[FROM THE GENTLEMAN’S MAGAZINE.]
Of the five principal prisons of Paris during the Reign of Terror, the
most hopeless of all the horrible places on earth was the Conciergerie,
whence few escaped, except to ride in the fateful tumbril which
conducted them to the guillotine. All the other prisons fed this one.
As many as 80 prisoners a day were sent to the scaffold, and the
feeling of terror outside the prisons was almost equal to the dungeon.
No one knew when his turn would come. Men’s faces were calm, but hearts
filled with fear. Detectives and spies bore false witness everywhere,
even the garçon who served you with a _petit verre_ might be an agent
of the Republic, whose report might send you to the Conciergerie in the
evening, and on the morrow to the guillotine. The fatal roll call was
read out daily. Men rushed to hear if their names were included in the
list of victims. If not they breathed more freely, at least they had
another day to live. But now how changed! look at the----