German and Austrian Prisons: Prisons of Prussia, Bavaria, Saxony and Austria-Hungary; the Fortresses of Magdeburg and Spielberg — John Shaqi
German and Austrian Prisons: Prisons of Prussia, Bavaria, Saxony and Austria-Hungary; the Fortresses of Magdeburg and SpielbergGriffiths, Arthur
History
German and Austrian Prisons: Prisons of Prussia, Bavaria, Saxony and Austria-Hungary; the Fortresses of Magdeburg and Spielberg
Griffiths, Arthur
Prisons -- Austria -- History; Prisons -- Germany -- History
“It lies on the river bank. The front looks toward the avenue which
in Celle forms the approach to the station. The external aspect of
the terrible house is not unpleasing; neither does the appearance of
the inside give the most distant conception of the conditions under
which the prisoners live, nor of their situation, so that visitors are
rather favourably impressed than otherwise. On arrival we were led into
the vestibule of the building and drawn up in line, while an official
cross-examined us. Until noon, one formality after another had to be
gone through. We were first taken to the bathroom where, after being
plunged into hot water, we had to sit on the edge of the bath while
the barber shaved us. I shook so with cold that he had to let me return
to the water while he finished his operations, and we dressed standing
on a cold floor in our prison gaol. We next went before the governor
and other officials, and then partially stripped again and had to cross
a cold passage to the doctor’s room, who in my case found both lungs
affected. I have always ascribed to the hardships endured on that first
day in Celle the severe chest complaint from which I suffered during my
imprisonment, and the effects of which I still feel.
“These disagreeable preliminaries over, a cell was allotted to me. I
was put under a warder who was the most hated by the prisoners, the
most trusted by the authorities. He had a diminutive body, a large
and powerful hand, a bitter and suspicious countenance. He made my
life a burden and yet I pitied him. The deep lines of care on his face
convinced me he was wretched and made me sorry for him in my heart.
We were twenty-four prisoners in the middle ‘cell passage’ as the
‘station’ was officially called. All conversation was prohibited to
us. I was set to cane chairs. The prison diet was poor and the lack of
fat contained in it reduced me to a state of complete emaciation. I
learned nothing of my surroundings. The first person who spoke a kind
word to me was a humane warder who encouraged me, although this was not
necessary as my courage always triumphed over every hardship; yet it
did me good and I was gratified by the man’s kind intention in assuring
me he had seen several educated men endure long times of punishment
without being broken down.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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