"Look at this fine, big cell, and you will be almost alone here."
She opened one of the windows. It was raining, and what I could see of the sky, through the bars and the trellis, was dull and grey. The sister pointed to the courtyard below: "Look," she said; "there are a few trees there. In the centre of the yard you can see the basin where the prisoners do their washing. And look at all the pigeons on the roofs.
During the summer it is very nice here, you will see...."
I looked at the good sister. She understood... and added hastily: "Of course, of course, you won"t be here then; I was only telling you...."
It was very cold and I shivered. Still, to look out of the windows was a change from gazing at four black walls, and wearily, unendingly, counting the tiles at my feet.
But Sur Leonide gently pulled me back, and closed the window: "It is not wise for you to remain there. Some of the women below might see you, and they would insult you. Everybody in the prison knows you are here."
A sister entered the cell, pushing before her a young woman of about twenty-five, down whose sunken cheeks tears were streaming.
"She is going to be your companion," said Sur Leonide, "she is a much nicer little woman than the others, and she is very unhappy; so, she will know how to console you."
"Why is she so unhappy? What has she done?..."
The girl herself replied. "I am here because I tried to steal three blouses from a shop. I wanted to make myself beautiful for my sweetheart. But, Madame, what do you think they have done? They have given me four months! Four months in prison, for three blouses. I shall never live here four months, and "he" will have gone."
Poor girl! She was small and delicate; she had big brown eyes. She reminded me a little of Marthe.
"What is your name?" I asked her.
"Firmin."
"Well, Firmin, we must try to comfort each other."
Sister Leonide left us together. The dreadful noise of the key and bolt, again.
Firmin was sobbing, and, seeing her in that state, I forgot my grief, for a while.... She told me all the horrible things the other women-prisoners said among themselves, and she said: "I am so thankful to M. Desmoulin for having sent me to this cell."
"Who is M. Desmoulin?" I asked.
"He is a man who visits prisoners, but not a priest or a pastor.... They say he is a painter.... He goes about the prison as he pleases. He is here to-day. I"d have died long ago, if it had not been for him. Ah!
think of it, I am in prison! What will my parents say? They don"t know anything yet...." And she burst out sobbing. Poor Firmin!
We heard a noise, voices, and then a gentleman came in, fairly tall, with a grey beard and moustache, and the appearance of an artist. He must have been about fifty-five.
He chatted with Firmin for a short while, near the door. I heard him say: "You must do all you can for her." He looked in my direction and said: "Have courage, Madame," then went away.
"That was M. Desmoulin," said Firmin.
Night fell early.
"I am going to light the fire," said my companion. "And then, the Sister told me I was to make you eat something."
Firmin lit the fire, helped me to undress, for I was terribly weak, put me to bed and forced me to swallow some milk.
But I could not sleep. Firmin then exclaimed, "I have a bit of candle!"
"Are there no lamps, then?"
"No, Madame, but I have a candle. I bought it. I have no money, but I sew, I work to make money. You must sew all day to earn very little, and of course, to work at night you need a candle, don"t you!"
She started to sew, near my bed, and I helped her.... Then suddenly, I heard the masculine voice of Sister Leonide shouting: "Will you be quiet, all of you? I shall call the warders.... I tell you she is not here!"
Heavy objects, by the score, were thrown against the door of my cell; and the most abominable insults were hurled at me. There rose hysterical screams of "Murderess! a.s.sa.s.sin! The guillotine is too good for you! We know you are there! Death to you! The guillotine!"
Firmin held both my hands and trembled like a leaf. "It is dreadful, Madame, don"t listen!"
"What are they throwing at the door?"
"Their wooden shoes, and anything they can lay their hands on, I suppose...."
Then, abruptly, the noise outside the door ceased, but it started again almost immediately, behind one of the walls, where apparently a whole gang of prisoners were lodged. For a while, they shouted obscenities, and the vilest insults were once more hurled at me: "Murderess! You strangled your own mother, you killed your own husband.... If we had you here, we would gouge your eyes out, tear you to shreds, you a.s.sa.s.sin!"....
And all the time those demons. .h.i.t the wall and tried to smash it, piece by piece.
Cold perspiration bathed my temples. Firmin was livid, and fell near me, on my bed. We held each other"s hands. Firmin said: "Don"t pay any attention, Madame. I have heard much worse than that. Here, upstairs, they are almost quiet; the women are awaiting their trial, but downstairs, where I was, there are the condemned women. If you knew how they insulted and beat me when they heard I was going upstairs, to this cell, and when they found out, somehow, that I would be with you!"
I could hardly hear what she said, so terrific was the noise in the next cell.
Then the noise ceased.... The Sisters were coming.... But as soon as the round had pa.s.sed, the din began afresh, and the insults and the threats were even worse than before.... Firmin and I, in despair, forced paper into our ears, and getting into our beds, we covered our heads not only with our blankets, but with our clothes. Still I could hear those women.... Yet another sleepless night, yet another night of terror and agony!
The next day I heard the gong, and then a voice shouted that number "Sixty-one," to which I was already getting used. It was Marthe. For half an hour we remained together and every second new life returned to my bruised body, and hope to my aching heart. How brave the darling was, how she tried to keep back her tears so as not to make me more miserable than I already was.... And then my counsel came, and the pastor....
I begged the latter to intercede in my favour. It was impossible for me to go on like this. I felt, especially after all the shocks I had suffered during the past few months, that I would go mad if I had to go through many more such nights as the last.
"I"ll see," said M. Arboux. "But it would not be fair if an exception were made in your favour."
I spent three more days and three more nights in Cell No. 11, and night and day I heard insults. When, for some cause or other, the women went through the corridor, they raised the shutter of the peep-hole in my door and let loose a torrent of abuse. Then Firmin and I would stand against the wall on one side of the door, so that we could not be seen.
At night another prisoner joined us. She was Marie Jacq, a Breton woman of forty, who had been recently sentenced to two years, and had before that served seven terms of imprisonment. Jacq was employed all day as a kind of charwoman; she entered the cell at 8 P.M. to sleep, and left it at 6 A.M. She seemed to have but one craving, the poor wretch--drink.
At night, since sleep was out of the question, I had no option but to think and think, and wearily through the long hours I tried to thrash out and see clearly all the details of the strange and terrible drama which had claimed two victims, and was like to soon claim a third, for I felt that life was ebbing from my limbs.
Then one morning dear Sister Leonide came and told me, "You are going to change your cell once more. I have instructions to take you to No. 12.
There you will have on one side your former cell, and on the other a lumber room. You will at last be able to breathe--and sleep."
Firmin shared this new cell with me, and Jacq, who had spent the nights in Cell No. 13, then in Cell No. 11 when I was there, joined us at night in No. 12. She had instructions to a.s.sist me--and watch over me.
CHAPTER XXIII
ALBA GHIRELLI, MARGUERITE ROSSELLI AND THE "MATIN"
Judge Andre"s _Instruction_ began in December 1908. But before dealing with it, I wish to acquaint the reader with a series of amazing and painful incidents, in which the two prisoners Ghirelli and Rosselli, Marie Anne Jacq--whose cell I shared for two days and three nights--and M. Charles Sauerwein of the _Matin_, were the chief actors, whilst, as usual, alas, I was the powerless central figure, the victim.