In the workshops, as elsewhere, it was obvious that the prison rule did not err on the side of severity. Every care was taken to assure the moral and physical comfort of the prisoners. There were chaplains of all persuasions, and intolerance was unknown. For Roman Catholics, naturally the largest number, there were the regular services in the rond point, with which a large associated chapel communicated. There was a special chapel for Protestants, and a synagogue for Jews. A well-stocked library, annually replenished, provided literature of nearly every kind for all who cared to read. The books were carefully selected, but included works of fiction, which are often forbidden in the prisons of some countries. The only novels permitted however at La Santé,—and the choice implies a high compliment to English literature,—were translations of Dickens, Fenimore Cooper, Bulwer-Lytton, Marryat and Scott, which were admitted confessedly on account of their morality and purity of tone. These, it was said, were the books in most constant demand.
The hospital arrangements at La Santé, which was long a central depot for all male prisoners requiring prolonged treatment, were also excellent of their kind. The wards were large and lofty, and were well warmed by a clever contrivance, consisting of two concentric iron cylinders, one within the other, between which hot water circulated, while fresh external air was passed in at the base and diffused from the centre and top after being warmed. The clothing of all prisoners was good and sufficient, although custom had nicknamed the prison shirt la limace because it had all the rasping roughness of a file. As to food, the inmates of La Santé certainly could not complain. The diet of English prisoners of similar category may have been more varied, but it was scarcely more replete. There were two regular meals at La Santé, one about eight o’clock in the morning, the other at three. Both consisted of a pint, or more exactly, two-thirds of a litre, of thin soup, not unlike a poor Julienne, but tasty and carefully made by officer cooks, who winked pleasantly when I praised it, and agreed with me that it was pas mauvais, “not so bad,” after all. Twice a week, on Sundays and Thursdays, four ounces of cooked meat, without bone, were added, and on these days the prisoner got about twenty-seven ounces of bread. When there was no meat the bread ration was nearly thirty ounces. But the foregoing did not comprise all that the prisoner had to eat. Those who were in funds, whether from private sources or from the pécule disponible already referred to, were permitted to sweeten prison life and eke out prison fare by various articles of food on sale at the canteen. The list was long, and the prices were not extravagant. For a few centimes smoked herrings could be bought, or a slice of cheese, fresh and salt butter, sausages, cooked ham, liquorice, boiled potatoes and a fair allowance of red wine. Tobacco unlimited could also be purchased, a privilege often peremptorily forbidden elsewhere in many prisons, as are indeed all such toothsome additions as those just enumerated.
But La Santé passed away, absorbed into the new and extensive establishment at Fresnes on the outskirts of Paris, designed to remodel the entire penal system of the French government. La Santé was a long step forward in penology; and Fresnes, the next and a still longer step, has now to be described.
CHAPTER IX
TWO MODEL REFORMATORIES
Long survival of two ancient prisons, St. Pélagie and Saint Lazare—Both now doomed—The former used for debtors and political prisoners—Saint Lazare principal prison for the female criminal—A detestable place—Originally a convent—Warders are nuns—Piety of inmates—Prayer before trial—Devout inscriptions—Convict marriages with brides from Saint Lazare—Female criminality in proportion to male—Crimes of passion and greed most numerous—Stealing in shops and large stores—The better side of the female in custody—Maternal affection—Universal love of children within the walls—The two Roquettes—Alpha and Omega of crime—Juveniles in La Petite Roquette—Reformed régime—Separate cells replace associated rooms—First agricultural colony—Juvenile depravity largely due to La Petite Roquette.
Among the prisons of Paris two long survived which were really a standing disgrace to France. These were St. Pélagie and Saint Lazare. They were types of a bygone age. Both were ancient edifices, centuries old, planted in the very heart of crowded localities. They were radically vicious in construction and very backward in the system of discipline in force. In both, continuous association and unrestrained intercourse were permitted among prisoners, so that contamination and deterioration were the inevitable results.
St. Pélagie received only males—those sentenced correctionally to terms of thirteen months and less, and with them were incarcerated offenders against the adulteration laws, fraudulent bankrupts for small sums, and traders who used short weights. All were herded together indiscriminately, the only exception being made in favor of journalists sentenced for contravention of press laws, all of whom came to it, where they were subjected to a special and entirely different régime from the ordinary prisoners.
St. Pélagie stood in a quiet and retired part of Paris behind the Hôpital de la Pitié and the labyrinth of the Jardin des Plantes. It was essentially a prison on the associated plan and found no favor in the sight of French prison administrators who are warm adherents of the principle of cellular separation.
Nothing much can be done with a building not originally intended for the uses to which it is applied. It dates from the seventeenth century, and the charity of a good lady, Marie Bonneau, widow of Beauharnais de Miramion, who created it as a refuge for her unfortunate sisterhood, and gave it as patron the dancer who turned saint,—with whom Charles Kingsley made us acquainted in his novel of “Hypatia.” It was also appropriated for debtors and later for political prisoners, more especially those who offended by their too critical pens. A block known as the “Pavilion” was given over to them exclusively, to which no strangers were admitted; but these litterateurs might be seen all over the prison at any time and beyond their own quarters, commonly called “greater” or “lesser Siberia;” the “big” or “little Tomb.” Their confinement was not irksome, and we are told that they often obtained permission to leave the prison and visit the theatre at night, even to sleep out, always on their solemn promise to return honorably. The famous Proudhon was allowed to take an afternoon walk unattended, beyond the walls. Some of the inmates amused themselves by playing blind man’s buff in the dark passages, and once a mock trial was organised at a sham revolutionary tribunal. By and by the play was repeated in grim earnest. During the Commune there was another trial within St. Pélagie, ordered by Raoul Rigault, the Communist Prefect of Police, on a prisoner who was promptly sentenced to death and shot.