CHAPTER III
UNCERTAINTY—PRISON LIFE—THE PUBLIC PROSECUTOR—A CHANGE OF CELLS
For some time longer I had to remain in the prison of Freiburg, vacillating between the expectation of speedy release and the dread of extradition. Every day I changed my mood a dozen, nay, a hundred times; and this everlasting alternation had a most depressing effect. The days dragged on, and seemed endless, although I tried to occupy myself by every possible device. I was well supplied with books—my comrades and Professor Thun saw to that—and I was accommodated with writing materials. So I read much, and tried to put on paper my thoughts, impressions, and recollections.
But it was not only uncertainty as to my own fate that worked on my spirits: anxiety about my friends, and about the further development of our “League for the Emancipation of Labour” troubled me. Our organisation was only in its infancy; we were but a small band, and our means scanty. In coming to Germany for the despatch of our first output over the Russian border, I had planned at the same time to arrange for future transport. On this account I had many duties to discharge, regarding not only money matters, but organisation. I had also left behind me in Switzerland much business that called for my return as soon as possible. All my comrades had their hands full; time was precious to them all. And now not only was I sitting here in prison, condemned to inaction, but all the other members of our League were occupied with my affairs, and waiting about to see how they could help me. The consciousness of this check to our work, and of being its involuntary cause, oppressed me, and raised my impatience to the highest pitch.
My state can easily be pictured if one imagines a man who has an important and urgent affair to manage, and who suddenly breaks his leg, so that instead of pressing on to the goal he must lie inert on a sick-bed. But in that pitiable state he would be preoccupied with his physical suffering; and I, being free from pain, was given over entirely to worry and distress of mind.
The conditions of prison life left much to be desired. At first, particularly, I found them hard to bear, till by degrees I accustomed myself to German regulations. As I have already said, the cells were not lighted at night, and there was nothing for a prisoner to do but to sleep away the long hours of darkness, if he could. I afterwards learned that light was denied for fear of fire, and on the same ground smoking was forbidden. What there was to burn I could not imagine; for, except the doors, the window-frames, and the floors, there was no wood, the building being of massive stone.[[14]]
The irksomeness of the long evenings without light, and the prohibition of smoking, must for many people be not only a discomfort, but a hard penance. Yet there should have been no question of punishment in this prison, as only accused persons awaiting trial were detained there.
The behaviour of the prison officials towards the prisoners was anything but tender. For instance, this is what took place on one of my first days. Exercise in the prison yard was taken by all the inmates of one corridor at the same time. We were trotted round in a continual goose-step, always a certain number of paces distant each one from the other. One felt like a horse being led round the riding-school by a rope. I found that many prisoners regarded it as a humiliation, and preferred to forego the chance of fresh air. One day during this walk the military guard was being changed in the prison yard. The formalities of German drill were new to me, and involuntarily I stopped a moment to look, thus upsetting our beautiful order by not keeping at the correct distance between my preceder and follower; besides, perhaps I also dropped out of line an inch or so. Suddenly I felt someone seize me by the shoulder, abusing me violently. I scarcely knew what was happening till I found myself being raged at by the warder in my cell, whither he had whisked me off. The man was like one possessed, and threatened to deprive me of exercise if I behaved as I had done. At first I could not understand what frightful misdemeanour I had committed. When it dawned on me that all this was because of my momentary pause, it was my turn to show temper. I asked the man how he dared treat me so, informed him that prisoner though I was I would not permit anyone to knock me about or abuse me, and said that if such a harmless infringement of discipline was looked on as an offence against German prison rules, it was his plain duty to have warned me of the fact, and so on. This had its effect; the man’s bearing instantly became milder, and thenceforward our intercourse was on the most peaceful footing.
The prison rations were quite insufficient; there was never enough to satisfy a full-grown man. If I remember rightly, they consisted of a pound and a half of rye bread daily, and twice in the day a little soup or gruel. Meat was only allowed twice a week in the first month, and that in microscopic portions. Even the gaolers admitted that unless a prisoner had means for providing himself with extra food, he would never get enough to eat.
The cells on the first floor, one of which I first inhabited, were roomy, bright, and clean. For furniture they were provided with a table, a stool, and a bed, the latter having a mattress, straw pillow, and woollen covering. In one corner of the room stood the stove, heated from the corridor and surrounded by an iron grating intended to prevent escape by the chimney. On the wall hung a copy of the regulations, whereby prisoners were informed of the various penalties for the slightest departure from the rules. All these rules were framed to spare the staff trouble, and to make the business of looking after the inmates as simple as possible. The interest of the inmates was not considered; they were not treated like people unconvicted of crime, but rather as malefactors deserving punishment, which the prison staff on their own responsibility had to see carried out in their own way. I will give an instance.
One day I was conducted from my cell to a corridor on the ground-floor, where a number of prisoners were already ranged along the wall, evidently awaiting something. I was directed to a place. I wanted to know what was happening; and after I had asked several times in vain, the gaoler told me that the Catholic priest had come, and wished to speak to all the prisoners, who would be taken to him one by one in order. I said that I was a Socialist and had nothing to do with Catholic or any other priests. I therefore begged to be taken back to my cell. This seemed to strike the man as irresistibly comic, and he burst into an ironic laugh.