Mrs. Maybrick's Own Story: My Fifteen Lost YearsMaybrick, Florence Elizabeth
History
Mrs. Maybrick's Own Story: My Fifteen Lost Years
Maybrick, Florence Elizabeth
Maybrick, Florence Elizabeth, 1862-1941; Trials (Murder) -- England; Women prisoners -- England
Then came the ever-to-be-remembered sea voyage. I am a good sailor,
and so the physical discomforts that beset so many were agreeably
minimized; but I could not throw off the feeling that I was not yet
free--the limits of the ship were still all too suggestive of the
narrow exercise grounds of Aylesbury prison; and, while the eye
could roam without hindrance, there came upon me again and again an
irresistible desire, which the rolling billows strenuously gainsaid, to
make a dash for liberty.
Thereupon followed a couple of days at the Holland House, New York,
with the same persistent reporter never absent. After this experience,
I was taken by the kindest of friends to where nature is at her
loveliest and human hearts beat in unison with their uplifting
surroundings. Beautiful Cragsmoor, with its wide reaches of inspiring
scenery, most appropriately the summer home of an artistic colony, is
not too easy of access to mar a desire for seclusion, and a greater
antithesis to prison walls than is afforded by this aerie can hardly be
imagined.
Here all things that on lower planes so cruelly vex the spirit seem
far away and beneath. If only no publishers--however benevolent--had
entered this Eden, what a paradise it could have been to me! However,
in spite of these dread taskmasters, my soul drank deeply of the elixir
so bountifully held to my lips; and when in the golden autumn all
the noble woods about robed themselves in such glory as may be seen
nowhere outside my beloved native land--and perchance nowhere here more
ravishingly than in these Hudson Valley uplands--the rapture of my
heart, so long starved within the narrowest and cruelest of confines,
turned adoringly to Him who has made this world so beautiful for His
children’s eyes.
I need hardly be at pains to say to my readers, that lessons in
literary composition form no part of the disciplinary curriculum of
Aylesbury; nay, the art of writing is distinctly discouraged there, as
interfering with the prescribed parliamentary régime. Accordingly, when
I set out to tell my pitiful little story, I was told to look at myself
objectively; then to pry into myself subjectively; then to regard
both in their relation to the outside world--to describe how this,
that, or the other affected me; in short, as one of them, more deep in
science than others, expressed it, “We want as much as possible of the
psychology of your prison life.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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