“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.
“One day the door opened and a man entered whose appearance filled me with surprise. He was a giant of spare build with a long dark beard, delicately modelled, sympathetic hands and the countenance of a real saint. He resembled neither a clergyman nor a fanatic, but was evidently of a nature as gentle as his mind was vigorous. A man whose outward semblance was unforgettable, how much more his soul, which stands as clear in my recollection as does his tall stature. This was the prison chaplain. The advantage of becoming acquainted with this representative of the noblest form of humanity would alone suffice to compensate me for the terrible sufferings I endured in the course of those few years. Parson Haase has lived nearly a century as the confidant of the sufferers in prison. His powerful but healthy mind was ever impressed with the infinite misery around him. He became a friend of the prisoners, gave them his confidence and received theirs. I owe this man more than I can say. After him, and thanks to him, the most humanising influence in the gaol was the library, which became a priceless boon. This chaplain was a liberal-minded man who did not limit his choice to books of devotion when making the yearly additions, but he provided the prisoners with works to amuse as well as improve, selected after careful consideration of the varied tastes and requirements of their readers. With books of travel and adventure were scientific manuals and works of still higher pretensions to suit the better educated, and which helped them to escape from mental breakdown and served to counteract the deteriorating effects of cellular incarceration. The chaplain’s assistant-librarian at Celle was an ex-murderer who had killed an intimate friend, a bookseller, whom he robbed. It was a senseless crime, the discovery of which was certain, and its cause was never explained.
“Religious exercises were strictly observed at Celle. The chapel was constructed on the well-known plan of providing separate boxes like lairs for each individual. All turned towards the altar which was adorned with a copy of Guido’s crucifixion. The services were given well and on a regular date there was a church ‘visitation day’ when a high dignitary preached a stirring discourse, with no other effect than that of starting a controversy among his prison congregation as to whether his cross was of gold or silver. Other subjects formed the staple conversation. One was always deeply interesting, the news that corporal punishment had been ordered and that a prisoner was to be strapped to the block.”
Hans Leuss animadverts strongly upon the discipline at Celle and quotes several cases from official reports in which much cruelty was exercised. One was of a man well advanced in years, who suffered from misdirected acquisitiveness and frequently found himself in gaol, where he constantly misconducted himself and was punished by long committals to the dark cell. In the end his health gave way, but the trouble was not diagnosed and he was very harshly treated. One morning he declared he was unable to leave his bed, but he was nevertheless dragged up and into the exercising yard where he was unable to walk and fell to the ground. The governor, believing the illness was feigned, would have flogged him but was reluctant to order corporal punishment for so old a man, and had him put into the straight-jacket. Then the doctor interposed, being in grave doubt as to his mental condition, and took him into the hospital for observation, and he died that same afternoon, of senile decay. It is horrible to think that the coercion of this poor old creature was carried so far that he was nearly flogged, and that he was actually confined in a straight-jacket so short a time before his death.
Another prisoner in Celle was adjudged to be feigning insanity and subjected to very harsh treatment; to douches and the jacket by the order of the medical officer. He was suffering really from religious mania, which took the form of exaggerated reverence for holy things; he raved of them all night, abused Dr. Martin Luther and perpetually asked to be flogged until he died for the glory of the faith. He constantly sought to enter into disputation with the chaplain upon whom he greatly imposed. No one thought he was mad, and his punishment continued unceasingly until one night he hanged himself.
A third case of medical shortsightedness is reported from Celle, where an habitual criminal, with a long record of crimes and punishments, came under a new sentence for robbery. He was ill and would eat nothing, and the doctor prescribed a blister. He did not mind, declared he could not work and went for days without food. The doctor thought it was catarrh of the stomach and decided that the man was quite fit for light labour, but the governor only admonished him as he seemed really weak from want of nourishment. Still the medical reports were against him, and he was charged again with malingering, which took him for five days to the dark cell. He did not improve, however, although it was presently admitted that he was out of health and he was taken at last into hospital, the doctor having diagnosed the disease as hemorrhage of the kidneys. He rapidly grew worse, ice and port wine were ordered, but not very regularly given to him. Within six weeks of his first arrival he suddenly died. The post mortem examination revealed an advanced cancer in the liver.
The practice of flogging was long retained in Prussian prisons, and is still employed as a disciplinary measure. The prisoner was strapped over a block by his hands and feet and the implement used was a stick, the buttock piece of an ox, a leather whip or a rod with which the prescribed number of strokes were laid on. A stalwart flagellator usually acted as executioner, and the strokes were regulated by the clock—one a minute. This punishment was in former times administered in the most terribly cruel manner and permanent injuries to the spine often resulted. A choice selection of whips of various sizes and description may be seen in the strong room of Prussian prisons, most of them of hard cutting leather unevenly plaited. Hans Leuss asserts that at Celle prisoners detected in the manufacture of false coins were always flogged severely.
The power of inflicting the lash is vested in the hands of the governors of prisons and superior authorities. The former can order up to thirty, the latter up to sixty stripes. The assent of the higher prison officials to the governor’s decree is required, but is a pure formality. It is little likely that the sanction of a majority of the subordinates would ever be refused to the governor. The administration of a prison is bureaucratic, and the governor is nearly always a military officer and thoroughly imbued with the importance of his very responsible position, which gives him power over hundreds of human beings. The subordinate officials are usually selected from the ranks of non-commissioned officers. Both the chaplain and the doctor may and do raise objections to the governor’s orders. The doctor can enforce his objection on the ground of health if he believes the man to be punished is not a fit subject, but for this reason only. Any other excuse he may offer is liable to be disregarded by his colleagues; if the majority of the superior officials are not with him, the governor can still have the punishment carried out. As a matter of fact, their consultation only occupies a few minutes and is a pure formality, the governor alone deciding. Up to 1902 the infliction of corporal punishment was not at all rare.
Herr Krohne, a privy councillor and member of the prison board in the Prussian Home Office, has described the hideous administration of the punishment of flogging in his hand-book of prison law. Herr Krohne is an opponent of flogging and of the “bed of lathes,” another form of punishment practised in German prisons, which he rightly considers a survival of barbarism. This last named punishment of the bed of lathes, lattenarrest, consists of solitary confinement in a room, of which the floor is laid with three cornered lathes or boards with pointed side uppermost—in Saxony the walls also used to be lined with these lathes—the culprit being stripped to his linen shirt, his underwear and stockings. After a time he suffers pitifully; he can neither stand nor lie down, cannot rest night or day and his body becomes gradually covered with welts in stripes.
In the five years from 1894 to 1898, in all of the prisons of Prussia taken together, there were 281 inflictions, and during the same period the bed of lathes was ordered 176 times and in some cases for female prisoners. The first curtailment was in the reign of King Frederick William III, and in 1868 it was altogether abolished for women, although not without violent protest from some prison governors who were much opposed to the reform. It was further reduced in 1879 and might only be administered in correction of the most serious offences, as a rule after a previous offence. It has of late fallen into disrepute and was rarely employed in the Moabit, the Gross Strehlitz or Cologne prisons and the bed of lathes has almost disappeared. It was generally adjudged as the punishment for attempted escape and inflicted after the recapture of a fugitive.