A French Horsley.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 468, 3 May 1890, Page 6

A French Horsley.

The Prison Chaplain of La Roquette Says the Death Penalty Alone Inspires Terror. The Abbe Faure is the Mr Horsley of France—that is to say, he is the chaplain in the famous Paris prison called La Grande Roquette, where culprits condemned to death are confined before execution. He is a short, fat, stumpy man, somewhat deaf of hearing, with ogling light blue eyes, grey hair, and an asthmatical catch in the throat. As he was born in 1833 he is now 56 years of age. A slight accent shows him a native from the South of France. I? I may judge from his remarks, writes an interviewer, he is an upright and

A Kind-Hearted Man. Few in fact would care to perform the duty which he had gone out of his way to secure. Ho was appointed chaplain of the Grande Roquette prison in 1885, when his predecessor, the Abbe Moreau retired from the post. Since then it has been his doleful duty to take pastoral charge of all criminals sentenced to death, and to sooth their last moments from the prison cell to the guillotine. During his five years of office he has attended to the scaflold no fewer than 13 prisoners, comprising such cold-blooded murderers as Cornu, Gamahut, Mathelin, Sellier, Allorto, Pranzini, and others. Prado was the only one to refuse his services ; while Schumacher, another cutthroat, was attended by a Protestant pastor.

‘ There are Three Cells at the Grande Roquette,’ said the Abbe ‘ for prisoners condemned to death. They lie between the prison library and the bathroom. These cells are clean, well ventilated, and spacious ; they are ten feet long by five in breadth. Each is furnished with a bed, a table, two or three chairs, a stive, and a water-closet ; the walls are painted yellow and lighted by a window with a thick iron grating, and placed at such a height as to be difficult of access. Outside, a sentinel day and night mounts guard under these windows, in the first walled-in track which is patrolled by the round. ‘The condemned man is never left to himself a moment in his cell. He is watched night and day by a prison warder and two police inspectors, who, as far as the rules permit, lend themselves readily to nia whims or wishes. They chat and play cards with him, if he likes. For several years past the straight waistcoast has been discarded, recourse to it being had only in case the prisoner is obstreperous ov ungovernable. The man is left free if such a word may be used in this case—to do what he likes, when in the cell. He may sleep, rise, lie down, smoke, read, speak, or be mute, as he elects. He is subjected to no sort of work. He may go out every day for an hour, to take a walk in the little courtyard, where a patch of chestnut trees screens him from the sun ; or, in bad weather, he may take his airing under the galleries that surround the yard. ‘ Instinctively and without offort, he is treated with considerable kindness. His food is of a better sorb and more abundant than that given to the other prisoners. If He Has Money, h e can obtain certain douceurs from the Prison cantine. or sutler ; his relatives and friends may also provide him with such from without. I open my purse to those whom no one succours, if they but expi ess | the wish. The only thing denied a man condemned tosuffertheextremerigour of the law is immediate contact with the outer world. Unless specially authorised -a thing so to speak never granted—he sees nobody. The prison director, myself, and his defender at the bar, are alone admitted to his coll; and we are strictly enjoined, as are also the warders, never to speak of things from without. He is in his cell to all intents and purposes like a man already dead and buried in a stone sepulchre. ‘ A condemned man, as soon as he enters his cell, is a prey to the deepest prostration. The attitude of each is, of course, different, according to temper and education. But all, however, have one ruling thought, how to escape the scaflold. The thought of death is ever uppermost Everything in them betrays the liveliest apprehension of the fatal end. The prostration they experience on entering the cell lasts some days, and only ceases after a certain time. Little by little, however, the prisoner’s energies revive, and the hope of possible commutation of sentence gradually dispels the dreadful effect which the verdict of condemnation first had upon his mind. ‘ My Duty is to Encourage that hope. I hold out the possibility of a reversal of the death sentence, speak of the success likely to attend the petition for pardon, and allude to the clemency of the chief of the State. The wretched man cling 3 to all these chances of reprieve, and willingly begins to hope that his life may vet be spared, even after the most monstrous crime.

• lb is easy to afford a glimpse of the fate thatawaitshimafteracomrautation. Transportation for life loses all its horrors for one whose head is at stake, and it is with the panting breath of eagerness that the doomed man, as thedread hour draws nigh,questions those who visit them on the hope that he harbours in his heart. The days forhim are heavy to bear, in Bpite of the diversion that his warders endeavour to provide for him. Games, reading, recreation, and visits break the monotony of his life in the cells ; and it sometimes seems as if the culprit deceived himself on his terrible situation.

‘ Bub at night-time 1 How often have I heard the confidential disclosures of the moral tortures the unfortunate man undergoes ! If sleep comes to his eyelids, how restless, feverish, and painful are his slumbers ! Some have told me they prolonged their vigils far into the night, hoping thus to open their eyes only at a late hour on the following day. Vain hope this ! At any rate, the awakening always comes at the hour when the dreadful signal is given. • Of the 13 men I have assisted until the fatal moment three only were asleep when the prison officials entered the cell to Announce the Awful News.

Only one of the men condemned to death whom I attended refused to sign his petition for mercy, and I am inclined to believe

that ho knew the formality a useless one to influence the course of the chief of tho State.

‘ To fully appreciate the effect which the penalty of death has on the minds of great criminals, it is only necessary to compare the attitude of the condemned on the eve of their commutation and the day which follows. Such a prisoner as, during the 40 days of his close confinement in the cell of La Roquette, was constantly sick, his teeth clattering with ague, who had lost his appetite and could get no sleep, became all at once another man the day after his pardon had been announced to him. He would speak of his voyage to New Caledonia as he might of a pleasure trip; he would make new projects, and speak of his future good conduct as likely to obtain for him later on a full pardon for his heinous offences. I have often had occasion to witneas this revulsion of feeling in those who escaped capital punishment, and I think, therefore, I am justified in concluding that death is the only penalty that inspires a real terror.’