Chapter VII · (continued 2)

It must be owned, however, that in the works of “the emperor of the Burlesque,” there are some passages which prove that, though his taste and his morals were defective, he was not destitute of talent.

The reader has seen that, with very few exceptions, the prisoners who have been mentioned in this chapter belonged to the courtier-class; that they were men who seemed to feel a difficulty of breathing whenever they did not inhale the vapours of a frivolous and voluptuous court. We ought always to abhor injustice, and therefore we must hate the power which was unjust to them; but they have no title to that liberal share of our pity which is the right of humbler victims, for it was an implied condition of their artificial existence that they should bend to a despot’s will; they purchased the smiles of their master, the pleasures, such as they were, of the Louvre and Versailles, and a portion of the public spoils, by the renunciation of their free agency, and by encountering the risk of being capriciously transferred from a palace to a dungeon. If, relying on his good luck, a man will venture to play with a gambler whom he knows to assert the privilege of now and then cogging the dice, his folly perhaps deserves more compassion than his misfortune.

Let us now see in what manner other classes were affected by the working of an arbitrary government; whether its tyranny was impartially distributed among them. A few examples, taken between the years 1660 and 1670, will enable us to form a tolerably correct judgment upon this subject. Before we proceed to give these examples, it may, however, be well to apprise the reader, that committals to the Bastile were not things of rare occurrence, but the contrary. In 1663, fifty-four persons were sent to that dreary pile; in some years the number was fewer; in others it rose to nearly a hundred and fifty. The Bastile was so crowded in 1665, that a part of the prisoners were obliged to be removed to other places of confinement. It must, indeed, have been full to overflowing, before this removal could have been thought necessary. Such being the case with the Bastile, it is probable that Vincennes, and many other state prisons, were in a similar situation.

Though, as far as can be judged from imperfect registers, it appears that a large majority of the persons incarcerated in the Bastile were the victims of caprice, malice, or religious and political persecution, there can be no doubt that many were really criminal. Some instances of the latter class occur in the years between 1660 and 1670. The crime of coining, which we have seen so common at an earlier period, was still prevalent, and was still committed by men who held a respectable rank in society. In 1666 twelve coiners were hanged within a fortnight, and they accused several others, among whom was a M. Delcampe, who is described as “the celebrated master of an academy in the suburb of St. Germain.” He was escorted in a carriage to the Bastile, by three companies of the guards, and little more than a week elapsed before he was beheaded. The crowd to witness his execution was so great, that many persons were killed or wounded by being pressed or trampled on.

The Bastile was often employed as an engine of extortion. To contribute to the wants of the state, or, rather, to the prodigalities of the court, immense sums were levied upon individuals holding offices, and upon contractors, and all who had had any concern with the finances. It must, of course, have been taken for granted that they had robbed the public; and it could hardly have been expected that they would not indemnify themselves, by future peculation, for their present loss. Messat, a registrar of the council, was Bastiled for remonstrating against a demand of six hundred thousand livres from himself and three of his colleagues. Catalan, a contractor, shared the same fate, and was threatened with death to boot; but after a confinement of several months, he ransomed himself for six millions of livres. From another individual nine hundred thousand livres, and from three of the treasurers of the exchequer several millions, were squeezed by this powerful instrument. M. Deschiens, one of M. Colbert’s head clerks, was also frightened into the payment of a good round sum, by a visit to the Bastile.

Other equally honourable means of raising money were resorted to; all of which helped to fill the prisons as well as the coffers of the monarch. Among them were “free gifts,” once known in England under the name of “benevolences.” From the city of Sens, for instance, twelve thousand livres were demanded as a free gift, besides nearly thrice as much for the pay of the gendarmerie. The citizens replied that they had no money, but would give a thousand hogsheads of excellent wine. Whether the wine was accepted, or whether any of the citizens were imprisoned for the misdemeanour of being pennyless, I cannot say.

Immense sums were raised by the sale of offices. For the title of counsellor of the court, 75,000 crowns were paid, and 90,000 for a place at the board of exchequer. Numerous purchasers were found at far higher prices. There is perhaps much truth in Patin’s sarcastic remark on this occasion: “They must have robbed at a great rate,” says he, “or they would not have so much money to squander.” Monopolies likewise lent their aid to replenish the royal store. Niceron, a grocer, who appears to have been an agent, or spokesman, of the Parisian companies of tradesmen, was lodged in the Bastile for having ventured to remonstrate against a projected monopoly of whale oil. Another article of supply was the stopping of the annuities payable at the town hall; a measure for which we have seen a precedent in the reign of Henry IV. Poignant, a respectable citizen of Paris, was sent to the Bastile for having spoken on this subject; and a female, named Madame de la Trousse, was, for the same cause, prohibited from going to the town hall, or to any other meeting, under pain of corporal punishment! On another occasion, the President le Lievre was banished from Paris, for having made some observations which were unfavourable to the taxes.

The money thus obtained was lavishly spent on the pomps and amusements of the court. A part was dissipated at the gaming-table; Louis being then a constant and an unlucky gamester. Theatrical entertainments absorbed another portion. The getting up of a single grand ballet is said to have cost no less than forty thousand pounds. Guy Patin had reason to exclaim, “they talk much at the Louvre of balls, ballets, and rejoicings, but nothing is said of relieving the people, who are dying of such unexampled want, after so great and solemn a general peace has been concluded. O pudor! ô mores! ô tempora!”

But though, in his private letters, Patin could venture to censure profusion and exaction, he would soon have been fitted with what he somewhere calls “a stone doublet,” had he dared to breathe a word against them in public. It was dangerous even for a barrister to perform faithfully his duty to a client. M. Burai, an eminent advocate, was committed to the Bastile, in 1655, for having undertaken the defence of Guenegaut, one of the treasurers, who was prosecuted by the government.

The press was completely muzzled. We find De Prez, a printer, sent to the Bastile, for having printed a letter by the Bishop of Aleth, which displeased the jesuits; a second unlucky typographer, for offending the Archbishop of Paris; and a third, named Coquier, for privately printing an answer to a work of the Chevalier Talon, who had attacked Coquier’s former master, the superintendant Fouquet. It was a perilous task for a man to defend himself against the minions of favour. The Journal des Sçavans having abused Charles Patin, he was about to reply, when it was intimated to him that if he did not desist, the Bastile would receive him: the journal happened to be protected by M. Colbert, the minister. Such protection gave a decisive advantage over a less fortunate rival. The conduct of Renaudot, the printer of the Gazette, affords a strong proof of the tyrannical use which was made of it. There appears to have been at this period a sort of partnership, the members of which gained a livelihood by compiling and vending a manuscript gazette. As the sale of this paper diminished that of his own, Renaudot made a bold attempt to get rid of his competitors. He is said to have been extremely desirous that they should be hanged; but his benevolent wish was not gratified. He had, however, the satisfaction of procuring seven of them to be sent to the Bastile, one of whom was publicly whipped through the streets. Yet these measures, harsh as they were, did not succeed in putting down the manuscript gazetteers; for, five years afterwards, six more of them were committed to prison. From its long continuance, and the risks which the traders were willing to encounter, we may infer that the trade was productive.

To have a different opinion from the sovereign, as to the merit of any one whom he placed in office, was a heavy offence. M. de Montespan expiated, by imprisonment in Fort-l’Evêque, his having doubted the wisdom of choosing M. Montausier as governor to the dauphin. Some were thrown into the Bastile for impossible crimes; such was the case of St. Severin, a priest, who was accused of sorcery. Of others, the fault and the meaning of their punishment are now undiscoverable. With respect to L’Epine, a priest, for example, we are only told that he was discharged from the Bastile, on condition of quitting Paris within twenty-four hours, and going to Egypt. The reason of this singular species of banishment must remain an enigma.

One of the instances in which despair prompted an inmate of the Bastile to commit suicide, occurred in 1669, and is recorded by Patin. “A state prisoner,” says he, “has poisoned himself in the Bastile, terrified by the punishment which could not fail to be inflicted on him, for having spoken very badly de Domino Priore.”