Constant labor at the oar was terrible enough, but its horrors were accentuated when the galley went into action. Marteilhe was engaged in several sea-fights, one of the fiercest being an engagement with an English warship convoying a fleet of merchantmen to the Thames. “Of the two galleys ordered to attack the frigate,” says he, “ours alone was in a position to begin the engagement, as our consorthad fallen back at least a league behind us; either because she did not sail so fast as we, or else her captain chose to let us have the honor of striking the first blow. Our commodore, who seemed in no way disturbed at the approach of the frigate, thought our galley alone would be more than a match for the Englishman; but the sequel will show that he was somewhat mistaken in this conjecture.
“As we both mutually approached each other, we were soon within cannon shot, and accordingly the galley discharged her broadside. The frigate, silent as death, approached us without firing a gun, but seemed steadily resolved to reserve all her terrors for a closer engagement. Our commodore, nevertheless, mistook English resolution for cowardice. ‘What,’ cried he, ‘is the frigate weary of carrying English colors? And does she come to surrender without a blow?’ The boast was premature. Still we approached each other and were now within musket shot. The galley incessantly poured in her broadside and small arm fire, the frigate, all this while, preserving the most dreadful tranquillity that imagination can conceive. At last the Englishman seemed all at once struck with a panic, and began to fly for it. Nothing gives more spirits than a flying enemy, and nothing was heard but the boasting among our officers. ‘We could at one blast sink a man of war; aye, that we could and with ease, too!’ ‘If Mr. English does not strike in two minutes, down he goes, down to the bottom!’All this time the frigate was in silence, preparing for the tragedy which was to ensue. Her flight was but pretended, and done with a view to entice us to board her astern, which, being the weakest quarter of a man-of-war, galleys generally choose to attack. Against this quarter they endeavor to drive their beak, and then generally board the enemy, after having cleared the decks with their five pieces of cannon. The commodore, in such a favorable conjuncture as he imagined this to be, ordered the galley to board and the men at the helm to bury her beak in the frigate if possible. All the soldiers and sailors stood ready with their sabres and battle-axes to execute his command. The frigate, who perceived our intention, dexterously avoided our beak, which was just ready to be dashed against her stern, so that instead of seeing the frigate sink in the dreadful encounter as was expected, we had the mortification of beholding her fairly alongside of us,—an interview which struck us with terror. Now it was that the English captain’s courage was conspicuous. As he had foreseen what would happen, he was ready with his grappling irons and fixed us fast by his side. His artillery began to open, charged with grape-shot. All on board the galley were as much exposed as if upon a raft. Not a gun was fired that did not make horrible execution; we were near enough even to be scorched with the flame. The English masts were filled with sailors, who threw hand-grenades among us like hail, thatscattered wounds and death wherever they fell. Our crew no longer thought of attacking; they were even unable to make the least defence. The terror was so great, as well among the officers as common men, that they seemed incapable of resistance. Those who were neither killed nor wounded lay flat and counterfeited death to find safety. The enemy perceiving our fright, to add to our misfortunes, threw in forty or fifty men, who, sword in hand, hewed down all that ventured to oppose, sparing however the slaves who made no resistance. After they had cut away thus for some time, being constrained by our still surviving numbers, they continued to pour an infernal fire upon us.
“The galley which had lain astern was soon up with us, and the other four who had almost taken possession of the merchantmen, upon seeing our signal and perceiving our distress, quitted the intended prey to come to our assistance. Thus the whole fleet of merchant ships saved themselves in the Thames. The galleys rowed with such swiftness that in less than half an hour the whole six had encompassed the frigate. Her men were now no longer able to keep the deck, and she presented a favorable opportunity for being boarded. Twenty-five grenadiers from each galley were ordered upon this service. They met with no opposition in coming on; but scarce were they crowded upon the deck when they were saluted once againà l’Anglais.The officers of the frigate were entrenched in the forecastle, and fired upon the grenadiers incessantly. The rest of the crew also did what execution they were able through the gratings, and at last cleared the ship of the enemy. Another detachment was ordered to board, but with the same success; however it was at last thought advisable, with hatchets and other proper instruments, to lay open her decks and by that means to make the crew prisoners of war. This was, though with extreme difficulty, executed; and in spite of their firing, which killed several of the assailants, the frigate’s crew was at last constrained to surrender.”
Marteilhe was seriously wounded in this fight, and he graphically details his sufferings as he lay there still chained to the bench, the only survivor of his six companions at the oar. He says: “I had not been long in this attitude when I perceived somewhat moist and cold run down my body. I put my hand to the place and found it wet; but as it was dark I was unable to distinguish what it was. I suspected it, however, to be blood, flowing from some wound, and following with my hand the course of the stream, I found my shoulder near the clavicle was pierced quite through. I now felt another gash in my left leg below the knee, which also went through; again another, made I suppose by a splinter, which ripped the integuments of my belly, the wound being a foot long and four inches wide. I lost a great quantity of blood before I could haveany assistance. All near me were dead, as well those before and behind me, and those of my own seat. Of eighteen persons on the three seats, there was left surviving only myself, wounded as I was in three different places, and all by the explosion of one cannon only. But if we consider the manner of charging with grape-shot our wonder at such prodigious slaughter will cease. After the cartouche of powder, a long tin box filled with musket balls is rammed in. When the piece is fired the box breaks and scatters its contents most surprisingly.
“I was now forced to wait till the battle was ended before I could expect any relief. All on board were in the utmost confusion; the dead, the dying and the wounded, lying upon each other, made a frightful scene. Groans from those who desired to be freed from the dead, blasphemies from the slaves who were wounded unto death, arraigning heaven for making their end not less unhappy than their lives had been. Thecoursiercould not be passed for the dead bodies which lay on it. The seats were filled, not only with slaves, but also with sailors and officers who were wounded or slain. Such was the carnage that the living hardly found room to throw the dead into the sea, or succor the wounded. Add to all this the obscurity of the night, and where could misery have been found to equal mine!
“The wounded were thrown indiscriminately into the hold,—petty officers, sailors, soldiers andslaves; there was no distinction of places, no bed to lie upon, nor any succor to be had. With respect to myself, I continued three days in this miserable situation. The blood coming from my wounds was stopped by a little spirit of wine, but there was no bandage tied, nor did the surgeon once come to examine whether I was dead or alive. In this suffocating hole, the wounded, who might otherwise have survived, died in great numbers. The heat and the stench were intolerable, so that the slightest sore seemed to mortify; while those who had lost limbs or received large wounds went off by universal putrefaction.
“In this deplorable situation we at last arrived at Dunkirk, where the wounded were put on shore in order to be carried to the marine hospital. We were drawn up from the hold by pulleys and carried to the hospital on men’s shoulders. The slaves were consigned to two large apartments separate from the men who were free, forty beds in each room. Every slave was chained by the leg to the foot of his bed. We were visited once every day by the surgeon-major of the hospital, accompanied by all the army and navy surgeons then in port.”
Better fortune came to Marteilhe when he recovered. He was appointed clerk to the captain of the galley, being maimed by his wounds and no longer fit for the oar.
“Behold me now,” he writes, “placed in a more exalted station, not less than the captain’s clerk,forsooth. As I knew my master loved cleanliness, I purchased a short coat of red stuff (galley-slaves must wear no other color) tolerably fine. I was permitted to let my hair grow. I bought a scarlet cap, and in this trim presented myself before the captain, who was greatly pleased with my appearance. He gave hismaître d’hôtelorders to carry me every day a plate of meat from his own table and to furnish me with a bottle of wine, luxuries to which I had long been a stranger. I was never more chained and only wore a ring about my leg in token of slavery. I lay upon a good bed. I had nothing fatiguing to do, even at times when all the rest of the crew were lashed to the most violent exertion. I was loved and respected by the officers and the rest of the crew, cherished by my master and by his nephew, the major of the galleys. In short, I wanted nothing but liberty to increase the happiness I then enjoyed. In this state, if not of pleasure at least of tranquillity, I continued from the year 1709 to 1712, in which it pleased heaven to afflict me with trials more severe than even those I had already experienced.”
England acquired Dunkirk by special treaty with France in 1712. Upon the transfer the English troops entered the city and took possession of the citadel. The French galleys were to remain in port until the fortifications were demolished, and it was agreed that no vessel should leave Dunkirk without permission from Her Britannic Majesty. The galley-slaves remained on board their ships, but by some strange oversight it was not stipulated that the Protestant prisoners, with whose sad condition the English fully sympathised, should be released. The French government was still determined to retain them, and planned to carry them off secretly into France before any demand could be made for their release. In the dead of night they were embarked to the number of twenty-two on board a fishing boat and taken by water to Calais, where they were landed to make the long journey on foot, chained together, to Havre-de-Grace. Here they were held close prisoners in the Arsenal, but fairly well treated. After some weeks, orders came for their removal to Rouen, en route for Paris and eventually to Marseilles. Through the kindness of their co-religionists, who came charitably to their aid, they were provided with wagons for the journey in which all were carried to the capital, where on arrival they were lodged in the ancient castle of Tournelle, formerly a pleasure house belonging to the royal family, but by now converted into a prison for galley-slaves. It is thus described by Marteilhe: “This prison, or rather cavern, is round and of vast extent. The floor is made uneven by large oak beams, which are placed at three feet distance from each other. These beams are two feet and a half thick, and ranged along the floors in such a manner that at first sight they might be taken for benches, were they not designed for a much more disagreeable purpose. To these were fastened large iron chains, a foot and a half long, at intervals of two feet from each other. At the end of each chain is a large ring of the same metal. When the slave is first brought into this prison, he is made to lie along the beam till his head touches it. Then the ring is put round his neck and fastened by a hammer and anvil kept for the purpose. As the chains are fixed in the beam at two feet distance from each other, and some of the beams are forty feet long, sometimes twenty men are thus chained down in a row and so in proportion to the length of the beams. In this manner are fastened five hundred wretches in an attitude certainly pitiful enough to melt the hardest heart.
Château D’IfFortress on a small island two miles southwest of Marseilles: one of the scenes of Dumas’s novel “Count of Monte Cristo,” and the place of captivity of several celebrated persons, among them Mirabeau and Philippe Égalité.
Château D’IfFortress on a small island two miles southwest of Marseilles: one of the scenes of Dumas’s novel “Count of Monte Cristo,” and the place of captivity of several celebrated persons, among them Mirabeau and Philippe Égalité.
Château D’If
Fortress on a small island two miles southwest of Marseilles: one of the scenes of Dumas’s novel “Count of Monte Cristo,” and the place of captivity of several celebrated persons, among them Mirabeau and Philippe Égalité.
“We remained here (in the Tournelle) but a month, at the expiration of which time we set out with the rest of the slaves for Marseilles. On the tenth of December, at nine in the morning, we left our dismal abode and were conducted into a spacious court of the castle. We were chained by the neck, two and two together, with a heavy chain three feet long, in the middle of which was fixed a ring. After being thus paired, we were placed in ranks, couple before couple, and a long and weighty chain passed through the rings, by which means we were all fastened together. This ‘chain,’ which consisted of more than four hundred slaves, made a strange appearance. Once more a Protestant friend interposed and purchased the captain’s consent to allowthem to provide wagons on the road for those unable to walk. But the trials endured by the majority of these wretched wayfarers were terribly severe. We entered Charenton at six in the evening by moonlight. It froze excessively hard, but the weight of our chains, according to the captain’s calculation, being a hundred and fifty pounds upon every man, with the swiftness of our pace, had kept us pretty warm, and we were all actually in a sweat when we entered Charenton. Here we were lodged in the stable of an inn, but chained so close to the manger, that we could neither sit nor lie at our ease. Beside, we had no bed but the dung and the litter of horses to repose on; for as the captain conducted the train to Marseilles at his own expense, where he received twenty crowns for every one that survived the journey, he was as saving as possible and refused us bedding, nor was any allowed the whole way. Here, however, we were suffered to repose, if it might be called repose, till nine at night, when we were to undergo another piece of cruelty, which almost disgraces humanity.
“At nine o’clock, while it yet froze excessively hard, our chains were again unriveted and we were all led from the stable into a court surrounded by high walls. The whole train, which was ranked at one end of the court, was commanded to strip off all clothes and lay them down each before him. The whip was exercised unmercifully on those who were lazy or presumed to disobey. Every one promiscuously, as well we as others, was obliged to comply with this unnecessary command. After we were thus stripped, naked as when born, the whole train was again commanded to march from the side of the court in which they were to the side opposite them. Here were we for two hours, stark naked, exposed to all the inclemency of the weather and a cutting wind that blew from the north. All this time the archers were rummaging our rags under pretence of searching for knives, files or other instruments that might be employed in effecting our escape; but in reality money was that for which they sought so earnestly. They took away everything that was worth taking,—handkerchiefs, shirts, snuff-boxes, scissors,—and never returned anything they laid hands on. When any slave entreated to have his goods restored, he was only answered by blows and menaces, which effectually silenced if not satisfied the querist. This rummage being over, all were ordered to march back to the place from whence we came, and take again each his respective bundle of clothes. But it was impossible. We were almost frozen to death, and so stiff with cold that scarce one in the whole train could move. And though the distance was but small, yet frozen like statues, every wretch remained where he was and silently awaited fresh instances of their keeper’s cruelty. But they did not long wait; the whip again was handled and by the merciless fury of these strangers to pity, the bodies of the poor wretches were mangled withoutdistinction; but all in vain, for this could not supply vital warmth where life was no more. Some actually dead, others dying, were dragged along by the neck and thrown into the stable, without further ceremony, to take their fate. And thus died that night or the ensuing morning, eighteen persons. With respect to our little society, we were neither beaten nor thus dragged along and we may well attribute the saving of our lives to the hundred crowns which had been advanced before our setting out.”
Further details of this cruel march may be spared the reader. “In this manner,” says Marteilhe, “we crossed the Isle of France, Burgundy and the Mâconnais, till we came to Lyons, marching every day three or four leagues; long stages, considering the weight of our chains, our being obliged to sleep every night in stables upon dung, our having bad provisions and not sufficient liquid to dilute them, walking all day mid-leg in mud, and frequently wet through with rain; swarming with vermin and ulcerated with the itch, the almost inseparable attendants on misery.” At Lyons the whole train embarked in large flat-bottomed boats and dropped down the Rhone as far as the bridge St. Esprit; thence by land to Avignon and from Avignon to Marseilles, which they reached on the 17th of January, 1713, having spent some six weeks on the road.
The treatment accorded to the galley-slaves atMarseilles was identical with that of Dunkirk. But now the case of the Protestants engaged the serious attention of the Northern nations, and strong representations were made to the French king, demanding their release. But now in the vain hope of retaining them, the most pertinacious efforts were made to obtain that abjuration of the faith which had been steadfastly rejected by the sufferers for so many years. Bigoted priests with special powers of persuasion were called in with fresh zeal for proselytising, but being entirely unsuccessful they concentrated their efforts to impede and prolong the negotiations for release. When at last the order came, due to the vigorous interposition of the Queen of England, it was limited to a portion only of the Protestant prisoners. One hundred and thirty-six were released, and among them Jean Marteilhe; but the balance were retained quite another year. Marteilhe, after a short stay at Geneva, travelled northwards, and at length went with some of his comrades to England. They were granted a special audience with Queen Anne, and were permitted to kiss her Majesty’s hand, and were assured from her own mouth of the satisfaction afforded by their deliverance.
A few details may be extracted from Marteilhe’s story as to the dress, diet, occupation and general discipline of one of Louis’ galleys. As to dress he tells us:
“Each slave receives every year linen shirts,somewhat finer than that of which sails are made; two pair of knee trousers, which are made without any division, like a woman’s petticoat,—for they must be put on over the head because of the chain; one pair of stockings made of coarse red stuff, but no shoes. However, when the slaves are employed in the business of the galley by land, as frequently happens in winter, the keeper on that occasion furnishes them with shoes, which he takes back when the slaves return aboard. They are supplied every second year with a cassock of coarse red stuff. The tailor shows no great marks of an artist in making it up; it is only a piece of stuff doubled, one half for the forepart, the other for the back; at the top a hole to put the head through. It is sewed up on each side, and has two little sleeves which descend to the elbow. This cassock has something the shape of what is called in Holland a ‘keil,’ which carters generally wear over the rest of their clothes. The habit of the former is, however, not so long, for it reaches before only down to the knees, and behind it falls half a foot lower. Besides all this, they are allowed every year a red cap, very short, as it must not cover the ears. Lastly they are given every second year a great coat of coarse cloth made of wool and hair. This habit is made in the form of a nightgown and descends to the feet; it is furnished with a hood not unlike the cowl of a Capuchin friar. This is by far the best part of a slave’s scanty wardrobe; for it serves himfor mattress and blankets at night, and keeps him warm by day.”
As will have been gathered from the preceding description, the galleys were mainly intended for sea service and occasional combat, but this was only in the summer months. As winter approached, generally about the latter end of October, the galleys were laid up in harbor and disarmed. “The first precaution is to land the gunpowder, for they never bring their powder into port. The galleys are next brought in and ranged along the quay according to the order of precedence, with the stern next the quay. There are then boards laid, calledplanches, to serve as a passage from the quay to the galley. The masts are taken down and laid in thecoursier, and the yards lie all along the seats. After this they take out the cannon, the warlike stores, provisions, sails, cordage, anchors, etc. The sailors and coasting pilots are discharged, and the rest of the crew lodged in places appointed for them in the city of Dunkirk. Here the principal officers have their pavilions, though they lodge in them but seldom, the greatest part spending the winter at Paris or at their own homes. The galley being at last entirely cleared, the slaves find room enough to fix their wretched quarters for the winter. The company belonging to each seat procure pieces of boards, which they lay across the seats and upon these make their beds. The only bed between them and the boards is a cast-off greatcoat; their only covering that whichthey wear during the day. The first rower of each seat, who has consequently the first choice, is best lodged; the second shares the next best place; the four others are lodged, each, on the cross planks already mentioned, according to his order.
“When the weather grows extremely cold, there are two tents raised over the galley, one above the other. The outermost is generally made of the same stuff of which the slaves’ greatcoats are formed, and keeps the galley sufficiently warm; I mean it seems warm to those who are accustomed to this hard way of living. For those who have been used to their own houses and warm fires would never be able to support the cold without being habituated to it beforehand. A little fire to warm them and a blanket to cover them would make our slaves extremely happy, but this is a happiness never allowed them on board. At break of day the comites, who always sleep on board together with the keepers and halberdiers, blow their whistles, at the sound of which all must rise. This is always done precisely at the same hour; for the commodore every evening gives the signal to the comite by firing a cannon for the slaves to go to sleep, and repeats the same at break of day for their getting up. If in the morning any should be lazy and not rise when they hear the whistle, they may depend on being lashed severely. The crew being risen, their first care is to fold up their beds, to put the seats in order, to sweep between them and wash themwhen necessary. The sides of the tent are raised up by stanchions provided for that purpose in order to air the galley; though when the wind blows hard, that side to the leeward only is raised. When this is done every slave sits down on his own seat and does something to earn himself a little money.
“It is necessary to be known, that no slave must be idle. The comites, who observe their employments every day, come up to those they see unemployed and ask why they do not work. If it is answered that they understand no trade, he gives them cotton yarn, and bids them knit it into stockings; and if the slave knows not how to knit, the comite appoints one of his companions of the same seat to instruct him. It is a trade easily learnt; but as there are some who are either lazy, stupid or stubborn and will not learn, they are sure to be remarked by the comites who seldom show them any future favor. If they will not work at that for their own advantage, the comite generally gives them some work impossible to perform; and when they have labored in vain to execute his commands, he whips them for laziness; so that in their own defence, they are at last obliged to learn to knit.
“Whenever a slave is missing, there are guns fired one after the other, which advertise his escape to the peasants round the country; upon which they all rise, and with hounds trained for the purpose trace out his footsteps; so that it is almost impossible for him to secure a retreat. I have seen severalinstances of this at Marseilles. At Dunkirk, indeed, the Flemish detest such practices; but the soldiers, with which the town abounds, will do anything to gain twenty crowns. At Marseilles the peasants are cruel to the last degree. I have been informed for certain that a son brought back his own father, who had been a slave and endeavored to escape. The intendant, as the story goes, was so shocked at his undutifulness, that though he ordered him the twenty crowns for his fee, yet sentenced him to the galleys for life, where he remained chained to the same seat with his unhappy father. So true is it, that the natives of Provence are in general perfidious, cruel and inhuman.
“All along the quay, where the galleys lie, are ranged little stalls, with three or four slaves in each, exercising their trades to gain a trifling subsistence. Their trades are nevertheless frequently little better than gross impositions on the credulity of the vulgar. Some pretend to tell fortunes and take horoscopes; others profess magic and undertake to find stolen goods, though cunning often helps them out when the devil is not so obedient as to come at a call.
“While some of the slaves are thus employed in the stalls along the quay, the major part are chained to their seats aboard, some few excepted who pay a halfpenny a day for being left without a chain. Those can walk about the galley and traffic or do any other business which may procure them awretched means of subsistence. The greatest part of them are sutlers. They sell tobacco (for in winter the slaves are permitted to smoke on board), brandy, etc. Others make over their seats a little shop, where they expose for sale butter, cheese, vinegar, boiled tripe, all of which are sold to the crew at reasonable rates. A halfpenny worth of these, with the king’s allowance of bread, make no uncomfortable meal. Except these sutlers, all the rest are chained to their seats and employed in knitting stockings. Perhaps it may be asked where the slaves find spun cotton for knitting. I answer thus:
“Many of the Turks, especially those who have money, drive a trade in this commodity with the merchants of Marseilles, who deal largely in stockings. The merchants give the Turks what cotton they think proper, unmanufactured, and the Turks pay them in this commodity manufactured into stockings. These Turks deliver the cotton spun to the slaves, to be knit. They are indifferent as to the size of the stockings, as the slave is paid for knitting at so much a pound. So that the slave who received ten pounds of spun cotton is obliged to return the same weight of knit stockings, for which he is paid at a fixed price. There must be great care taken not to filch any of the cotton nor leave the stockings on a damp place to increase their weight; for if such practices are detected the slave is sure to undergo the bastinado.
“At the approach of summer their employments are multiplied every day by new fatigues. All the ballast, which is composed of little stones about the size of pigeon’s eggs, is taken out and handed up from the hold in little wicker baskets from one to the other, till they are heaped upon the quay opposite the galley. Here two men are to pump water upon them till they become as clean as possible; and when dry they are again replaced. This, and cleaning the vessel, takes up seven or eight days’ hard labor. Then the galley must be put into proper order before it puts to sea. First, necessary precautions must be taken with respect to the cordage that it be strong and supple; and what new cordage may be necessary is to be supplied by the slaves by passing it round the galley. This takes up some days to effect. Next the sails are to be visited, and if new ones are necessary, the comite cuts them out and the slaves sew them. They must also make new tents, mend the old in like manner, prepare the officers’ beds, and everything else, which it would be impossible to particularise. This bustle continues till the beginning of April, when the Court sends orders for putting to sea.
“Our armament begins by careening the galleys. This is done by turning one galley upon another so that its keel is quite out of the water. The whole keel is then rubbed with rendered tallow. This is perhaps one of the most fatiguing parts of a slave’s employments. After this the galley is fitted upwith her masts and rigging and supplied with artillery and ammunition. All this is performed by the slaves, who are sometimes so fatigued that the commander is obliged to wait in port a few days till the crew have time to refresh themselves.”
Galleys as warships fell into disuse about the time that our Protestant prisoners were released. The improvement in the sailing qualities of ships and the manifest advantages enjoyed by those skilfully handled, as were the English, gradually brought about the abandonment of the oar as a motive power, and the galleys are only remembered now as a glaring instance of the cruelties practised by rulers upon helpless creatures subjected to their tender mercies.
State of France—Bad harvests—Universal famine—Chronic disturbances—Crime prevalent—Cartouche—His organized gang—His capture, sentence and execution—Pamphleteers and libelists in the Bastile—Lenglet-Dufresnoy—Roy—Voltaire—His first consignment to the Bastile—His release and departure for London—Cellamare-Alberoni conspiracy—Mlle. De Launay, afterwards Madame de Staal—Remarkable escapes—Latude and Allégre.
Dark clouds hovered over France in the latter years of the reign of Louis XIV: an empty exchequer drained by the cost of a protracted and disastrous war; the exodus of many thousands of the most industrious producers of wealth, flying from religious intolerance; a succession of bad harvests, causing universal famine and chronic disturbance. The people rose against the new edicts increasing taxes upon salt, upon tobacco and on stamped paper, and were repressed with harshness, shot down, thrown into prison or hanged. The genuine distress in the country was terrible. Thousands of deaths from starvation occurred. Hordes of wretched creatures wandered like wild beasts through the forest of Orleans. A Jesuit priestwrote from Onzain that he preached to four or five skeletons, who barely existed on raw thistles, snails and the putrid remains of dead animals. In the Vendomois, the heather was made into bread with an intermixture of sawdust, and soup was made with roots and the sap of trees. Touraine, once the very garden of France, had become a wilderness. The hungry fought for a morsel of horse flesh, torn from some wretched beast which had died a natural death. Four-fifths of the inhabitants of the villages had become public beggars. In one village of four hundred houses, the population had been reduced to three persons.
Never in the history of France had robberies been so numerous or so varied in character as during this period. Paris was filled with the worst criminals and desperadoes. The provinces were overrun with them. The whole country was ravaged and terrorised. Prominent among this dangerous fraternity, whose name was legion, is one name, that of Cartouche, the most noted evil doer of his or indeed any time. Others might have excelled him in originality, intelligence and daring. That which gave him especial distinction was his power of organisation, his nice choice of associates and the far-reaching extent of his nefarious plans. The devoted and obedient band he directed was recruited from all sources, and included numbers of outwardly respectable persons even drawn from the police and the French guards. He had agents at his disposalfor all branches of his business; he had spies, his active assistants to deal the blows, his receivers, his locksmiths, his publicans with ready shelter and asylums of retreat. The forces controlled by Cartouche were extraordinarily numerous, and the total was said to exceed a couple of thousand persons of both sexes.
Paris was dismayed and indignant when the operations grew and increased, and the police proved less able to check them. In the last months of 1719 and during 1720, widespread terror prevailed. The thieves worked their will even in daylight. After dark the city belonged to them. The richest quarters were parcelled out among the various gangs, which broke into every house and summoned every wayfarer to stand and deliver. As a specimen of their proceedings,—a party visited the mansion, once the Hotel of the Maréchal de France and now occupied by the Spanish Ambassador, entered the Ambassador’s bedroom at night and rifled it, securing a rich booty—several collars of fine pearls, a brooch adorned with twenty-seven enormous diamonds, a large service of silver plate and the whole of the magnificent wardrobe of the lady of the house. This was only one of hundreds of such outrages, which were greatly encouraged by the diffusion of luxury among the upper classes, while the lower, as we have seen, were plunged in misery and starvation.
This was the epoch of the speculations of thefamous adventurer, Law, who established the great Bank of Mississippi, and for the time made the fortunes of all who joined in his schemes and trafficked in his shares. Money was almost a drug; people made so much and made it so fast that it was difficult to spend it. Houses were furnished regardless of expense with gorgeous tapestry, cloth of gold hangings, beds of costly woods encrusted with jewels and ormolu, Venetian glasses in ivory frames, candelabra of rock crystal. All this luxury played into the hands of Cartouche and his followers, who worked on a system, recognising each other by strict signs and helping each other to seize and pass away articles of value from hand to hand along a whole street. Strict order regulated the conduct of the thieves. Many were forbidden to use unnecessary violence, killing was only permitted in self defence, the same person was never to be robbed twice, and some were entrusted with the password of the band as a safe conduct through a crowd.
Meanwhile the personality of Cartouche was constantly concealed. Some went so far as to declare that he was a myth and did not exist in the flesh. Yet the suspicion grew into certainty that Paris was at the mercy of a dangerous combination, directed by and centred in one astute and capable leader. Thieves taken red-handed had revealed upon the rack the identity of Cartouche and the government was adjured to effect his capture, butwithout result. So daring did he become that he openly showed himself at carnival time with five of his chief lieutenants and defied arrest.
Cartouche was a popular hero, for he pretended to succor the poor with the booty he took from the rich. He was a species of Parisian Fra Diavolo, and many stories were invented in proof of his generosity, his sense of humor and his kindliness to those in distress. As a matter of fact he was a brutal, black-hearted villain, whose most prominent characteristic was his constant loyalty to his followers, by which he secured their unswerving attachment and by means of it worked with such remarkable success. To this day his name survives as the prototype of a criminal leader, directing the wide operations of a well organised gang of depredators that swept all before them. Their exploits were at times marvellous, both in initiative and execution, and owed everything to Cartouche. One among many stories told of him may be quoted as illustrating his ingenious methods. It was a robbery from the chief officer of the watch, from whom he stole a number of silver forks in broad daylight, and while actually engaged in conversation with his victim. Cartouche arrived at this official’s house in his carriage, accompanied by two tall flunkeys in gorgeous livery. He announced himself as an Englishman, and was shown into the dining-room, where dinner was in progress. Cartouche declined to take a seat, but contrived to lead the host to acorner of the room where he regaled him with a fabulous story of how an attack was being organised by Cartouche on his house. The officer quite failed to recognise his visitor, and listened with profound attention. It was not until after Cartouche had left that it was discovered that not a single fork or spoon remained upon his table, the silver having been adroitly abstracted by Cartouche, who passed it unseen to his confederates—the disguised footmen who had accompanied him. Many similar thefts were committed by Cartouche and his gang, one victim being the Archbishop of Bourges.
Cartouche, by his cleverness in disguise, long escaped capture, and it was not until October 15th, 1721, that he was finally caught and arrested. His capture naturally created an immense sensation in Paris, and became the universal topic of conversation. Cartouche had been traced to a wine shop, where he was found in bed by M. le Blanc, an employé of the War Ministry, who had with him forty picked soldiers and a number of policemen. Orders had been issued to take Cartouche, dead or alive. His capture came about through a patrol soldier who had recognised Cartouche and acted as a spy on his movements. This man had been carried to the Châtelet by Pekom, major of the Guards, and when threatened with the utmost rigor of the law confessed all he knew about the prince of thieves. The prisoner was taken first to the residence of M. le Blanc and afterwards to the Châtelet.It was found necessary to be extremely circumspect with Cartouche on account of his violence, and his cell was closely guarded by four men. Cartouche soon made an attempt to escape in company with a fellow occupant of his cell, who happened to be a mason. Having made a hole in a sewer passage below, they dropped into the water, waded to the end of the gallery and finally reached the cellar of a greengrocer in the neighborhood thence they emerged into the shop, and were on the verge of escape, but the barking of the greengrocer’s dog aroused the inmates of the house, who gave the alarm, and four policemen, who happened to be in the neighborhood, came to the rescue. Cartouche was recognised, captured and again imprisoned, being now securely chained by his feet and hands. He was later transferred to the Conciergerie and more closely watched than ever during his trial, which was concluded on November 26th, 1721, when sentence was passed upon him and two accomplices. On the day following, Cartouche was subjected to the torture “extraordinary” by means of the “boot,” which he endured without yielding, and refused to make any confession. The scaffold, meanwhile was erected in the Place de Grève where the carpenters put up five wheels and two gibbets. Directly the place of execution became known in Paris, the streets were filled with large crowds of people and windows overlooking the Grève were let at high prices. Apparently the magistratesdid not care to gratify the curiosity of the public, and before the afternoon four of the wheels and one of the gibbets were removed. Towards four o’clock Charles Sanson, the executioner of the Court of Justice, went to the Conciergerie, accompanied by his assistants, and sentence was read to the culprit, who was afterwards handed over to the secular arm. Cartouche had displayed no emotion throughout the trial. He no doubt thought himself a hero, and wished to die amidst the applause of the people who had long feared him. When, however, the cortège started, Cartouche began to grow uneasy and finally his stolid indifference completely gave way. On reaching the Place de Grève he noticed that only one wheel remained, and his agitation became intense. He repeatedly exclaimed, “Les frollants!” “Les frollants!” (the traitors), thinking his accomplices had been induced to confess, and had betrayed him. Now his stoicism vanished, and he insisted upon being taken back to the Hôtel de Ville to confess his sins. On the following morning great crowds again assembled to witness the execution. The condemned man had lost his bravado, but still displayed strange firmness. His natural instincts appeared when he was placed on theCroix de St. André, and the dull thud of the iron bar descending extorted the exclamation “One” from him, as if it was his business to count the number of blows to be inflicted. Although it had been stipulated at the passing of sentence thatCartouche should be strangled after a certain number of strokes, the excitement of the clerk of the Court caused him to withhold the fact from the executioner; and so great was the strength of Cartouche that it required eleven blows to break him on the wheel.
Other executions speedily followed. Scaffold and gibbet were kept busy till 1722, and in the succeeding years five females whom Cartouche had found useful as auxiliaries to his society were put upon their trial, sentenced and executed. Many receivers of stolen goods were also brought to account before the long series of crimes that had defied the police was finally ended.
In these days the prevailing discontent against the ruling authority found voice in the manner so often exhibited by a ground-down and severely repressed people. This was the age of the libellist and the pamphleteer, and the incessant proceedings against them brought in fresh harvests to the Bastile. The class was comprehensive, and its two extremes ranged between a great literary genius such as Voltaire and the petty penny-a-liner, who frequently found a lodging in the State prisons. Of the last named category the most prolific was Gatien Sandras de Courtilz, who produced about a hundred volumes of satirical, political pamphlets and fictitious histories. Such a man was for ever within four walls or in hiding beyond the frontier. Leniency was wasted on him. Upon a petition tothe Chancellor Pontchartrain, an inquiry was instituted into the reasons of his imprisonment with the result that he was released. Within two years he was found again distributing libels, and was again thrown into the Bastile, this time to remain there for ten years.
A curious specimen of this class distinguished himself in the following reign,—a certain Abbé Nicolas Lenglet-Dufresnoy, who was for ever in and out of the Bastile. He is spoken of as a man of wit and learning, an indefatigable worker, a fearless writer, but of very indifferent honesty, venial to the last degree, to be bought at any time and ready for any baseness, even to espionage. Isaac d’Israeli mentions him in his “Curiosities of Literature” and in terms of praise as a man of much erudition with a fluent, caustic pen and daring opinions. He earned a calm contempt for the rubs of evil fortune, and when a fresh arrest was decreed against him, he accepted it with a light heart. He well knew his way to the Bastile. At the sight of the officer, who came to escort him to prison, he would pick up his night-cap and his snuff-box, gather his papers together and take up his quarter in the old familiar cell where he had already done so much good work. He suffered seven distinct imprisonments in the Bastile between 1718 and 1752, and saw also the inside of the prisons of Vincennes, Strasbourg and For-l’Évêque. At his last release he signed the following declaration:
“Being at liberty, I promise, in conformity with the orders of the King, to say nothing of the prisoners or other things concerning the Bastile, which may have come to my knowledge. In addition to this I acknowledge that all my good silver and papers and effects which I brought to the said castle have been restored to me.”
Lenglet rendered one important service to the State, the discovery of the Cellamare-Alberoni conspiracy, but he would not proceed in the affair until he had been assured that no lives should be sacrificed. He was a painstaking writer, and kept one manuscript by him for fifty-five years; it was, however, a work on visions and apparitions, and he was a little afraid of publishing it to the world. His end came by a strange accident. He fell into the fire as he slept over a “modern book” and was burned to death. He was then eighty years of age.
Among the smaller people, scribblers and second rate litterateurs, who were consigned to the Bastile, was Roy, an impudent rascal, who lampooned royalty and royal things, and impertinently attacked the Spanish ambassador. All Paris was moved by his arrest, his papers were sealed and he was treated as of more importance than he deserved. After four months’ detention he was released, and banished from Paris to a distance of ninety leagues. He soon returned and published a defamatory ode on the French generals. General de Moncrieff met Roy in the streets, boxed his ears and kicked him,but although the poet wore his sword he did not defend himself. Roy raged furiously against the Academy which would not elect him a member and wrote a stinging epigram when the Comte de Clermont of the blood royal was chosen. The Comte paid a ruffian to give him a thrashing, which was so severe that the poet, now eighty years of age, succumbed to the punishment.
Another literary prisoner of more pretensions was the Abbé Prevost, author of the well knownManon Lescaut, the only work which has survived out of the 170 books he wrote in all. He was a Jesuit, who joined the order of the Benedictines, but fled from their house in St.-Germain-des-Prés, and went about Paris freely. He was arrested by the police and sent back to his monastery. For seven years he remained quiet, but when at length he proposed to publish new works in order “to impose silence upon the malignity of his enemies,” alettre de cachetwas issued to commit him to the Bastile. The Prince de Conti came to his help, and gave him money with which he escaped to Brussels.
Voltaire’s first connection with the Bastile was in 1717, when he was only twenty-two years of age, a law student in Paris. He had already attracted attention by his insolent lampoons on the Regent and the government, and had been banished from Paris for writing an epigram styled theBourbier, “the mud heap.” This new offence was a scandalous Latin inscription and some scathing verseswhich, according to a French writer, would have been punished under Louis XIV with imprisonment for life. He took his arrest very lightly. The officer who escorted him to the Bastile reports: “Arouet (Voltaire) joked a good deal on the road, saying he did not think any business was done on feast days, that he did not mind going to the Bastile but hoped he would be allowed to continue taking his milk, and that if offered immediate release he would beg to remain a fortnight longer.” His detention ran on from week to week into eleven months, which he employed in writing two of his masterpieces,La HenriadeandŒdipe, the latter his first play to have a real success when put upon the stage.
Voltaire, when released, was ordered to reside at Chatenay with his father, who had a country house there, and offered to be responsible for him. The charge was onerous, and the young man was sent to Holland to be attached to the French ambassador, but he soon drifted back to Paris, where he remained in obscurity for seven years. Now he came to the front as the victim of a personal attack by bravos in the pay of the Chevalier de Rohan, by whom he was severely caned. The poet had offended the nobility by his insolent airs. Voltaire appealed for protection, and orders were issued to arrest De Rohan’s hirelings if they could be found. The poet sought satisfaction against the moving spirit, and having gone for a time into the countryto practise fencing, returned to Paris and challenged the Chevalier, when he met him in the dressing-room of the famous actress, Adrienne Lecouvreur. The duel was arranged, but the De Rohan family interposed and secured Voltaire’s committal to the Bastile, when he wrote to the Minister Herault:
“In the deplorable condition in which I find myself I implore your kindness. I have been sent to the Bastile for having pursued with too much haste and ardor the established laws of honor. I was set upon publicly by six persons, and I am punished for the crime of another because I did not wish to hand him over to justice. I beg you to use your credit to obtain leave for me to go to England.”
Leave was granted, accompanied with release, and in due course Voltaire arrived in London, where he remained three years. This period tended greatly to develop his mental qualities. “He went a discontented poet, he left England a philosopher, the friend of humanity,” says Victor Cousin. He became a leader among the men who, as Macaulay puts it, “with all their faults, moral and intellectual, sincerely and earnestly desired the improvement of the condition of the human race, whose blood boiled at the sight of cruelty and injustice, who made manful war with every faculty they possessed on what they considered as abuses, and who on many signal occasions placed themselves gallantly between the powerful and the oppressed.”
Voltaire was presently permitted to return toParis. Minister Maurepas wrote him: “You may go to Paris when you like and even reside there.... I am persuaded you will keep a watch upon yourself at Paris, and do nothing calculated to get you into trouble.” The warning was futile. Within four years he was once more arrested and lodged in the castle prison of Auxonne, with strict orders that he was never to leave the interior of the castle. His offences were blasphemy and a bitter attack upon the Stuarts. He had, moreover, published his “Lettres Philosophiques,” and a newlettre de cachetwas to be issued, but he was given time and opportunity to make his escape into Germany. The work was, however, burned by the public executioner, and the wretched publisher sent to the Bastile, after the confiscation of all his stock, which meant total ruin. Prison history is not further concerned with Voltaire. His friendship with Frederick the Great, his long retreat in Switzerland and the fierce criticisms and manifestoes he fulminated from Ferney must be sought elsewhere.
Reference has been made in a previous page to the Cellamare-Alberoni conspiracy first detected by Abbé Lenglet, which had for object the removal of the Duc d’Orleans from the Regency and the convocation of the States General, the first organised effort towards more popular government in France. A secondary aim was a coalition of the powers to re-establish the Stuart dynasty in England. Nothing came of the conspiracy, but thearrest of those implicated. Among them were the Duc and Duchesse de Maine. A certain Mdlle. de Launay, who was a waiting woman of the Duchess, staunchly refused to betray her mistress and was imprisoned in the Bastile. Out of this grew a rather romantic love story. The King’s lieutenant of the Bastile, a certain M. de Maison Rougé, an old cavalry officer, was greatly attracted by Mdlle. de Launay. “He conceived the greatest attachment that any one ever had for me,” she writes in her amusing memoirs. “He was the only man by whom I think I was ever really loved.” His devotion led him to grant many privileges to his prisoner, above all in allowing her to open a correspondence with another inmate of the Bastile, the Chevalier de Ménil,—also concerned in the Cellamare conspiracy,—with whom she had a slight acquaintance. M. de Maison Rougé went so far as to allow them to meet on several occasions, and, much to his chagrin, the pair fell desperately in love with each other. Mdlle. de Launay expected to marry the Chevalier after their release, but on getting out of the Bastile she found herself forgotten. Some fifteen years later she became the wife of Baron de Staal, an ex-officer of the Swiss Guards under the Duc de Maine. She must not be confused, of course, with the Madame de Staël of Napoleon’s time.
While some prisoners like Masers Latude—of whom more directly—followed their natural bentin making the most daring and desperate attempts to escape from the Bastile, there were one or two cases in which men showed a strong reluctance to leave it. One of the victims of the Cellamare conspiracy was an ex-cavalry officer, the Marquis de Bonrepas, who had been shut up for four or five years. He found friends abroad who sought to obtain his release. But he received the offer of liberty with a very bad grace, declaring his preference for the prison. He was a veteran soldier, old, poor and without friends, and he was only persuaded to leave the Bastile on the promise of a home at the Invalides with a pension. A doctor of the University, François du Boulay, was sent to the Bastile in 1727 and remained there forty-seven years. Then, when Louis XVI ascended the throne, search was made through the registers for meet subjects for the King’s pardon, and Du Boulay was one of those recommended for discharge. He went out and deeply regretted it. He was quite friendless and could find no trace of any member of his family. His house had been pulled down and a public edifice built upon the site. He had been quite happy in the Bastile, and begged that he might return there. His prayer was refused, however, and he withdrew altogether from the world and passed the rest of his days in complete solitude.
The name of Latude, mentioned above, is classed in prison history with those of Baron Trenck, Sack, Shepherd, Casanova and “Punch” Howard as theheroes of the most remarkable prison escapes on record. He is best known as Latude, but he had many aliases,—Jean Henri, Danry, Dawyer, Gedor; and his offence was that of seeking to curry favor with Madame de Pompadour by falsely informing her that her life was in danger. He warned her carefully to avoid opening a box that would reach her through the post, which, in fact, was sent by himself. It enclosed a perfectly harmless white powder. Then having despatched it he went in person and on foot to Versailles expecting to be handsomely rewarded for saving the life of the King’s favorite.
Unfortunately for Latude the innocuous nature of the powder was disbelieved, and the mere possibility of foul play sufficed to raise suspicion. Both Louis XV and his mistress shivered at the very whisper of poison. The police promptly laid hands upon the author of this sorry trick, and he was committed to Vincennes to begin an imprisonment which lasted, with short intervals of freedom after his escapes, for thirty-four years. Latude was well treated and was visited by the King’s doctor, as it was thought his mind was deranged. He was, however, keen witted enough to snatch at the first chance of escape. When at exercise in the garden, apparently alone, a dog ran against the door and it fell open. Latude instantly stepped through and got into the open fields, through which he ran for his life, and made his way into Paris, to the houseof a friend, one Duval. Thence he wrote a letter to Madame de Pompadour beseeching her forgiveness and imprudently giving his address. The authorities at once laid hands upon him, and after being no more than twenty-four hours at large he was once more imprisoned, this time in the Bastile.
He now found a prison companion with whom his fortunes were to be closely allied, one Allégre, who had been accused of the same crime, that of attempting to poison Madame de Pompadour. Allégre, who in the end died in a lunatic asylum, was a violent, unmanageable and hardly responsible prisoner. He always denied the charges brought against him, as did also Latude. The two joined forces in giving trouble and breaking the prison rules. They were caught in clandestine conversation with others, from floor to floor in the Bazinière Tower, and in passing tobacco to each other. Latude addressed an indignant appeal against his treatment to the authorities, written upon linen with his blood. He complained of his food, demanded fish for breakfast, declaring he could not eat eggs, artichokes or spinach, and would pay out of his own pocket for different food. He became enraged when these requests were refused. When fault was found with his misuse of the linen, he asked for paper and more shirts. He got the former, and began a fresh petition of interminable length and, when the governor grew weary of waiting for it, threw it into the fire.
As the chamber occupied by Latude and Allégre was in the basement and liable to be flooded by the inundation of the Seine, it became necessary to remove them to another. This was more favorable to escape, and to this they now turned their attention with the strange ingenuity and unwearied patience so often displayed by captives. The reason for Latude’s demand for more shirts was now explained. For eighteen months they worked unceasingly, unravelling the linen and with the thread manufacturing a rope ladder three hundred feet in length. The rungs were of wood made from the fuel supplied for their fire daily. These articles were carefully concealed under the floor. When all was ready, Latude took stock of their productions. There was 1,400 feet of linen rope and 208 rungs of wood, the rungs encased in stuff from the linings of their dressing gowns, coats and waistcoats to muffle the noise of the ladder as it swung against the wall of the Tower.
The actual escape was effected by climbing up the interior of the chimney of their room, having first dislodged the chimney bars, which they took with them. On reaching the roof, they lowered the ladder and went down it into the ditch, which was fourteen feet deep in water. Notwithstanding this, they attacked the outer wall with their chimney bars of iron, and after eight hours’ incessant labor broke an opening through its ponderous thickness and despite the fear of interruption from patrolspassing outside with flaming torches. Both fugitives when at large hastened to leave Paris. Allégre got as far as Brussels, whence he wrote an abusive letter to Madame de Pompadour, and at the instance of the French King was taken into custody and lodged in the prison at Lille, thence escorted to the frontier and so back to the Bastile. Latude took refuge, but found no safety, in Amsterdam. His whereabouts was betrayed by letters to his mother which were intercepted. He, too, was reinstalled in the Bastile—after four brief months of liberty.
Latude’s leadership in the escapades seems to have been accepted as proved, and he was now more harshly treated than his associate, Allégre. He lay in his cell upon straw in the very lowest depths of the castle, ironed, with no blankets and suffering much from the bitter cold. For three years and more he endured this, and was only removed when the Seine once more overflowed and he was all but drowned in his cell. The severity shown him was to be traced to the trouble his escape had brought upon his gaolers, who were reprimanded, fined and otherwise punished. The only alleviation of his misery was the permission to remove half his irons, those of his hands or feet.
As the years passed, this harsh treatment was somewhat mitigated, but the effect on Latude was only to make him more defiant and irreconcilable. He found many ways of annoying the authorities. He broke constantly into noisy disturbances. “Thisprisoner,” it is reported, “has a voice of thunder, which can be heard all through and outside the Bastile. It is impossible for me to repeat his insults as I have too much respect for the persons he mentioned.” Not strangely, his temper was irritable. He swore over his dinner because it was not served with a larded fowl. He was dissatisfied with the clothes provided for him, and resented complying with the rules in force. When a tailor was ordered to make him a dressing-gown, a jacket and breeches, he wished to be measured, whereas, according to the rules of the Bastile, the tailor cut out new clothes on the pattern of the old.
The conduct of Allégre (who was no doubt mad) was worse. He was dangerous and tried to stab his warders. Then he adopted the well known prison trick of “breaking out,” of smashing everything breakable in his cell, all pottery, glass, tearing up his mattress and throwing the pieces out of the window, destroying his shirts, “which cost the King twenty francs apiece,” and his pocket handkerchiefs, which were of cambric. He had nothing on his body but his waistcoat and his breeches. “If he be not mad he plays the madman very well,” writes the governor, and again: “This prisoner would wear out the patience of the most virtuous Capuchin.” The medical opinion on his state was not definite, but he was removed to Charenton, the famous lunatic asylum, and confined there in a new cage.
Fifteen years had passed since his first arrest. Latude continued to forward petitions for his release, and always got the same answer, that the proper moment for it had not yet arrived. But he was once more transferred to Vincennes and again managed to escape. Taking advantage of the evident laxity of supervision he slipped away in a fog. He could not keep quiet but wrote to M. de Sartine, now the Lieutenant of Police, offering terms. If he were paid 30,000 francs for the plans and public papers he had drawn up, he was willing to forget and forgive the cruelties practised upon him. Failing to receive a reply, he went in person to Fontainebleau to press his case upon the Duc de Choiseul, who forthwith ordered him back into imprisonment. After three weeks of freedom he found himself again inside Vincennes.
As time passed, he also exhibited signs of madness, and was at last also transferred for a time to Charenton, from which he was finally released in 1777. He went out on the 5th of June with orders to reside at Montagnac, and in little more than a month was again in trouble for writing his memoirs a little too openly. He passed through the Little Châtelet and thence to Bicêtre, the semi prison-asylum, and stayed there generally in an underground cell and on the most meagre diet for seven more years, and was then interned once more at Montagnac. The latest official account of him was in Paris, living on a pension of 400 francs a year from the treasury;but a public subscription was got up for him, and after the Revolution, in 1793, the heirs of Madame de Pompadour were sentenced to allow him an income of 70,000 francs a year. Only a part of this was paid, but they gave him a small farm on which he lived comfortably until his death at eighty years of age.