Transcriber’s Note: This book uses the spelling “Bastile” throughout
(rather than “Bastille” as is more common in modern times).
THE HISTORY OF THE BASTILE.
THE
HISTORY OF THE BASTILE,
AND OF ITS
PRINCIPAL CAPTIVES.
BY
R. A. DAVENPORT.
AUTHOR OF THE “NEW BIOGRAPHICAL DICTIONARY,” ETC. ETC.
Then shame to manhood, and opprobrious more
To France than all her losses and defeats,
Old or of later date, by sea or land,
Her house of bondage, worse than that of old
Which God avenged on Pharaoh—the Bastile.—COWPER.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY THOMAS TEGG AND SON,
73, CHEAPSIDE.
1838.
LONDON:
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The execution of a plan so frequently falls immeasurably short of the
author’s original conception, that some wit, of whom I have forgotten the
name, has likened them to the cry of an oriental fruit-hawker: “In the
name of the Prophet—figs!” I can bear witness how much what is purposed
goes beyond what is accomplished. I began loftily, and perhaps the reader
will say, that I have ended with—figs. At the outset I designed to link,
in some measure, the history of the Bastile with that of France, and to
trace the rise and progress of those parties, factions, and sects, which
furnished inmates to the prisons of state. But I soon discovered that the
contracted limits of a single volume would not admit of my plan being
carried into execution. By much enlarging the page, and by making, at
no small cost, a very considerable addition to the number of pages, the
publisher has liberally endeavoured to give me the means of rendering
the work less imperfect than it would otherwise have been; but I have,
nevertheless, been exceedingly cramped by the want of adequate space.
But, though I have not done all that I wished to do, I am by no means
disposed to disparage my labours. I have consulted every document that
was accessible, and have conscientiously tried to be strictly just, and
to combine information with amusement. I indulge a hope that the volume
will tend not only to keep up an abhorrence of arbitrary power, but
also to inspire affection for governments which hold it to be a duty to
promote the happiness of the people. Whatever may be its defects, it
is the only work in the English language that has even the slightest
pretension to be denominated a History of the Bastile.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
Original meaning of the word Bastile—Various
Bastiles—Description of “The Bastile”—Officers of the
fortress—Interior of it—The Garden—The Court where
the prisoners took exercise—The Towers, Dungeons,
Apartments, Furniture, Food, of the prisoners—The
Library—The Chapel—Lettres de Cachet described—Advocate
of them—Change in the treatment of prisoners—Narrative
of a prisoner—Strict search of prisoners—Harshness to
them—Artifices employed against them—Silence enjoined
to the Guards, &c., of the prison—Mode of receiving
visitors—Suppression of letters—Secrecy and mystery—Medical
attendance—Wills—Insanity—Clandestine burial of the dead. 1
CHAPTER II.
Reign of John II.—Stephen Marcel, Provost of the
Merchants—Reign of Charles V.—Hugh Aubriot—Reign of
Charles VI.—Noviant—La Rivière—Peter des Essarts—John de
Montaigu—Contests of the factions at Paris—The Count of
Armagnac—The Burgundians obtain possession of Paris—Massacre
of the Armagnacs—Assassination of the Duke of Burgundy—Reign
of Charles VII.—Paris in the hands of the English—Villiers
de l’Isle Adam—The English expelled from Paris—Reign of
Louis XI.—Anthony de Chabannes—The Count de Melun—Cardinal
de Balue—William d’Haraucour—Charles d’Armagnac—Louis de
Luxembourg—The Duke of Nemours and his children. 33
CHAPTER III.
Reign of Francis I.—Semblançai—The Chancellor Duprat—The
Chancellor Poyet—Admiral de Chabot—Fall of Poyet—Reign of Henry
II.—Anne du Bourg—Louis du Faur—Reign of Francis II.—Execution
of Du Bourg—Francis de Vendôme—Reign of Charles IX.—The Duke of
Lunebourg—Henry of Navarre and the Prince of Condé in danger of
the Bastile—Faction of the Politicians—La Mole—Coconas—Marshal
de Montmorenci—Marshal de Cossé—Reign of Henry III.—Bussi
d’Amboise. 74
CHAPTER IV.
Reign of Henry III. continued—Conspiracy of Salcede—Francis
de Rosières—Peter de Belloy—Francis le Breton—Bernard
Palissy—Daring plots of the League—Henry III. expelled from
Paris—The Bastile surrenders to Guise—Bussi le Clerc appointed
governor—Damours—James de la Guesle—Reign of Henry IV.—Members
of the parliament arrested—President de Harlay—Potier de
Blancmesnil—The family of Seguier—Speeches of Henry IV.—Louis
Seguier—James Gillot—Outrage committed by the Council of
Sixteen—It is punished by the Duke of Mayenne—Henry IV. enters
Paris—Surrender of the Bastile—Du Bourg—Treasure deposited in
the Bastile by Henry. 102
CHAPTER V.
Reign of Henry IV. continued—Viscount de Tavannes—The marshal
duke of Biron—Faults of Biron—Friendship of Henry IV. for
Biron—La Fin, and his influence over Biron—The Duke of
Savoy—Biron’s first treason pardoned—Embassies of Biron—Speech
of Queen Elizabeth to Biron—Discontent among the nobles—Art of
La Fin—Imprisonment of Renazé—La Fin betrays Biron—Artifices
employed to lull Biron into security—Arrest of Biron, and
the Count of Auvergne—Conduct of Biron in the Bastile—His
trial—His execution—Respect paid to his remains—Monbarot
sent to the Bastile—The Count of Auvergne—He is sent to the
Bastile but soon released—He plots again—Cause and intent of
the conspiracy—He is again arrested—Sentence of death passed
on him, but commuted for imprisonment—He spends twelve years
in the Bastile—Mary of Medicis releases him—Conspiracy of
Merargues—He is executed—Death of Henry IV. 133
CHAPTER VI.
Reign of Louis XIII.—The treasure of Henry IV.
dissipated—Prevalent belief in magic—Cesar and Ruggieri—Henry,
prince of Condé—The Marchioness d’Ancre—Marshal
Ornano—Prevalence of duelling—The Count de Bouteville—The Day
of the Dupes—Vautier, the physician of Mary of Medicis—The
Marshal de Bassompierre—The Chevalier de Jars—Infamy of
Laffemas—Three citizens of Paris sent to the Bastile—Despotic
language of Louis XIII.—The Count de Cramail—The Marquis of
Vitry—Peter de la Porte—Noel Pigard Dubois, an alchemical
impostor—The Count de Grancé and the Marquis de Praslin—The
prince Palatine—Count Philip d’Aglie—Charles de Beys—Letter
from an unknown prisoner to Richelieu. 172
CHAPTER VII.
Reign of Louis XIV.—Regency of Anne of Austria—Inauspicious
circumstances under which she assumed the regency—George
de Casselny—The Count de Montresor—The Marquis de
Fontrailles—Marshal de Rantzau—The Count de Rieux—Bernard
Guyard—Broussel, governor of the Bastile—The Duchess of
Montpensier orders the cannon of the Bastile to be fired on
the king’s army—Conclusion of the war of the Fronde—Surrender
of the Bastile—Despotism of Louis XIV.—Slavishness of the
nobles—John Herauld Gourville—The Count de Guiche—Nicholas
Fouquet—Paul Pellisson-Fontainier—Charles St. Evremond—Simon
Morin—The Marquis de Vardes—Count Bussy Rabutin—Saci le
Maistre—The Duke of Lauzun—Marquis of Cavoie—The Chevalier
de Rohan—A nameless prisoner—Charles D’Assoucy—Miscellaneous
prisoners. 217
CHAPTER VIII.
The Poisoners—The Marchioness of Brinvilliers—Penautier—La
Voisin and her accomplices and dupes—The “Chambre Ardente”—The
Countess of Soissons—The Duchess of Bouillon—The Duke of
Luxembourg—Stephen de Bray—The Abbé Primi—Andrew Morell—Madame
Guyon—Courtils de Sandraz—Constantine de Renneville—The
Man with the Iron Mask—Jansenists—Tiron, Veillant,
and Lebrun Desmarets—The Count de Bucquoy—The Duke de
Richelieu—Miscellaneous prisoners. 273
CHAPTER IX.
Reign of Louis XV.—Regency of the Duke of Orleans—Oppressive
measures against all persons connected with the Finances—Their
failure—Prisoners in the Bastile—Freret—Voltaire—The
Cellamare conspiracy—The Duchess of Maine—Madame de
Staal—Malezieu—Bargeton—Mahudel—The Mississippi scheme—Count
de Horn—Death of the Regent—Administration of the Duke of
Bourbon—La Blanc—Paris Duverney—The Count de Belleisle—The
Chevalier de Belleisle—Madame de Tencin. 314
CHAPTER X.
Reign of Louis XV. continued—The Bull Unigenitus—A Notary
Public—G. N. Nivelle—G. C. Buffard—Death of Deacon Paris—Rise,
progress, and acts, of the Convulsionaries—Persecution
of them, and artifices employed by them to foil their
persecutors—Lenglet Dufresnoy—La Beaumelle—F. de
Marsy—Marmontel—The Abbé Morellet—Mirabeau the elder—The
Chevalier Resseguier—Groubendal and Dulaurens—Robbé
de Beauveset—Mahé de la Bourdonnais—Count Lally—La
Chalotais—Marin—Durosoi—Prévost de Beaumont—Barletti St.
Paul—Dumouriez. 346
CHAPTER XI.
Captivity and Sufferings of Masers de Latude—Cause of his
Imprisonment—He is removed from the Bastile to Vincennes—He
escapes—He is retaken, and sent to the Bastile—Kindness of
M. Berryer—D’Alegre is confined in the same apartment with
him—Latude forms a plan for escaping—Preparations for executing
it—The Prisoners descend from the summit of the Bastile, and
escape—They are recaptured in Holland, and brought back—Latude
is thrown into a horrible dungeon—He tames rats, and makes a
musical pipe—Plans suggested by him—His writing materials—He
attempts suicide—Pigeons tamed by him—New plans suggested
by him—Finds means to fling a packet of papers from the top
of the Bastile—He is removed to Vincennes—He escapes—Is
recaptured—Opens a communication with his fellow-prisoners—Is
transferred to Charenton—His situation there—His momentary
liberation—He is re-arrested, and sent to the Bicêtre—Horrors
of that prison—Heroic benevolence of Madame Legros—She succeeds
in obtaining his release—Subsequent fate of Latude. 382
CHAPTER XII.
Reign of Louis XVI.—Enormous number of Lettres de Cachet
issued in two reigns—William Debure the elder—Blaizot
imprisoned for obeying the King—Pelisseri—Prisoners from
St. Domingo—Linguet—Duvernet—The Count de Paradès—Marquis
de Sade—Brissot—The Countess de la Motte—Cardinal de
Rohan—Cagliostro—The affair of the Diamond Necklace—Reveillon
takes shelter in the Bastile—Attack and capture of the Bastile
by the Parisians—Conclusion. 436
[Illustration: PLAN OF THE BASTILE.
A. Avenue from St. Anthony’s Street—B. Entrance, and first drawbridge—C.
The Governor’s house—D. First court—E. Avenue leading to the gate of
the fortress—F. Drawbridge and gates of the fortress—G. Guard-houses—H.
The great court within the towers—I. Staircase leading to the Council
Chamber—K. Council Chamber—L. Court du Puits, or Well Court—M. Way to
the garden—N. Steps leading into the garden—O. Garden—P. The moat of the
fortress—Q. Passage to the Arsenal garden—R. A wooden road round the
walls for the night patrole—1. Tower du Puits—2. Tower de la Liberté—3.
Tower de la Bertaudière—4. Tower de la Bazinière—5. Tower de la Comté—6.
Tower du Trésor—7. Tower de la Chapelle—8. Tower du Coin.]
THE HISTORY OF THE BASTILE.
CHAPTER I.
Original meaning of the word Bastile—Various
Bastiles—Description of “The Bastile”—Officers of the
fortress—Interior of it—The Garden—The Court where
the prisoners took exercise—The Towers, Dungeons,
Apartments, Furniture, Food, of the prisoners—The
Library—The Chapel—Lettres de Cachet described—Advocate
of them—Change in the treatment of prisoners—Narrative
of a prisoner—Strict search of prisoners—Harshness to
them—Artifices employed against them—Silence enjoined
to the Guards, &c. of the prison—Mode of receiving
visitors—Suppression of letters—Secrecy and mystery—Medical
attendance—Wills—Insanity—Clandestine burial of the dead.
The word Bastile, which has now long been, and will ever remain, a term
of opprobrious import, to designate the dungeons of arbitrary power,
has, like many other words, deviated widely in the lapse of years from
its original meaning. Its derivation is traced, somewhat doubtfully, to
the Italian _bastia_ or _bastione_. In former times, it was applied to
any fort, whether permanent or temporary. In our old writers, as well
as in those of France, we find it repeatedly given to field works. The
redoubts, for instance, by means of which, in the reign of the sixth
Henry, the English blockaded Orleans, are so denominated by French
chroniclers. The same is the case with respect to more durable works;
there were, at an early period, no less than three bastiles at Paris,
those of St. Denis, the Temple, and St. Anthony, all of which were
situated to the north of the Seine. Eventually, the name was confined to
the last of these buildings. The quadrangular castle of St. Denis was
demolished in 1671; but the tower of the Temple, in which the unfortunate
Louis the Sixteenth and his family were confined, outlasted the Bastile
itself for nearly a quarter of a century, and was used as a state prison
till 1811, when it ceased to exist.
The bastile of St. Anthony—which structure I shall henceforth mention
only as The Bastile—is generally supposed to have been founded by Hugh
Aubriot. This opinion is, however, erroneous. It is beyond a doubt,
that the original plan and construction of it must be assigned to the
celebrated Stephen Marcel, provost of the merchants of Paris. When, in
1356, after the disastrous battle of Poitiers, the English detachments
were ravaging the vicinity of the French capital, and the citizens were
filled with terror, Stephen undertook to repair the dilapidated bulwarks
of the city, and add other defences. Among his additions was a gate,
fortified with towers on each side, leading from the suburb of St.
Anthony into the street of the same name. These towers must be considered
as the first rudiments of the Bastile.
The haste with which, while an enemy was at hand, the walls had been
constructed, had not allowed of giving to them that height and solidity
which were requisite for effectually resisting an attack. In 1369,
Charles the Fifth resolved to remedy this defect. The task of making
the necessary improvements was committed to Hugh Aubriot, the provost
of Paris. Among the changes which Aubriot made, was the adding of two
towers to those which already existed at St. Anthony’s gate. They were
erected parallel with those built by Marcel; so that the whole formed
a square fort, with towers at the angles. In the reign of Charles the
Sixth, after the Maillotin insurrection, in 1382, the Bastile was again
enlarged, by the addition of two towers at each end of the fortress; thus
presenting a front of four towers to the city, and as many to the suburb.
To render more difficult any attempt to surprise the place, the road,
which, as we have seen, ran through it, was turned to one side. The body
of the fortress received no further accession; but, before the middle of
the seventeenth century, a bastion was constructed on the side toward the
suburb, and a broad dry ditch, about forty yards wide and twelve deep,
faced with masonry, encircled the whole.
Along the summit of the exterior wall of the ditch, which was at an
elevation of sixty feet above the bottom of the ditch, was a wooden
gallery, called the Rounds, reached by two flights of steps. Day and
night sentinels were constantly moving about in this gallery; every
quarter of an hour they were visited by some of the officers or
serjeants; and, more completely to secure their vigilance, each man had
certain numbered pieces of copper pierced with holes, which, at stated
times, he was to drop on the point of an instrument, fixed in a padlocked
box. A bell was also rung upon the Rounds, every quarter of an hour,
throughout the night.
The officers on the establishment of the Bastile consisted of a governor,
the king’s lieutenant, a major, who officiated as secretary, and prepared
the reports and monthly accounts for the minister, two adjutants to
assist him, a physician, a surgeon and his assistant, a chaplain, two
priests, and a confessor, a keeper of the records, clerk, superintendant
of the buildings, engineer, four turnkeys, and a company of invalids.
No soldier was allowed to sleep out of the place without leave from the
governor; nor could any officer dine out or be absent all night, without
permission from the minister. Originally only the governor and the
king’s lieutenant were appointed by the king, the rest being nominated
by the governor; and guard was mounted at the castle by a body of
citizens, which bore the name of the Independent Company of Archers. The
change was made about the middle of the eighteenth century.
The interior of the gloomy fabric must now be described. Having passed
down St. Anthony’s-street, and arrived nearly at the city gate, leading
to the suburb of the same name, he who wished or was compelled to visit
the Bastile, turned to the right hand, in the direction of the Arsenal,
where stood a sentinel, to warn off all idle gazers. Before, however,
the main building could be entered, the visiter had to pursue his
way along an approach, bent nearly into the form of three sides of a
square, ⊐, flanked with buildings of various kinds, on the whole of one
side, and a part of the other. Over the entrance gate was an armoury,
and on the right of it a guard-room; on the left hand was a range of
suttling-houses, and on the right were barracks. The road then made an
abrupt turn, on the right of which were stables, coachhouses, and a door
into a space which was called the Elm Court. This first division was
named the Passage Court. At the extremity of it was a drawbridge, with a
guard-house at its further end. This bridge led to a second court, taking
its name from the governor’s house, which, with his garden, occupied one
half of its circuit. Another abrupt turn brought the visiter opposite the
portal of the fortress, which he at length reached, after having passed
by the kitchens, and traversed the great drawbridge. Between the street
and the interior of the fortress there were five massy gates, at all of
which sentinels were posted.
The principal drawbridge being passed, and the gate opened, the visiter
stood within the Bastile itself. Leaving on his right a guard-room, he
found himself in the Great Court of the Castle, a parallelogram of about
a hundred and two feet long by seventy-two broad, containing six towers,
three on the side looking towards the suburb, and as many on the city
side: the former were named de la Comté, du Trésor, and de la Chapelle;
the latter de la Bazinière, de la Bertaudière, and de la Liberté.
Between the three left hand towers were rooms for the archives and other
purposes, and the chapel; between the towers du Trésor and de la Chapelle
was, in former times, the gate of St. Anthony, and the road into the city.
A pile of buildings, comparatively modern, extending across the shortest
diameter of the fortress, from the Tour de la Chapelle to the miscalled
Tour de la Liberté, divided this principal court from another, called
the Well Court. This pile contained the council chamber, the library,
the repository for the prisoners’ effects, and apartments for the king’s
lieutenant, the major, and other officers, and, occasionally, for the
sick, and captives of distinction.
The length of the Well Court was between seventy and eighty feet, the
breadth between forty and fifty. At the angle on the right was the tower
du Coin, on the left the tower du Puit. In this court were some lodgings
for the drudges of the place; and, as the poultry were fed and the offal
was thrown out here, it was always dirty and unwholesome.
The garden, formed out of what once was a bastion, on the suburb side of
the castle, was laid out in walks, and planted with trees. It appears,
that, till a period not long previous to the downfall of the Bastile,
such prisoners as were not confined for flagitious crimes, or for the
express purpose of being rendered supremely wretched, were permitted
to walk there. To the last governor, M. de Launay, they were indebted
for being deprived of this privilege. To increase his already enormous
emoluments, he let it to a gardener, and he had interest enough with
the minister to obtain his sanction for this encroachment on the scanty
comforts of the prisoners—an order was issued by which they were excluded
from it. Nor was this all, or the worst. The platforms, along the summit
of the towers and connecting curtains, had hitherto afforded a pleasant
and airy walk; but these, too, were shut up, at his desire, partly to
save trouble to those who watched the prisoners, and partly to diminish
the chance of conversation between the former and the latter. Such
conduct is, however, not strange in the man who could meet the complaints
of his oppressed inmates with obscenely vulgar language; and could add,
that “people either ought not to put themselves in the way of being sent
to the Bastile, or ought to know how to suffer when they got there.”
Humanity deplores his subsequent fate, and execrates the brutality of his
murderers; but, as far as regards him personally, M. de Launay appears to
have been deserving of very little respect.
The only remaining spot in which exercise could be taken was the
principal court. “The walls which enclose it,” says M. Linguet, “are
more than a hundred feet high, without windows; so that, in fact, it
is a large well, where the cold is unbearable in winter, because the
north-east wind pours into it, and in summer the heat is no less so,
because, there being no circulation of air, the sun makes an absolute
oven of it. This is the sole lyceum where such of the prisoners as have
permission (for all do not have it) can, each in his turn, for a few
moments in the day, disencumber their lungs from the pestilential air of
their dwelling.” But even this poor gratification, which seldom extended
to an hour, was considerably abridged by circumstances. Any increase in
the number of prisoners diminished the time which was allotted. Whenever,
as was frequently the case, any stranger entered the court, the prisoner
was obliged to hurry into a narrow passage, called the Cabinet, and shut
himself in closely, that he might not be seen. M. Linguet states, that
three quarters of an hour was often wasted in these compulsory retreats
to the Cabinet. If they were not promptly made, or the captive displayed
any curiosity, the least penalty inflicted was confining the delinquent
within the limits of his cell.
The towers, which were at least a hundred feet high, were seven feet
thick at the top, and the thickness gradually increased, down to the
foundation. Lowest of all in them were dungeons, under the level of the
soil, arched, paved, lined with stone, dripping with perpetual damps,
the darkness of which was made visible by means of a narrow slit through
the wall, on the side next the ditch. In this fetid den, swarmed newts,
toads, rats, and every variety of vermin which haunt confined and gloomy
spots. Planks, laid across iron bars fixed in the wall, formed the couch
of the captive, and his only bedding, even in the most inclement season,
was a little straw. Two doors, each seven inches thick, with enormous
locks and bars, closed the entrance to each of these horrible abodes,
over which might fitly have been inscribed the terrific line that shone
dimly over the gate of hell, “All hope abandon ye who enter here!”
Above the dungeons were four stories, each consisting of a single room,
with, in some instances, a dark closet scooped out of the wall. All were
shut in by ponderous double doors; as were also the staircases. In three
of the stories, the rooms, of an irregular octagonal shape, were about
twenty feet in diameter, and eighteen in height. In many of the rooms
the ceilings were double, with a considerable vacuity between them; the
lower one was of lath and plaster, the upper of solid oak. The highest
story of all, which was termed la Calotte, was neither so lofty nor so
large as the others; it was arched to support the roof and platform, and
its curvature prevented its inhabitant from walking in any part but the
middle of the room. On the towers and curtains several pieces of cannon
were mounted.
The light which was thrown into these chambers was broken and imperfect;
prospect from them there was none. Each room had only one window; and,
independent of the obstacle opposed to sight by the massiveness of the
walls, there was another, in the double iron gratings, at the outside and
middle, formed of bars as thick as a man’s arm, which closed the narrow
aperture. In the lower stories, that there might be no chance of seeing
or being seen, the opening was filled half way up with stone and mortar,
or with planks fastened to the external grating. Three steps led up to
some of the windows, if windows they may be called; in other cases they
were level with the floor. A glass casement excluded the wind in the
better apartments; the dungeons were left exposed to all the rigour of
the elements.
The rooms were floored with tile or stone, and all of them, except the
dungeons, had chimneys or stoves; the chimneys were secured, in several
parts, by iron bars. In winter, six pieces of wood were allowed daily
for firing. M. Linguet complains, in his Memoirs, that the quantity was
insufficient, and the quality execrable. It is obvious that, to enhance
his profits, an avaricious governor would purchase as cheaply, and deal
out as scantily, as it was possible for him to do.
The rooms were designated from their situation in the towers, numbering
from the bottom, and the prisoners were designated by the number of their
room. Thus, for instance, the first chamber above the dungeon in the
Bazinière tower was called the first Bazinière, and so on to the topmost,
which was known as the Calotte Bazinière. The prisoner was consequently
mentioned not by his name but by the number of his room—the first
Bazinière, the first Bertaudière, the third Comté, &c. &c. In some cases
it appears that the prisoner received another name instead of his own,
which was never uttered or written. In this way De la Tude, of whom we
shall have occasion to speak, was denominated Daury.
In what manner these pleasant abodes were furnished M. Linguet shall
describe. “Two worm-eaten mattresses, a cane elbow chair, the bottom of
which was held together by packthread, a tottering table, a water jug,
two pots of delftware, one of which was to drink out of, and two flag
stones, to support the fire; such was the inventory, at least such was
mine. I was indebted only to the commiseration of the turnkey, after
several months’ confinement, for a pair of tongs and a fire shovel. It
was not possible for me to procure dog-irons; and, whether it arises from
policy or inhumanity I know not, what the governor will not supply, he
will not allow a prisoner to procure at his own expense. It was eight
months ere I could obtain permission to buy a tea-pot, twelve before I
could procure a tolerably strong chair, and fifteen ere I was suffered
to replace by a crockery vessel the filthy and disgusting pewter vessel
which is the only one that is used in the Bastile.
“The single article which I was at the outset allowed to purchase was a
new blanket, and the occasion was as follows:
“The month of September, as every body knows, is the time when the moths
that prey upon woollens are transformed into winged insects. When the
antre which was assigned to me was opened, there arose from the bed,
I will not say a number, nor a cloud, but a large and dense column of
moths, which overspread the chamber in an instant. I started back with
horror. ‘Pooh! pooh!’ said one of my conductors with a smile, ‘before you
have lain here two nights, there will not be one of them left.’
“In the evening, the lieutenant of police came, according to custom,
to welcome me. I manifested so violent a repugnance to such a populous
flock bed, that they were gracious enough to permit me to put on a new
covering, and to have the mattress beaten, the whole at my own cost. As
feather beds are prohibited articles in the Bastile, doubtless because
such luxuries are not suitable for persons to whom the ministry wishes
above all things to give lessons of mortification, I was very desirous
that, every three months at least, my shabby mattress should have the
same kind of renovation. But, though it would have cost him nothing, the
proprietory governor opposed it with all his might, ‘because,’ said he,
‘it wears them out.’”
Each prisoner was supplied with flint, steel, and tinder, a candle a day,
a broom once a week, and a pair of sheets every fortnight.
Captives of rank were undoubtedly somewhat better accommodated, and,
where there were no particular reasons for annoying them, they were
favoured by being allowed to receive articles from their homes; but the
common run of convenience and comfort appears not to have gone beyond
what is described by M. Linguet.
The food of the prisoners was paid for by the king at so much per head,
according to a graduated scale; but the supply and management of it were
left, seemingly without controul, in the hands of the governor. By this
arrangement the prisoners were placed at the mercy of their jailor,
who, if he happened to have a great love of gain, and a scanty portion
of humanity, might fill his purse by furnishing bad provisions, or not
sufficient to sustain life. “There are prisoners in the Bastile,” says
Linguet, “who have not more than four ounces of meat at a meal; this has
been ascertained more than once by weighing what was given to them; the
fact is notorious to all the under officers, who are grieved by it.” In
estimating the amount of the wrong thus inflicted, it must be borne in
mind, that the man who is in bonds requires more and better nourishment,
to keep nature from sinking, than is necessary for the man who is a free
agent. There was, in this instance, no excuse for stint. The sum allowed
by the king for the maintenance of the captives was exceedingly liberal.
It was nearly half a crown a day for an individual of the humblest class;
four shillings for a tradesman; eight shillings for a priest, a person
in the finance department, or an ordinary judge; twelve shillings for a
parliament counsellor; twenty shillings for a lieutenant general in the
army; one pound ten for a marshal of France; and two guineas for a prince
of the blood. If the sovereign oppressed those who incurred his anger, he
at least did not mean to starve them.
What was the fare which this high rate of remuneration obtained for
the prisoners? It is thus described in a work, published in 1774, by
one who had himself long tried it. I am not aware that the accuracy of
the statement has ever been impeached; on the contrary, there is the
testimony of other witnesses to the same effect.
“The kitchen is supplied by the governor’s steward, who has under him a
cook, a scullion, and a man whose employment is to cut wood for fuel.
All the victuals are bad, and generally ill-dressed: and this is a mine
of gold to the governor, whose revenue is daily augmented by the hard
fare of the prisoners under his keeping. Besides these profits, which
are inconceivably great, the governor receives a hundred and fifty
livres a day for fifteen prison rooms, at ten livres each, as a sort
of gratification in addition to his salary; and he often derives other
considerable emoluments.
“On flesh days the prisoners have soup with boiled meat, &c. for dinner;
at night a slice of roast meat, a ragoût and salad. The diet on fast days
consists, at dinner, of fish, and two other dishes; at night, of eggs,
with greens. The difference in the quality of the diet is very small
between the lowest rank of prisoners, and those who are classed at five
or ten livres; the table of the latter is furnished with perhaps half
a starved chicken, a pigeon, a wild rabbit, or some small bird, with a
dessert; the portion of each rarely exceeds the value of twopence.
“The _Sunday’s_ dinner consists of some bad soup, a slice of a cow, which
they call beef, and four little pâtés; at night a slice of roast veal or
mutton, or a little plate of haricot, in which bare bones and turnips
greatly predominate; to these are added a salad, the oil to which is
always rancid. The suppers are pretty uniformly the same on flesh days.
_Monday_: instead of four pâtés a haricot. _Tuesday_: at noon, a sausage,
half a pig’s foot, or a small pork chop. _Wednesday_: a tart, generally
either half warm or burnt up. _Thursday_: two very thin mutton chops.
_Friday_: half a small carp, either fried or stewed, a stinking haddock
or cod, with butter and mustard; to which are added greens or eggs; at
supper eggs, with spinach mixed up with milk and water.—_Saturday_: the
same. And this perpetual rotation re-commences on Sunday.
“On the three holidays, St. Louis, St. Martin, and Twelfth day, every
prisoner has an addition made to his allowance, of half a roasted
chicken, or a pigeon. On Holy Monday, his dinner is accompanied by a tart
extraordinary.
“Each prisoner has an allowance of a pound of bread and a bottle of
wine per day; but the wine is generally flat and good for nothing. The
dessert consists of an apple, a biscuit, a few almonds and raisins, some
cherries, gooseberries, or plums; these are commonly served in pewter,
though sometimes they are favoured with earthen dishes and a silver spoon
and fork. If any one complains of receiving bad provisions, a partial
amendment may take place for a few days; but the complainant is sure to
meet with some unpleasant effects of resentment. There is no cook’s shop
in the kingdom, where you may not get a better dinner for a shilling than
what are served in the Bastile. The cookery, in short, is wretchedly bad,
the soup tasteless, and the meat of the worst quality, and ill dressed.
All this must operate to injure the health of the prisoners; and, added
to other grievances, excites frequent imprecations of vengeance from
Heaven.”
With respect to the badness of the wine, Linguet corroborates the
statement of this writer. The governor, it appears, in addition to the
diet-money, had the privilege of taking into his cellars near a hundred
hogsheads of wine, duty free. “What does he do?” says Linguet. “He sells
his privilege to a Parisian tavern keeper, of the name of Joli, who gives
him 250_l._ for it, and he takes in exchange from him the very cheapest
kind of wine for the use of the prisoners; which wine, as may easily be
imagined, is nothing but vinegar.” This was a fraud at once upon the
government and the prisoners.
The sole mental recreation which the prison afforded was derived from a
small library, consisting of about five hundred volumes. This collection
is said to have been founded by a foreign prisoner, who died in the
Bastile, about the beginning of the eighteenth century, and to have been
enlarged by later sufferers. In some cases, prisoners were allowed to
read in the library; but, generally, the works were taken to the cells
of the captives, and the selection of them depended on the taste of the
turnkeys. Few of the books were unmutilated; for the prisoners now and
then indulged in writing bitter remarks on the blank spaces. As soon as a
book was returned, every leaf was carefully examined, and woe be to the
rash offender who had suffered passion to get the better of prudence! An
epigram, or a sarcasm, on his persecutors, or on men in office, exposed
him to the worst that irresponsible power could inflict. As to the
volume, if the writing was on the margin, the piece was cut off; but when
it chanced to be inserted between the lines, the page was torn out.
It seems to have been thought by no means necessary that a prisoner, who
was deprived of all earthly comforts, should receive consolation from
regular attendance on religious worship. The chapel was a miserable hole,
of about seven or eight feet square, under the pigeon-house of the king’s
lieutenant. “In this chapel,” says one who had been a captive, “are five
small niches or closets, with strong locks, of which three are formed in
the wall; the others are only wainscot. Every prisoner admitted to hear
mass is put in by himself,[1] and can neither see objects nor be seen of
any. The doors of these niches are secured by two bolts on the outside,
and lined within by iron bars; they are also glazed; but before each is
hung a curtain, which is drawn back at the Sanctus, and again closed at
the concluding prayer. Five prisoners only being admitted at each mass,
it follows that no more than ten can assist at that ceremony in a day.
If there be a greater number than this in the Castle, they either do not
go at all, or go alternately; because there are generally found some who
have a constant permission.”
There was a confessor in the fortress; but it is scarcely possible that a
prisoner could repose entire confidence in a spiritual director who was
in the pay of his oppressors. Though it is going much too far to say,
as M. Linguet does, that such a man is “a cowardly double-dealer who
prostitutes the dignity of his character,” it must be owned that some
doubts and suspicions as to him might naturally arise; it matters not
that they would be unjust, the possibility of their being excited ought
to have been carefully avoided.
Let us now turn to the concise but terrible instrument, by virtue of
which an individual was consigned to captivity, perhaps for life. This
was the _lettre de cachet_, or sealed letter, so called to distinguish
it from the _patent_ or open letter, which was merely folded. In former
days, such epistles were called _lettres closes_, or _clauses_. The
name was not given to all sealed up missives, but only to those which
contained some command or information from the sovereign. They were
signed by the king, and countersigned by one of the secretaries of
state. The same appellation was originally given to all letters of the
kind described; but, in latter times, it was principally if not wholly
applied, at least in common parlance, to royal orders of exile and
imprisonment.
The oldest recorded mandate of this species is that which Thierry the
Second issued, at the instigation of Brunehaut, against St. Columbanus,
who had severely censured the vices of the mother and the son. It
directed that he should be removed from the monastery of Luxeuil,
and banished to Besançon, where he was to remain during the king’s
pleasure. The saint yielded only to force, and, as soon as the guards
were withdrawn, he retired to his convent. Violence, however, at length
compelled him to quit the dominions of the licentious Thierry.
The _lettre de cachet_ was usually carried into effect by the officers of
police; sometimes the arrest was made at the dwelling of the individual,
sometimes on the roads or in the street by night; but, in all cases,
it appears to have been accomplished with as much secrecy as possible,
so that it was no uncommon thing for persons to be missing for years,
without their friends being able to discover what had become of them. Men
of rank were at times spared the disgrace of being taken into custody;
they were favoured by being allowed to carry the letter themselves to
the prison mentioned in it, and surrender to the governor. Here is a
specimen of these obliging billets, which was addressed to the prince of
Monaco, a brigadier in the French army.
“My Cousin,
“Being by no means satisfied with your conduct, I send you this
letter, to apprise you that my intention is, that, as soon as
you receive it, you shall proceed to my castle of the Bastile,
there to remain till you have my further orders. On which, my
cousin, I pray God to have you in his holy keeping. Given at
Versailles, this 25th of June, 1748.
(_Signed_) “LOUIS.”
(_Countersigned_) “VOYER D’ARGENSON.”
By such a scrap of paper as this might any man in France be doomed to
close and hopeless imprisonment. Malice, wounded pride, rivalry, revenge,
all the base and cruel passions, availed themselves of it to torment
their enemies. The titled harlot, whose shame had excited laughter or
reprobation, the minister, whose measures were unpopular, the frivolous
courtier, whose folly had been satirised, the debauchee, who wished to
remove an obstacle to his lust, the parent, who preferred ruling his
offspring rather by fear than love, was eager to obtain one of these
convenient scorpion scourges, and the wish was too often gratified.
There is scarcely any enormity so monstrous that it cannot find a
defender. Even _lettres de cachet_ have not been without an apologist;
and, to make the wonder the greater, an English apologist. Let us listen
to his plea. “Perhaps (says he) it was the abuse of the _lettres de
cachet_, rather than their institution, that merited the execration in
which they were held; for however extraordinary it may seem, they were
not unfrequently used to serve the purposes of humanity. There are many
instances of persons, who, on account of private disputes, or affairs
of state, would have been exposed to public punishment, that were shut
up by a _lettre de cachet_, until the danger was past, or the matter
accommodated or forgotten. It may undoubtedly be objected, that keeping a
person from justice is itself a crime against the public; but in forming
a judgment upon this subject, we ought to take into consideration the
prejudices entertained in the country where this authority was employed.
It should be remembered that, by an old and barbarous practice, the
disgrace attending a capital punishment, inflicted by the laws, was
reflected upon all the family of the criminal; and that in many instances
it required a public act of the supreme power to wipe off the stain, and
again enable them to serve their country. In as far, therefore, as the
_lettres de cachet_ counteracted the effects of these prejudices, they
were useful; _but though they were signed by the king, from the idea that
it was proper to have them ready for cases of emergency, ministers, and
governors of provinces, &c., were generally furnished with them in blank,
to be filled up at their discretions; and the friends and favourites of
those ministers sometimes obtained them from them, as is proved by the
case of M. de Fratteaux, and in many other instances_.”[2]
This is, indeed, carrying to a ridiculous extent the determination
to find “a soul of good in things evil!” Perhaps it would not be
uncharitable to put a harsher construction on such language. Public
justice is to be defrauded, thousands are to be plunged into misery,
personal safety is to be hourly jeoparded, crime committed by the rich
and powerful is to escape with all but complete impunity, and the motives
which most influence individuals to bridle their unruly passions are to
be weakened, merely “to counteract the effects of a prejudice” on a few
ancient families! Never was an infinitely small benefit bought at a more
extravagant price.
From certain particulars, which we find in various memoirs, it would seem
that, generally speaking, more indulgences were granted to the inmates
of the Bastile in former days, than during the last thirty years of its
existence. At all times, however, much would undoubtedly depend on the
personal character of the governor; if he chanced to be liberal-minded
and humane, he would, as far as he could venture to do so, mitigate the
sufferings of his captives; if, on the contrary, he were greedy of gain,
and harsh in his disposition, he would stint and deteriorate their diet,
wantonly deny them even the most trifling comforts, and, in short, do his
best to make the management of the prison “render life a burthen,” which,
with an impudent candour, one of the officers of the castle avowed to be
its especial purpose.
It must be owned that, in some respects, modern times witnessed an
improvement in the practice of the Bastile. The cages, which it is
known once to have contained, were removed. The rack, also, and other
instruments of torture, ceased to be called into use. At what period
the change took place is not said. That, in the latter end of Louis the
Thirteenth’s reign, the instruments still existed in the castle, we
learn from the Memoirs of the faithful La Porte, who saw them, and was
threatened with them to extort a confession.
What the Bastile was in its mildest form will appear from the following
narrative, written by a person who was confined for eight months. “About
five in the morning of the 2d of April, 1771,” says the narrator, “I was
awakened by a violent knocking at my chamber door, and was commanded,
in the name of the king, to open it. I did so, and an exempt of the
police, three men who appeared to be under his orders, and a commissary,
entered the room. They desired me to dress myself, and began to search
the apartment. They ordered me to open my drawers, and having examined my
papers, they took such as they chose, and put them into a box, which, as
I understood afterwards, was carried to the police office. The commissary
asked me my name, my age, the place where I was born, how long I had been
at Paris, and the manner in which I spent my time. The examination was
written down by him; a list was made of every thing found in the room,
which, together with the examination, I was desired to read and sign.
The exempt then told me to take all my body linen, and such clothes as
I chose, and to come along with them. At the word _all_ I started; I
guessed where they were about to take me, and it seemed to announce to me
a long train of misery.
“Having shut and sealed the drawers, they desired me to follow them; and
in going out, they locked the chamber door and took the key. On coming
to the street, I found a coach, into which I was desired to go, and the
others followed me. After sitting for some time the commissary told me
they were carrying me to the Bastile, and soon afterwards I saw the
towers. They did not go the shortest and direct road; which I suppose was
to conceal our destination from those who might have observed us. The
coach stopped at the gate in St. Anthony’s street. I saw the coachman
make signs to the sentinel, and soon after the gate was opened: the
guard was under arms, and I heard the gate shut again. On coming to the
first drawbridge, it was let down, the guard there being likewise under
arms. The coach went on, and entered the castle, where I saw another
guard under arms. It stopped at a flight of steps at the bottom of the
court, where being desired to go out, I was conducted to a room which
I heard named the council chamber. I found three persons sitting at
a table, who, as I was told, were the king’s lieutenant, the major,
and his deputy. The major asked me nearly the same questions which the
commissary had done, and observed the same formalities in directing me to
read and sign the examination. I was then desired to empty my pockets,
and lay what I had in them on the table. My handkerchief and snuff-box
being returned to me, my money, watch, and indeed every thing else, were
put into a box that was sealed in my presence, and an inventory having
been made of them, it was likewise read and signed by me. The major then
called for the turnkey whose turn of duty it was, and having asked what
room was empty, he said, the Calotte de la Bertaudière. He was ordered
to convey me to it, and to carry thither my linen and clothes. The
turnkey having done so, left me and locked the doors. The weather was
still extremely cold, and I was glad to see him return soon afterwards
with firewood, a tinder-box, and a candle. He made my fire, but told me,
on leaving the tinder-box, that I might in future do it myself when so
inclined.[3]
“From the time the exempt of police came into my room, I had not ceased
to form conjectures about the cause of my imprisonment. I knew of none,
unless it were some verses and sketches, relative to the affairs of the
times. Though they were indiscreet, they were of little importance. The
only writing that might have seriously given offence to the government, I
had never shown, but to one person in whom I thought I could confide. I
found afterwards he had betrayed me.
“When I heard the double doors shut upon me a second time, casting my
eyes round my habitation, I fancied I now saw the extent of all that was
left to me in this world for the rest of my days. _Besides the malignity
of enemies, and the anger of a minister, I felt that I ran the risk of
being forgotten; the fate of many who have no one of influence to protect
them, or who have not particularly attracted the notice of the public.
Naturally fond of society, I confess I looked forward to the abyss of
lonely wretchedness, that I thought awaited me, with a degree of horror
that cannot easily be described. I even regretted now what I had formerly
considered as the greatest blessing, a healthy constitution that had
never been affected by disease._
“I recollect with humble gratitude the first gleam of comfort that shot
across this gloom. It was the idea, that neither massive walls, nor
tremendous bolts, nor all the vigilance of suspicious keepers, could
conceal me from the sight of God. This thought I fondly cherished, and
it gave me infinite consolation in the course of my imprisonment, and
principally contributed to enable me to support it, with a degree of
fortitude and resignation that I have since wondered at—I no longer felt
myself alone.
“At eleven, my reflections were interrupted by the turnkey, who entered
with my dinner. Having spread the table with a clean napkin, he placed
the dishes on it, cut the meat, and retired, taking away the knife. The
dishes, plates, fork, spoon, and goblet, were of pewter. The dinner
consisted of soup and bouilli, a piece of roasted meat, a bottle of good
table wine, and a pound loaf of the best kind of household bread. In
the evening, at seven, he brought my supper, which consisted of a roast
dish and a ragoût. The same ceremony was observed in cutting the meat,
to render the knife unnecessary to me. He took away the dishes he had
brought for dinner, and returned at eight the next morning to take away
the supper things. Fridays and Saturdays being fast or _maîgre_ days, the
dinner consisted of soup, a dish of fish, and two dishes of vegetables;
the suppers, of two dishes of garden stuff, and an omelet, or something
made with eggs and milk. The dinners and suppers of each day in the week
were different, but every week was the same: so that the ordinary class
of prisoners saw in the course of the first week their bill of fare for
fifty years, if they staid so long.
“I had remained in my room about three weeks, when I was one morning
carried down to the council chamber, where I found the commissary. He
began by asking most of the questions that had been put to me before.
He then asked if I had any knowledge of some works he named, meaning
those that had been written by me;—if I was acquainted with the author
of them;—whether there were any persons concerned with him;—and if I
knew whether they had been printed? I told him that, as I did not mean
to conceal any thing, I should avoid giving him needless trouble; that
I myself was the author of the works he had mentioned, and guessed I
was there on that account;—that they never had been printed;—that the
work, which I conceived was the cause of my confinement, had never been
shown to any but one person, whom I thought my friend; and having no
accomplices, the offence, if there was any, rested solely with myself. He
said my examination was one of the shortest he had ever been employed at,
for it ended here. I was carried back to my room, and the next day was
shaved for the first time since my confinement.
“A few days afterwards I wrote to the lieutenant of the police,
requesting to be indulged with the use of books, pen, ink, and paper,
which was granted; but I was not allowed to go down to the library to
choose the books. Several volumes were brought to me by the turnkey, who,
when I desired it, carried them back and brought others.
“After my last examination I was taken down almost daily, and allowed to
walk about an hour in the court within view of the sentinel: but my walks
were frequently interrupted; for if any one appeared, the sentinel called
out ‘To the Cabinet!’ and I was then obliged to conceal myself hastily in
a kind of dark closet in the wall near the chapel.
“The sheets of my bed were changed once a fortnight, I was allowed four
towels a week, and my linen was taken to be washed every Saturday. I had
a tallow candle daily, and in the cold season a certain number of pieces
of firewood. I was told that the allowance of fire to the prisoners began
the 1st of November, and ceased on the 1st of April, and that my having a
fire in April was a particular indulgence.
“After being detained above eight months, I was informed that an order
had come to discharge me. I was desired to go down to the council
chamber: every thing I had brought with me was returned, together with
the key of my apartment, which I found exactly in the state I left it on
the morning of the 2nd of April, 1771.
“During my confinement I wrote many letters to several of my friends,
which were always received with civility, but not one of them had been
delivered.”
The aspect of captivity in the Bastile, even when stripped of a part of
its horrors, is surely hideous enough. But there can be no doubt that,
in a multitude of cases, an enormous degree of severity was exercised.
Instead of being told, as in this instance, to give up the contents
of his pockets, the prisoner was rudely searched by four men, who
amused themselves with making vulgar jokes and remarks while they were
performing the task; sometimes his own garments were taken from him,
and he was clothed in rags. His sufferings from imprisonment might also
be frightfully aggravated, by thrusting him into one of the humid and
pestilential dungeons, or into a room which was in the vicinity of a
nuisance. M. Linguet was confined in a chamber which fronted the mouth
of the common sewer of St. Anthony’s street, so that the air which he
breathed was never pure; but in hot weather, in the spring and autumnal
floods, and whenever the sewer was cleaned, the mephitic vapours, which
penetrated into his cell, and accumulated there for want of an outlet,
were scarcely to be endured. What were the interior accommodations of
this cell the reader has already seen.
The prisoner was not left to divine the motive for depriving him of all
incisive and pointed instruments; he was bluntly informed that it was
done to prevent him from cutting his own throat or the throats of his
keepers. The reason assigned for the precaution shows sufficiently, that
the officers of the Bastile rightly estimated the capability of exciting
despair, which was possessed by their prison. This preventive system was
carried to an almost ludicrous extent. Wishing to beguile the tedium
of captivity, M. Linguet resolved to resume his geometrical studies,
and he accordingly requested to be supplied with a case of mathematical
instruments. After much demur, the case was obtained, but it was without
a pair of compasses. When he remonstrated respecting the omission, he was
told, that “arms were prohibited in the Bastile.” At length, his jailors
hit upon the happy idea of having the compasses made of bone. Candour,
however, requires the acknowledgment that their fears were not wholly
groundless, instances having occurred in which prisoners were driven to
desperation. It was with a pair of compasses that the unfortunate Count
Lally endeavoured to put an end to his existence. His attempt was made in
the year 1766, and, in the following year, a more fatal event took place.
A captive, Drohart by name, contrived to secrete a knife, with which he
first mortally wounded a turnkey, and then destroyed himself.
For some time after his arrival at the Bastile, every thing seems to
have been studiously contrived to shock a prisoner’s habits, insulate
him from the human race, and deliver him up to squalid wretchedness and
distracting thoughts. The manifest purpose of this was, to break his
courage, and thereby induce him to make such confessions as would answer
the ends of his persecutors. It was not till after he had undergone a
second examination that he was allowed to be shaved; and months often
elapsed before this favour was granted. Neither was he permitted to have
books, pens, or paper, nor to attend mass, nor to walk in the court. He
could not even write to the lieutenant of police, through whom alone
any indulgence was to be obtained. The sight of the turnkey, for a few
moments, thrice a day, was the sole link which connected him with his
fellow beings.
Every stratagem which cunning could devise was put in practice to entrap
a prisoner into an avowal of guilt, the betraying of his suspected
friends, or, failing these, into such contradictions as might give a
colour for refusing to believe him innocent. Threats, too, were not
spared, nor even flatteries and promises. At one moment, papers were
shown to him, but not put into his hands, which his examiners affirmed
to contain decisive proof of his criminality; at another, he was told
that his accomplices had divulged the whole, and that his obstinate
silence would subject him to be tried by a special commission, while,
on the contrary, if he would speak out frankly he should be speedily
liberated. He who was seduced by this artifice was sure to repent of his
folly. When the irrevocable words had passed his lips, he was informed
that the power of his deluders did not extend to setting him free, but
that they would exert all their influence, and hoped to succeed. It is
scarcely necessary to say, that there was not a syllable of truth in
their assurances, and that he who had confided in them was treated with
increased severity. It was not only in official examinations that the
captive was exposed to be thus circumstanced; the same system was pursued
throughout. There was no one who approached him to whom he could venture
to breathe a whisper of complaint. If he was visited by the lieutenant of
police, the sole aim of the lieutenant was to draw forth something which
might be turned against him. If he was allowed to be attended by one of
the invalids, the attendant treasured up for his masters every word that
was dropped. Sometimes, apparently as a matter of grace and kindness, a
companion, said to be a fellow sufferer, was given to him; the companion
was a police spy, who was withdrawn when he had wormed out the secret,
or had become convinced that it was unattainable. To listen to that
which seemed the voice of pity was dangerous; for the turnkeys and other
officers, enjoined though they were to be mute on other occasions, had
their tongues let loose for fraudulent ends, and were taught to lure the
prisoners into indiscreet language, by feigned expressions of sympathy.
In general, a silence was maintained by the officers and attendants,
which might rival that of the monks of La Trappe. “When a corporal or
any other, (said the instructions) is ordered to attend a prisoner,
who may have permission to walk in the garden, or on the towers, it is
expressly forbidden that he speak to him. He is to observe his actions,
to take care that he make no signs to any one without, and to bring
him back at the hour fixed, delivering him over to an officer, or one
of the turnkeys, as may have been ordered.”—“The sentinel in the court
must constantly keep in view the prisoners who may be permitted to walk
there: he must be attentive to observe if they drop any paper, letter,
note, or anything else: he must prevent them from writing on the walls,
and render an exact account of every thing he may have remarked whilst
on duty. All persons whatsoever, except the officers of the staff and
turnkeys, are forbidden ever to speak to any prisoner, or even to answer
him, under any pretence whatever.” As it was supposed that strangers
might chance to feel pity for the victims of despotism, and of course be
disposed to express it, or to serve them, care was taken to guard against
that evil. It was therefore ordered that, “if workmen should be employed
in the castle, as many sentinels must be put over them as may be thought
necessary, who must observe them with the same attention as they do the
prisoners, in order that they may not approach these, nor do any thing
that may be contrary to the rules of the place.”
Visits from without seem never to have been permitted except in minor
cases of offence. No permission was granted till after the final
examination, and not then till repeated requests had been made, and
powerful interest employed. Even when the favour was obtained, its value
was seriously diminished by the restrictions with which it was clogged.
The prisoner was obliged to receive his relative or friend in the council
chamber, on one side of which he was placed, and his visitor on the
other, with two officers between them; nor were the parties suffered to
converse on any subject which had the most remote reference to the cause
or circumstances of the prisoner’s confinement. The same system was
followed when one captive had an interview with another. There was but
one case, in which incarcerated individuals could have a free interchange
of thoughts; it was when the fullness of the prison, or the humanity of
the governor, caused two of them to be located in the same chamber.
Intercourse by letters was equally shackled, though there was an
insulting affectation of a readiness to facilitate correspondence.
It has, indeed, been conjectured, that “this apparent indulgence to
prisoners was one of the many artifices employed to discover their
secrets, and the persons with whom they were connected;” and this
supposition may not be far from the truth. There can be no doubt, that
of the letters written by captives few arrived at their destination. We
have seen, in the narrative of a prisoner, that the whole of those which
he wrote were suppressed. M. Linguet tells us, that, knowing the king’s
brothers, Monsieur and the Count d’Artois, (afterwards Louis XVIII. and
Charles X.) to be favourable to him, he wrote to them, to solicit their
intercession. “The letters,” says he, “were sealed. The lieutenant of
police, some time after, told me he had read but not transmitted them;
that he had not been allowed. When I observed to him that, since he knew
the contents, he might make them known to the generous princes from whom
he had detained them, he replied, that he had no access to such high
personages. Thus the man, who was prohibited from approaching such high
personages, had the privilege of breaking open and suppressing their
letters, of rendering fruitless their good intentions and those of the
monarch, and, in short, of raising round me ramparts more impenetrable
than all the magic castles with which imagination has ever peopled our
romances.”
Profound secrecy and mystery were among the most prominent features in
the management of the Bastile. He who was fortunate enough to emerge
from this den of Cacus, was previously compelled to swear that he would
never reveal whatever he had seen or heard during his abode in it. He
who was retained, to waste away life within its dreary limits, was
sedulously shut out from all knowledge of what was passing in the world.
The malignant enemy, by whom he had been deprived of freedom, might be
gone to his last account, but to _him_ he still lived and tyrannized,
for no whisper of his departure was suffered to reach him. When the fact
of a person being in the Bastile was not so notorious as to preclude
the possibility of denying it, his being there was unblushingly denied.
When enquiry was made, the officers, the governor, the minister himself,
would not scruple to affirm, and that, too, in the most solemn manner,
that they knew nothing of any such individual. Thus were his friends
discouraged, and led to slacken in their exertions for his relief, or
wholly to discontinue them. If, however, they discovered the falsehood,
and persisted in their efforts, there was still another resource for
defeating them; slander was resorted to, the worst crimes were attributed
to him, and he was held up as an abandoned miscreant, whom it was a
disgrace to patronize, and mercy to confine. At last, weariness, disgust,
or death, robbed him of all who had loved or pitied him, and, even though
his original persecutor had ceased to exist, the victim was left to
perish forgotten in his dungeon.
There was one object, besides the wish to elicit imprudent speeches or
confessions, which had power to open the lips of the jailors; that object
was the desire of tormenting, of making the prisoner feel how completely
he was insulated from mankind, no less by its own baseness than by his
prison walls. “I was daily told with a laugh,” says M. Linguet, “that I
ought not to trouble myself any longer about what the world was doing,
because I was believed to be dead; the joke was carried so far, as to
relate to me circumstances which insane rage or horrible levity added
to my pretended exit. I was assured, also, that I had nothing to hope
from the warmth and fidelity of my friends; not so much because, like
others, they were deceived with respect to my existence, as because they
had become treacherous. This double imposture had for its purpose, not
merely to torture me, but at once to inspire me with a boundless reliance
on the only traitor whom I had reason to fear, and who was perpetually
represented as being my only true friend, and to discover, from the
manner in which I was affected by these tidings, whether I had really any
secrets which could lay me open to a betrayer.”
Though the captive was not allowed to live with even a shadow of comfort,
or to hasten his own end, a wide opening was left for death to accomplish
his deliverance in one of the regular modes. From the evening meal till
that of the morning, he was hermetically sealed up by massy, iron-lined
double doors; in all that time no human being approached him. The turnkey
slept in a distant chamber, where neither voice nor the sound of knocking
could reach him. Bells seem to have been thought too great a luxury
for the place. If illness suddenly came, there was no resource for the
sufferer, but to call to the nearest sentinel, on the other side of the
broad moat. If his voice were too weak, if his strength failed to carry
him to the window, or if the wind drowned his cries, he must remain
unaided. If his disorder were apoplectic, or he broke a blood-vessel, it
is manifest that his fate was sealed. But, supposing him to be heard,
prompt assistance was by no means to be expected. The sentinels gave the
alarm to each other, till it reached the guard-house; the turnkey was
then to be called, who, on his part, had to rouse the servant of the
king’s lieutenant, that he might awake his master, and procure from him
the keys. Two hours were thus spent before the surgeon was drawn from his
bed, where, in truth, he might as well have continued, since, interdicted
as he was from prescribing by himself, he could only make a report to the
governor, and promise that the physician, who resided three miles off,
and was overloaded with practice, should be sent to on the morrow.
If the disease was not immediately dangerous, some medicine was brought,
and the sick man must help himself as well as he could, and be thankful
if his malady were not thought to be simulated. “But when he was reduced
to extremity, when he was so far gone that he could not rise from the
worm-eaten couch on which he lay, a nurse was given to him. And who
was this nurse? a stupid, coarse, brutal invalid soldier, incapable of
attentions, little assiduities, every thing which is indispensable for a
sick person. But a still worse thing is, that when this soldier is once
fastened on you, he can never quit you; he himself becomes a prisoner. It
is therefore necessary to begin by purchasing his consent, and prevailing
on him to be shut up with you as long as your captivity lasts; and, if
you recover, you must make up your mind to bear the bad temper, the
discontent, the reproaches, the ennui, of this companion, who takes ample
vengeance upon your health for the seeming services which he has lent to
your sickness.”
There was yet another stab to be inflicted on those who were sinking into
the grave, and by this the living could be wounded at the same time. To
regulate the manner in which, after his death, his property shall be
distributed, and, by so doing, to save a wife and offspring from the
perplexity, endless trouble, expense, and perhaps ruin, which may arise
out of a disputed succession, or the want of needful formalities, is a
duty which every rational being will be anxious to perform. That the
person is a captive, only renders more necessary the performance of the
duty. But not so thought the myrmidons of the Bastile. It is on record
that a prisoner, who was stretched for two months on a bed of sickness,
expecting that each hour would be his last, repeatedly and vainly
implored a French minister of state to grant him the customary legal aid
for executing his will; his prayer was sternly refused, though there
was a lawyer who belonged to the prison establishment. That this was a
solitary instance it would be folly to imagine.
It was not of unfrequent occurrence in the Bastile, for the bodily
faculties of a prisoner to survive his mental. Shut out from the
beautiful forms of nature, the treasures of intellect, and the delights
of social converse, from all that can animate or console; racked by a
thousand remembrances, conjectures, passions, and fears; brooding in
deep seclusion and silence over the past and the present, and vainly
struggling to penetrate the darkness of the future; his mind at length
gave way, and idiotism or madness ensued. Yet even that must be deemed a
blessing, if it brought with it oblivion of his fate.
But the long and unbroken series of woes is at last ended; death has rent
asunder the fetters of the captive, and he is “where the wicked cease
from troubling, and the weary are at rest.” Is there yet a way left, by
which his ingenious tormentors can make their vengeance reach beyond
the grave, by which they can, in some measure, entail upon his kindred
a share of suffering? There is. How was this important purpose effected
in the Bastile? As soon as the breath was out of the body, a notice was
sent to the minister of the home department and the lieutenant-general
of police. The king’s commissary then visited the prison, to minute
down the circumstances. This being done, orders were issued to inter
the body. In the gloom of evening it was conveyed to the burying ground
of St. Paul’s; two persons belonging to the Bastile attended it to sign
the parish register; and the name under which the deceased was entered,
and the description of the rank which he held, were fictitious, that
all trace of him might be obliterated. Another register, containing
his real name and station, was, in truth, kept at the Bastile; but it
was almost inaccessible, a sight of it, for the purpose of making an
extract, being never allowed, without a strict enquiry into the reason
why the application was made. His family and friends, meanwhile, remained
in profound ignorance of his having been released from his troubles.
No mourning mother, wife, or child, followed his remains to their last
abode; and even the poor consolation was denied them of knowing the spot
where he reposed, that they might water it with their tears. Thus, in
death, as in life, oppression and malice triumphantly asserted their
absolute dominion over the captives of the Bastile.