THE COURSE OF THE LAW
The depot of the Prefecture--Procedure on arrest--Committal
to Mazas--Origin of Mazas--First inmates victims of the coup
d’état second of December, 1852--Description of Mazas--The
régime--The cells--The prisoners and their dietaries--Method of
conducting divine service--Escapes from Mazas--Chief Parisian
criminals have passed through it--Demeanor of the convicted
upon arrival and while waiting the extreme penalty--Abadie and
Gilles--How affected.
He of whom the law falls foul in Paris finds himself in due course
at the depot or prison of the Prefecture. This has been called the
universal prison, for it is the portal through which all offenders, all
actual or suspected law breakers, must necessarily pass. It receives,
examines, rejects and releases, or commits for further proceedings,
a whole world of people. The continuous stream passing in and out
includes all classes, men and women, old and young, the healthy and the
infirm, Parisian and provincial, natives and foreigners of nearly all
nationalities. It has well been called a place of deposit, in which
all are impounded who have gone astray under suspicious circumstances.
Every one is brought here,--the criminal and the degenerate; the
luckless and the unfortunate; the vagabond, the lost or abandoned,
the weakminded and the unprotected. Three times in every twenty-four
hours, the cellular omnibuses lodge all they find in their rounds of
the sub-police stations, the _violons_, so called from the well-known
musical instrument, and also from an instrument by which prisoners’
feet are bound.
The process of arrest and treatment at the _violon_ has been
graphically described by one who has been through it. “As soon as
my name had been inscribed on the register, the brigadier in charge
promptly ordered me to empty my pockets, and not to forget anything.
After this, to make quite sure, I was personally searched, and
everything of value, and much that was not, was taken from me; my
collar, my necktie, one cigar, my penknife, watch, purse and even my
braces, were all put into my pocket handkerchief and tied up. As they
were taking me away to the cell I begged that my braces and pocket
handkerchief might be returned. The rude answer was, ‘You must hold
up your trousers with your hand, and blow your nose as best you can.
That’s enough;’ and I was very summarily locked up in one of three
cells at the end of the passage; a dirty looking place, smelling like a
rabbit hole, and already occupied by a ragged creature, who immediately
demanded tobacco; and, on my saying I had none, asked me to stand treat
for some food as he had not eaten since the day before. I ordered this
out of compassion, and he devoured it voraciously, then went soundly
to sleep upon the wooden guard bed. It was bitterly cold, and towards
morning my companion, saying that he was half frozen, battered at the
door, and asked permission to go out into the large room and warm
himself by the stove, a privilege accorded to me also.
“At an early hour the omnibus came, and I was taken to the depot,
where I was registered in the outer office, and then passed in to
undergo the ordeal of the _petit parquet_, where I was subjected to
the interrogations of one of the substitutes of the Procureur of the
Republic. The work is done quickly. Time presses. There are many cases
to be examined and disposed of.”
The plan of procedure is the same for all. Where the offence is venial
the culprit is speedily set at large. Others whose guilt is clearly
proved, or who make a clean breast of it, are passed on without a
moment’s delay to the correctional police. It is only for those who are
charged with grave crimes, with robbery, forgery, murderous assaults,
and the like; whose cases are surrounded with doubt, or who obstinately
refuse to confess, that the whole machinery of the French law is set
in motion. The accused is then handed over to the tender mercies of
one of the _juges d’instruction_, in order that, at all costs, the
ends of justice may be assured. The examination was conducted until
recently in a manner abhorrent to all ideas of fair play. It is the
rule in a free country that no man need incriminate himself. In France
the accused was fully expected to do so. He was, indeed, forced into
it if he would not do it of his own accord. Under the system which
prevailed till quite recently the judge in turn cajoled, beguiled and
hectored the accused. He set pitfalls and wove snares; he repeated his
questions in a dozen different forms; he had recourse to _coups de
théâtre_, and openly produced the _piéces de convictions_, the weapons
used in a murder to confront a supposed criminal, or brought him face
to face with the reeking and revolting remains of the victim. Sometimes
judge and accused were fairly matched, and there was as much fence and
finesse, as much patient cunning and persistency on the one side as on
the other. Sometimes the moral torture was more than the prisoner could
bear, and he abandoned his defence. It is of record that a murderer,
maddened by the assiduity of the interrogating judge, cried suddenly:
“Yes, I did it. I can deny it no longer. I’d rather be guillotined than
be bullied like this.” But in most cases the process of investigation
ordinarily extended over many days. The prisoner was brought up
again and again before he was finally arraigned. Even then there was
a further delay before he was convicted and received sentence. All
this time he spent at Mazas, the old _maison d’arrêt cellulaire_. He
now goes, after sentence, to Fresnes, on the outskirts of Paris, the
imposing prison recently erected to replace Mazas.
But Mazas had a history. It was associated with the chief criminality
of Paris for more than half a century, and a detailed account of it
should be preserved. It was the first tardy effort of the French to
follow in the path of prison reform, and was first opened on the
nineteenth of May, 1850, to receive the seven hundred inmates of
the then condemned La Force. Elsewhere prisons and their inmates
had occupied a large share of public attention in the first half of
the nineteenth century. The United States led the way with plans of
amelioration, and the prisons of Auburn and Sing-Sing were conspicuous
examples of the new order of things. In England, Millbank Penitentiary
had been erected regardless of cost, after a scheme originated by John
Howard and Jeremy Bentham, and had given place after thirty years
of experiment to Pentonville, built under the auspices and personal
supervision of some of the most distinguished Englishmen of the
day. France alone lagged behind. The question was discussed there,
but little more than talking was done. Two eminent publicists, MM.
Beaumont and De Tocqueville, had visited America in 1837, and published
a valuable monograph upon the penitentiaries of the United States.
In 1840, an energetic and philanthropic prefect of Paris, Gabriel
Delessert, converted, by his own authority, the boys’ prison of La
Petite Roquette into a place of cellular confinement. Still, it was
not till 1844 that the principle of isolation and separation for all
prisoners was accepted even theoretically, in France. Five years more
elapsed before Mazas, the first French prison built in accordance with
modern ideas was ready for the reception of prisoners.
It must be confessed that, although French prison administrators were
slow to put their hands to the work, when once it was undertaken they
did their best to make the new establishment a success. The best
models of the time were adopted and closely followed. The architect
of Mazas, if he did not exactly imitate Sir Joshua Jebb, the eminent
English engineer who gave the model for prison construction to all the
world, was clearly inspired by him. In its main outlines Mazas greatly
resembled Pentonville. The ground plan was much the same. There was
the same radiation of halls or divisions from a common centre. The
same tiers of cells rise story above story. The size of the cells (ten
feet by six), the method of ventilation and warming, by means of hot
water pipes with extraction flues and furnaces in the roof, are nearly
identical in the French and English prisons. Nor was it only in the
construction of Mazas that the French authorities sought to secure the
perfection of the new arrangements. With a tenderness for the welfare
of the occupants of the prison, which contrasted almost violently with
their previous apathy as to the treatment of criminals, they tested its
sanitary fitness by filling it for a time with paupers, before it was
opened for prisoners. No evil effects having appeared among the former
it was deemed safe for the latter and presently became the place of
detention for all male _prévenus_ or prisoners awaiting trial. Such it
long continued, and has only been replaced by Fresnes since 1898.
The newly constructed prison of Mazas played its part in the Napoleonic
_coup d’état_ of 1853. It became for the time being a political prison.
When the Legislative Assembly was invaded and the Chamber forcibly
dissolved, two hundred of its members met at the Mayoralty of the Tenth
Arrondissement. The place was surrounded by the troops. An order to
disperse was issued, with the alternative of a transfer under escort
to Mazas. Their leaders were already imprisoned, among the number
Generals Cavaignac, Lamoncière and Bedeau; Colonel Charras, MM. Thiers,
Broglie, Odillon, Barot and Remusat. It was feared that to commit a
larger number to gaol might create a disturbance, and the deputies now
arrested were confined in the barracks near the Quai d’Orsay. The only
interesting fact connected with this high-handed treatment of political
opponents by the founders of the Second Empire was that M. Thiers had
been the minister who, in 1849, had decreed the building of Mazas, and
was, as we have seen, one of the first to occupy it. History repeats
itself. Often before, as in the cases of Hugues d’Aubriot at the
Bastile and Cardinal La Balue at Loches, men had been cast into cells
of their own creation.
Mazas, in the half century of its life, was always a striking object
on the boulevard of the same name, which had been so called after a
distinguished soldier of the First Empire, the Colonel Mazas who was
killed at the Battle of Austerlitz. It was well known to all travellers
to the South of France from the busy Gaol de Lyon, and with its grim
façade of dark granite was in strong contrast to the bright boulevard
crowded with vehicles and animated passers-by. It was the privilege of
the present writer to pay it a lengthened visit in its palmy days, and
he may be permitted to draw upon his own experience in describing it.
The outer approaches were easily passed. A first gate was unlocked by
a warder in dark green uniform, with white metal buttons, bearing the
badge of an open eye. This gate led into an inner courtyard, surrounded
by storerooms and waiting rooms with the façade of the director’s
residence--bright with masses of green creeper growing luxuriantly
on one side. On the ground floor was a second portal where another
Cerberus kept guard. To the right of this second entrance was the
office of the _greffier_, or registrar of the prison, whose business it
was to examine the credentials of all who would penetrate into the body
of the prison. It was his business also to take a minute description of
all prisoners on their reception, a formality known as the _écrou_, or
enrolment upon the prison books. These books are voluminous, but are
very accurately and carefully kept. The _signalement_ of the prisoner
gave all information concerning him, a full account of his personal
appearance, of the clothes he was wearing, and of his position in life.
The _greffier_ satisfied, a few more steps led us to another door,
and this passed, we were in the _rond point_, or central hall of the
prison. In the middle of this was a circular office and observatory,
with sides entirely of glass, where a superior warder was posted
to exercise a general supervision over the long corridors of the
radiating wings. There were six of these wings arranged in three
tiers or landings, each containing two hundred cells, after making
due deductions for cells appropriated as bathrooms and _parloirs
d’avocats_, or places where prisoners have private interviews with
their attorneys. The whole prison at that time accommodated some
eleven hundred souls. Although displaying a strong family likeness to
prisons of its class, there was nothing particularly striking about
the interior of Mazas. The prison was not very trimly kept. There was
an absence of that spick and span cleanliness, that glittering prison
polish, that freshness of paint and whitewash, which are generally
deemed indispensable in every first-class prison. Untidy bales of
goods, containing work just completed by the prisoners lay here and
there awaiting removal; there was a good deal of litter about, and
a suspicion of dust and soot. The walls throughout were stained a
muddy, yellowish brown, which could not have been renewed for years.
The passages were floored with brick, as were also the cells. Odors
the reverse of fragrant in places assailed the nostrils. The system
of introducing fresh air and extracting foul, although based on sound
principles, did not seem to be thoroughly effective. Flushing was
carried out by hand from water-cans supplied to the prisoners, and was
altogether unsatisfactory. But with the cells and their furniture no
great fault could be found. The former were light and airy, the latter
supplied their occupants with those bare necessaries which are usually
conceded to the inmates of prisons. The prisoner’s bed was a hammock
with a mattress stuffed with wool or hair, and he had sheets and one
blanket; in winter two blankets. A small table was built into the wall,
about the centre of the cell. Over it was a gas jet, and close by was a
straw-bottomed chair, attached to the wall by a chain just long enough
to allow the prisoner to move his seat to and fro. Besides these he
had an earthenware basin, a tin dinner dish, a large tin bottle for
water, a drinking cup, a wooden spoon and spittoon. The cell walls
were adorned with official notices: the regulations of the prison, in
which all that the prisoner must and might not do was set forth with
considerable prolixity; an inventory of what the cell contained and a
list of prices, approved by the Prefect of the Police, of the articles
of consumption which the prisoner might buy at the prison canteen with
the money he earned or was sent him by friends. Prisoners unconvicted
were, naturally, not compelled to work in prisons, but they were
invited, even persuaded, to do so, and were at liberty to expend half
the money they might earn in purchasing small comforts or adding to
their daily fare. Those who preferred it were permitted, as elsewhere,
to supply themselves altogether with food; and in cases where the
_prévenu_ was of good family, if he or his friends were in funds, his
meals came straight from a good restaurant or his own home.
The inmate of Mazas could not well complain of the neglect of the
authorities, nor, judging by outward appearances, of the harshness of
their rule. In addition to many minor indulgences, he was permitted
to purchase a certain fixed quantity of wine, three double decilitres
of good ordinary Bordeaux,--“_vieux, pur, naturel, franc de goût_,”
it is set forth in the canteen notice,--and as much tobacco as he
could smoke when and where he pleased. He had an excellent library
of books at his disposal, and might see his friends from outside
when he chose. In some respects, indeed, he might deem the official
solicitude for his welfare a little exaggerated and misplaced. The
law was before all things anxious that he should do himself no harm.
The precautions against suicide were many and minute, and included
the deprivation of all dangerous weapons, with constant observation,
extending, if necessary, to the unceasing companionship of two or more
fellow-prisoners. With the recalcitrant _prévenu_ who refuses to plead
guilty these cell-comrades had other duties to perform. They acted also
as _moutons_, (the prison spies already spoken of), and wheedled the
unconscious prisoner into incautious confessions, of which full use was
made later. Thus the notorious murderer, Troppmann, confided his secret
to his prison attendants, and greatly assisted the prosecution thereby.
In his case the most extraordinary care was taken to prevent his laying
hands upon himself. During his long detention he was not allowed to
shave, lest he should injure himself with the razor. He appeared in
court with a long beard, which his advocate insisted should be removed.
The demand was only reluctantly conceded; and the operation was carried
out under the close surveillance of a number of officers after putting
him in a strait waistcoat and tying him into a chair.
Except, however, where the ends of justice seem to require a special
departure from the rule, isolation, that is, the complete separation
of prisoners one from the other, was strictly maintained at Mazas. All
the arrangements of the prison were based upon this idea--the private
boxes of the _parloir_, or visiting cell; the separate compartments
in the exercising yards, where each prisoner ranges like a beast in a
menagerie up and down a narrow cage, in shape like a wedge cut out of
a plum cake; all are meant to secure the great end. Even the method of
conducting divine service was such that every prisoner could attend
mass without seeing or being seen by his neighbors or leaving his own
cell. This was effected by establishing an altar on the top of the
office in the _rond point_, or central hall. The _aumonier_, or prison
chaplain, who officiated here, could be seen from every cell in the
prison. All the doors were bolted ajar by a very ingenious arrangement.
The long steel bar which usually secured the cell was shot for the time
being into a ring projecting from the casing of the door, and thus a
long, narrow aperture was left facing the altar, but only a few inches
wide. This system no doubt prevented the intercommunication possible
in an open chapel; yet, while this can be reduced to a minimum where
discipline is strong and supervision effective, the prisoner alone in
his cell was under no surveillance at all. He could behave just as it
suited him. A close observer, Maxime du Camp, examined thirty-three
cells, and observed what their inmates were doing while mass was being
said. Three only were reading their missals and following the priest;
one was on his knees; one was standing uncovered, looking towards the
altar; one had opened his prayer book, but for choice was looking at
the _Magasin Pittoresque_; one other, with his head buried deep in his
arms, was shaken by a paroxysm of tears.
Escapes were rarely attempted at Mazas, and if tried were scarcely
ever successful. Once a practised locksmith contrived to remove the
fastenings of his cell during the night, to get through the bars beyond
and lower himself into the yard, where he found a scaffold pole, and
raising it against the first wall climbed up by it to the top. It
helped him also to descend to the far side, where he came upon the
night watchman wrapped up in his cloak and sleeping peacefully. The
boundary wall had still to be surmounted, but the scaffold pole was too
short. Foiled in this direction the fugitive retraced his steps and now
attacked the grating of the chief sewer which passed under the outer
wall, flowing towards the river. He climbed down it, but unhappily for
him found that the Seine was in flood, and, being unable to swim, was
all but drowned. He managed to extricate himself, however, and, being
now thoroughly worn out and disheartened, he returned to his cell,
where the evidence of his fruitless efforts remained to convict him
next morning. Two other prisoners made a somewhat similar attempt. They
also removed their windows, lowered themselves by ropes made from their
bed sheets, and, gaining the yard, forced the grating of the sewer by
means of bars taken from their iron bedsteads. They entered the sewer,
and, traversing it for some distance, were stopped by a much larger
grating, which separated the prison branch from the main sewer. This
they also forced and were at liberty to issue forth, if they pleased,
upon the Seine. But by this time the alarm was given; the fugitives
were traced into the prison sewer; all the sewer mouths were closely
watched, and the two men were re-captured a couple of days later.
Mazas as the prison of the _prévenus_, the receptacle of all persons
accused of serious crime and detained on reasonable presumption of
guilt, was intimately associated with the passing criminality of Paris
for fifty years. Every Ishmaelite, charged with raising his hand
against his fellows, passed through its forbidding portals to emerge
once more, if fate was kind to him, or if convicted, to disappear into
its inner darkness. Confinement in a trial prison is the most painful
phase in the criminal’s career. He is a constant prey to sickening
anxiety, or the plaything of exaggerated hope. He alternates between
overmuch confidence and dreadful despair. His surroundings affect him
according to his quality. The cellular isolation, which is his almost
invariable lot, may be grateful to the victim of circumstance, whether
really innocent or by no means hopelessly bad. The old offender, on
the other hand, suffers acutely, it is said, not so much from remorse
as from boredom and disgust; less from the prickings of his conscience
than self-reproach at having played his cards badly and failed in his
latest attempt at depredation. In any case the days are long when
spent in a separate cell, awaiting judgment, the nights dark and often
sleepless and interminable. We have authentic assurance that the end
of it all, the very worst,--conviction, sentence, the heaviest, the
extreme penalty of the law,--comes as a distinct relief, and although
a certain, shameful death is now before him, the condemned prisoner
sleeps soundly on his final return from court. The prisoner condemned
to death is generally worn out with the struggle for life. He is
wearied, mentally and physically, and wishes, as a rule, to forget the
horrible episode which has kept his faculties tense-strung, and, for a
time at least, he sinks into apathy and is more or less callous of his
impending fate. Now and again, and this is specially characteristic
of the French prisoner, he is defiant with cynical bravado. He may be
passive, or active, as in the case of Camp, who, when he reached his
cell on return from the court which had sentenced him, was seized with
a fit of fury, and, catching up a log of wood as a weapon, rushed at a
warder and attempted to murder him. A curious trait in all condemned
men is the survival of hope to the very last.
In France, where in capital cases an appeal to the law for the revision
of the proceedings is the rule, the convict is always buoyed up by
the chance of reprieve, and never finally yields until the officials
enter his cell on the last dread morning, and he is awakened to hear
the words, “It is for to-day.” This means that death is imminent, and
that within a few minutes, half an hour at the outside, the guillotine
will have done its work. It is a cruel process, that of postponing
all knowledge of the exact day until it has arrived; although in
France murderers will exhibit the most ferocious tiger-like attitude
when it comes. “Dread anticipation never leaves them,” a French
chaplain, l’Abbé Crozes, of the Grande Roquette, has recorded. “As the
inevitable day approaches they are consumed with the liveliest fears,
and are possessed with one single idea, that of escaping death.” Two
miscreants, guilty of the most bloodthirsty murders, Abadie and Gilles,
who waited for three months before the end came, told the same good
priest that every morning at four o’clock they awoke in an agony of
terror, and only recovered about six, when the hour for communicating
the dread news had passed for the day. A similar story is that of the
French noble, lying with the rest of the prisoners in a Revolutionary
prison, who, as often as he heard the list for execution each morning
and missed his name, cried out with intense relief: “The little man has
another day to live.”
The French practice of withholding from the criminal information as to
the day of his death until almost the moment for execution has arrived
is cruel enough; but this chapter has shown an amelioration in French
prison conditions of such extent that the cruelty of that practice may
be condoned.