The Sun.
London, England, 1841-05-07 00:00:00

THE PRISON o CLICIIY.

(From M. Barthele,ny Maurice's work on the Prisons of
the Seine.)
The year 1838 was ssildened by the occurrence of a sui..".
aide in Clichy—that of the Count de R:oberti. This Count
was the son of an Italian General, who died in the French
service ; and he had the misfortune to fall in love with a
;Dung French actress, and the still greeter misfortune to
marry her. He loved her with an Italian fervour; she re-
turaed his love with little gratitude and much coquetry.
After having impaired his fortune in satisfying the extra-
/agora caprices of his wife, the Count de Roberti found
'iimself within the walls of Clichy on the 27th of No.
vember, 1837. At first ho was astonished at not reeeiv-
aig any visits from her whom he had loved so dis-
tractedly ; at length he began to suspect that, far from
seeking to put an end to his captivity, she herst It was the
occasion of it ; and that, in order to devote herself more
:asily to her paramour, she had made the latter buy
ep the titles or bonds by virtue of which her husband was
'etained in durance vile ! From that moment his prism
'weame ingupportable. He was not ashamed of recounting
0 his companions what he considered as a certain misfor-
our., because he took occasion to s,eak at the same time
f his plow of vengeance, and because in his opinion the
iusband who avenges himself is not dishonoured. Gloomy,
•acitutn, and fierce in proportion as his terrible ideas irri-
-ated him the more deeply, Roberti spent whole days alone
in his chamber, only coming out fora moment about ten
Imes a-lay to buy paper at the cantine.
He began 20 letters to his wife, and as many times tore
them to pieces, finding the paper too cold to receive all the
emotions of love and anger which his heart contained. He
was heard at intervals articulating the name of his wife,
old that of him whom he imagined to be her lover; then
followed sobs, cusses, and menaces of death. He asked
but for one hour of liberty to go and stab the two beings
who had broken his heart, and then he would willingly re-
enter his prison, or mount the scaffold overwhelmed with
dishonour.

Already was the unhappy Roberti the object of especial
:urveillance on the part of- the employes of the prison,
w hen, on the 3d of August, the director perceived that,
after having worked upon the ceiling of his cell (situate
9n the fourth story) with a knife, he had passed the night
in trying to set fire to a beam with his candle, which was
almost consumed. No doubt he hoped to secure for him-
self a passage over the tiles, but what would then have
become of him, at a height of sixty feet, and with a wall
to leap over?
Full of pity for such a state of madness, the director
refrained from employing any of the means of punishment
with which the rules provided him, but contented himself
by making Roberti descend to the second story, in order
that, in case of fresh attempts, his neighbours above and
below might " save him from himself." On the sth,
towards four o'clock in the afternoon, Roberti, approach-
ing the table upon which the catitinier distributed the poi_
Lions of the prisoners, seized his kitchen knife, and, hiding
it beneath his great coat, hastened back to his apartment,
and plunged it into his belly. From that moment he ut-
tered not a word, and expired two hours afterwards, in
spite of the cares which were lavished upon him.
His compatriots obtained from the Director permission
to pay him the last honours according to the custom of
their country. They washed and perfumed his body, en-
circled it with a crown of flowers, laid it upon a bed of
state, in the midst of a number of wax tapers, and spent
the night in prayer. The next day the body was borne to
ihe chapel Pantaleoni sang with his powerful voice the
fine mass of Cherubini, and Graziani resorted to a piano of
Plcyel, to imitate the majestic sounds of the organ. This
last homage rendered by great artists to a companion in
captivity, to a compatriot who had died far from his
country, young, handsome, of good prospects, the victim of
a misplaced love, and of a bad law, was both sad and
beautiful.

It is said that an unknown hand raised a stone upon the
grave. It is said that this stone is often strewn with
flowers, and that often a woman is seen there kneeling
down and weeping.
Of all the legends of the debtors' prisons the most in-
teresting is that of Kollewig. Kollewig was a Swedish
noble, the son of a chamberlain of Bernadotte. His fa-
ther, in sending him to Paris, had placed him in partner..
ship with a man possessing great influence amongst the
corps diplornatique. Unhappily he became pleasing to
the wife of his partner ; he was young and handsome.
" The vengeance of husbands," says the Italian proverb,
" was not invented by the Devil, because he was never
.married." Thus, then, the diplomatist presented to the
young man a balance-sheet, in which the latter owed
him 150,000 f. ; and on the 10th of October, 1829, he
imprisoned him in St. Pelagie. The handsome Swedt
shed many tears; but at last, on the 28th of the follow•
ing July, the 6ents, with which you are acquainted, re•
stored him to liberty. For two years he resided abroad
never removing far off from the frontier of that France
in which he had left the better part of himself, his first
illusions, and his youthful affections. At length came a letter
from the lady; whether it was an infamous act of treacherj
on her part, or whether the unhappy woman had been con.
strained to do it, nobody knows. He was told in this letter
that everything was forgotten, and that he could now re-
turn, He did return. The Noble Count, his enemy, in-
vited him to dine at the Palais Royale, in order the bettet
to point him out to the Garden du Commerce, and to de.
liver him up to them. On the 3d of November, 1832, h(
was reinstated in his prison. Thirteen months afterwards
his coffin came out of it. Kollewig had only one thought,
and that was of liberty and love ; after many fruitless at-
tempts, he procured a long rope, he had sawed a bar from
a window on the fourth story. and he intended to let him-
self down into the street, but all was discovered, and,
without saying anything to him, they changed his cell. He
went thither, but the next morning he did not reply to the
appei, and when the registrar came into his room, he tried
in vain to awake him ; in his hands was a portrait ; in his
fixed eyes there were traces of tears ; at his feet was a
stove of charcoal. Kollewig, the handsome Swede, had
not, perhaps, ceased to love ; but he had ceased to suffer