Russian Prisons: St. Peter and St. Paul; the Schlüsselburg; the Ostrog at Omsk; the story of Siberian exile; Tiumen, Tomsk, SaghalienGriffiths, Arthur
History
Russian Prisons: St. Peter and St. Paul; the Schlüsselburg; the Ostrog at Omsk; the story of Siberian exile; Tiumen, Tomsk, Saghalien
Griffiths, Arthur
Exiles -- Russia (Federation) -- Siberia -- History; Prisons -- Russia -- History
Leo Deutsch, an important political prisoner, says that his daily ration
of black bread was two pounds, with a dinner at midday of two dishes,
not bad, but insufficient and always half cold, as the kitchen was far
away. This was in the fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul. At the
“Butirki”—this was the popular name for the central prison of Moscow—the
food, he says, “was beneath criticism; even the most robust at their
hungriest could scarcely swallow a spoonful of the repulsive malodorous
broth in wooden bowls brought to our cells at midday. This is explained
by the fact that the sum originally provided by government for our
maintenance was extremely small; and on its way through to us a great
part of it found its way into the bottomless pockets of officials great
and small, among whom there is an organised system of general
peculation. The big cauldrons used for cooking the food of several
thousand prisoners were filled up with the worst materials that were
procurable.”
George Kennan in his “Siberia” tells us he tasted the soup in the
kitchen of the Tiumen, or forwarding prison, and “found it nutritious
and good.” The bread was rather sour and heavy, but not worse than that
prepared and eaten by Russian peasants generally. The daily ration of
the prisoners consisted of two and a half pounds of this black bread,
about six ounces of boiled meat, and two or three ounces of coarsely
ground barley or oats with a bowl of _kvas_ morning and evening for
drink.
Carl Joubert says, “I inspected the rations in the prison at Tomsk. The
soup stank with the odour of a soap factory. I asked for a piece of
bread from a warder, and when I had examined it I called for a bowl of
warm water. I put the bread to soak in the water, and in a couple of
minutes I handed the wooden bowl to Dr. Anatovich, and asked him to look
at it. ‘Why should I examine it?’ he asked. But a moment later I heard
him exclaim: ‘My God! My God!’ The surface of the water was covered with
worms.” The soup at the infamous prison fortress of the Schlüsselburg
often contained cockroaches floating on the surface, and the director
thus explained their presence to a complainant: Whenever the copper lid
is lifted, the steam rises to the ceiling and dislodges the cockroaches
which fall into the soup.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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