some only six feet square, five prisoners were often lodged at one and the same time. Others were too low in the ceiling for a man to stand upright and few had anything but borrowed light from the yard. Many cells were below the ground level and that of the river bed, so that water filtered in through the arches all the year round, and even in the height of summer the only ventilation was by a slight slit in the door three inches wide. “To pass by an open cell door one felt as if smitten by fire from within,” says a contemporary writer. Access to these cells was by dark, narrow galleries. For long years the whole prison was in such a state of dilapidation that ruin and collapse were imminent.
Later For-l’Évêque received insolvent debtors—those against whom lettres de cachet were issued, and actors who were evil livers. It was the curious custom to set these last free for a few hours nightly in order to play their parts at the theatres; but they were still in the custody of the officer of the watch and were returned to gaol after the performance. Many minor offenders guilty of small infractions of the law, found lodging in the For-l’Évêque. Side by side with thieves and roysterers were dishonest usurers who lent trifling sums. All jurisdictions, all authorities could commit to the For-l’Évêque, the judges of inferior tribunals, ministers of state, auditors, grand seigneurs. The prison régime varied for this various population, but poor fare and poorer lodgings were the fate of the larger number. Those who could pay found chambers more comfortable, decently furnished, and palatable food. Order was not always maintained. More than once mutinies broke out, generally on account of the villainous ration of bread issued, and it was often found necessary to fire upon the prisoners to subdue them.
When the Knights Templars received permission to settle in Paris in the twelfth century, they gradually consolidated their power in the Marais, the marshy ground to the eastward of the Seine, and there laid the foundations of a great stronghold on which the Temple prison was a prominent feature. The knights wielded sovereign power with the rights of high justice and the very kings of France themselves bent before them. At length the arrogance of the order brought it the bitter hostility of Philippe le Bel who, in 1307, broke the power of the order in France. They were pursued and persecuted. Their Grand Master was tortured and executed while the King administered their estate. The prison of the Temple with its great towers and wide encircling walls became a state prison, the forerunner of Vincennes and the Bastile. It received, as a rule, the most illustrious prisoners only, dukes and counts and sovereign lords, and in the Revolutionary period it gained baleful distinction as the condemned cell, so to speak, of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.
The prison of Bicêtre, originally a bishop’s residence and then successively a house of detention for sturdy beggars and a lunatic asylum, was first built at the beginning of the thirteenth century. It was owned by John, Bishop of Winchester in England, and its name was a corruption of the word Winchester—“Vinchester” and so “Bichestre” and, eventually, “Bicêtre.” It was confiscated to the King in the fourteenth century and Charles VI dated his letters from that castle. It fell into a ruinous state in the following years and nothing was done to it until it was rebuilt by Louis XIII as a hospital for invalid soldiers and became, with the Salpêtrière, the abode of the paupers who so largely infested Paris. The hospital branch of the prison was used for the treatment of certain discreditable disorders, sufferers from which were regularly flogged at the time of their treatment by the surgeons. An old writer stigmatised the prison as a terrible ulcer that no one dared look at and which poisoned the air for four hundred yards around. Bicêtre was the home for all vagabonds and masterless men, the sturdy beggars who demanded alms sword in hand, and soldiers who, when their pay was in arrears, robbed upon the highway. Epileptics and the supposed mentally diseased, whether they were actually proved so or not, were committed to Bicêtre and after reception soon degenerated into imbeciles and raging lunatics. The terrors of underground Bicêtre have been graphically described by Masers-Latude, who had personal experience of them. This man, Danry or Latude, has been called a fictitious character, but the memoirs attributed to him are full of realism and cannot be entirely neglected. He says of Bicêtre:
“In wet weather or when it thawed in winter, water streamed from all parts of our cell. I was crippled with rheumatism and the pains were such that I was sometimes whole weeks without getting up. The window-sill guarded by an iron grating gave on to a corridor, the wall of which was placed exactly opposite at a height of ten feet. A glimmer of light came through this aperture and was accompanied by snow and rain. I had neither fire nor artificial light and prison rags were my only clothing. To quench my thirst I sucked morsels of ice broken off with the heel of my wooden shoe. If I stopped up the window I was nearly choked by the effluvium from the cellars. Insects stung me in the eyes. I had always a bad taste in my mouth and my lungs were horribly oppressed. I was detained in that cell for thirty-eight months enduring the pangs of hunger, cold and damp. I was attacked by scurvy and was presently unable to sit or rise. In ten days my legs and thighs were swollen to twice their ordinary size. My body turned black. My teeth loosened in their sockets and I could no longer masticate. I could not speak and was thought to be dead. Then the surgeon came, and seeing my state ordered me to be removed to the infirmary.”