In the material point of view, in a word, the prison of Saint-Lazare was, for convicted prisoners, an infinitely better place than any of its predecessors. But the régime from the standpoint of morals left more than a little to desire.
Certainly, it offered none of the grosser features of the old system. The male attendants had disappeared. The principle of work had been established, and discipline was pretty well maintained in the wards, cells, and refectories. When the women had lived together in all but absolute idleness, their prison was always in a state of disorder, and often in a state of uproar. Quarrels were of daily occurrence, and a quarrel usually issued in a fight. Two women, armed with combs or holding copper coins between their fingers, stood up to do battle for an absent lover, whom each claimed for her own; and the other prisoners made a ring around them, not so much in the interests of fair play, as to see that each combatant got her due share of "punishment." If the warders attempted to interfere, they probably retired with broken heads.
There was almost no restraint upon the women, and the lack of discipline, which permitted sanguinary fights at any hour of the day, pervaded the entire system. The femme publique could receive what visitors she pleased, and her lovers and friends crowded the "parlour," and laughed, sang, and swore at their ease. They brought her money, food, clothing, and whatever else she desired. As long as her purse was filled, she was never without luxuries, and she selected from amongst her fellow-prisoners some table companion, called a mangeuse, with whom she shared her meals. This companionship was usually a liaison, the character of which permits no more than a reference; the cult of Sappho was universal in the women's prisons.
At a pinch for money, or for food more dainty than the prison kitchen furnished, the women had recourse to the prison usurers. These were old crones, very familiar with prison, who committed some petty offence which would entail about a month's confinement; a strictly commercial speculation on their part. They took in with them a certain sum of money, with which they bought clothes from, and made loans to, necessitous prisoners. To procure money a woman would sell the clothes on her back, until "elle restait presque nue, et dans un état indécent." Others borrowed from the old women at a fixed rate of interest, which was never less than fifty per cent. These were regarded as debts of honour, and the payments were punctually made.
Letters might be written and received without the scrutiny of the director; and the écrivains publics, or scriveners of the prison, were continuously employed in composing for their illiterate bond-sisters (always, of course, at a price) epistles to lovers outside, which are described as brûlantes d'amour. All unknown to the authorities, betrothals of a very curious kind were made through the prison post.
Five male prisoners at La Roquette, let us suppose, were on the point of completing their sentences; but the prospect of liberty without a companion of the other sex held no attractions. Where were the fiancées to be found? At Saint-Lazare, where five engaging hearts might be expecting their release at about the same date.
In the men's prison there was always an artist whose services could be hired for an affair of this kind, and to him the five gallants would present themselves, with a request for "a bouquet."
"Of how many flowers?" asked the artist.
"Five."
The artist then traced on paper five separate flowers, to each of which a number was attached; and the five prisoners made their choice of a blossom. From La Roquette the "bouquet" was magically wafted to Saint-Lazare, and once there it seldom failed to reach the hands it was destined for. The recipient summoned to her four other single hearts, and each of the five chose her flower. The same mysterious agency which had introduced the bouquet to Saint-Lazare conveyed a fitting answer to La Roquette, and the affair was arranged.