Police, and through it the
multitude of victims, illustrious and obscure, of the Revolution and the
Terror, issued to take their places in the cart for the guillotine. This
doorway was walled up in 1826, and the entrance to the prison is now
on the Quai de l'Horloge, near the tower of Caesar. It was at this latter
date that the Conciergerie was transformed into a modern prison, with
the _regime cellulaire_. In the course of this transformation, the
ancient dungeons in which had been confined so many eminent historical
personages disappeared; to-day there can be seen only the cell of
Marie-Antoinette, which now communicates with that of Robespierre, and
the latter with the Salle des Girondins. The apartment of the unhappy
queen was transformed into a chapel in 1816. Of the original furniture
of her cell, there now remains, it is said, the little lamp hanging from
the ceiling, and the ivory crucifix which she kissed before mounting the
scaffold. As to the arm-chair in which she sat, it was prudently removed
some years ago to his office by one of the directors of the
Conciergerie, to protect it from the ravages of the tourists of all
nations who were gradually carrying it away piecemeal. This apartment of
the prison can be visited on Thursdays by securing a permit from the
Prefecture de Police. The grande salle which was the prison of the
priests and royalists during the Terror, and in which the Girondins
passed their last night, is now the chapel of the Conciergerie. Through
the little door at the left the latter passed on their way to the
scaffold, and in this court-yard took place the massacres of September.

Before its demolition in the summer of 1898, the immense Mazas prison
(Maison d'Arret et de Correction Cellulaire), on the Boulevard Diderot,
received the prisoners from the Depot. This gloomy institution contained
twelve hundred cells, of which eleven hundred and fifteen were occupied,
the others being used for the service of the hospital and of the baths.
Among the more illustrious prisoners who have been within these walls
was Victor Hugo, confined here on the morrow of the _Coup d'Etat_, and
who has left this description of his cell: "Walls whitened with lime
and soiled here and there by various emanations; in a corner, a round
hole, furnished with iron bars and emitting an infectious odor; in
another corner, a shelf hinged to the wall like the _strapontin_, or
folding-stool, of the city folks, and which might s