I shall never forget the day on which, after thirteen weeks, in
January, 1915, I left prison--to go to another. Nothing, I was
convinced, could be more of a living Hell than those thirteen weeks at
the Polizeigefängnis. I was escorted out into the street. There was
snow upon the pavements: it had been summer when I saw them last. Our
route lay round the corner. Here, after passing through a low door in
an immensely thick wall, once again I found myself in an atmosphere,
not merely of red tape, but of the very essence from which tape,
and redness, are made. Those innumerable bureaux: those ticketings,
docketings, searching of clothes, etc., occupied a couple of hours,
until I found myself in a bright and beautiful cell thirteen feet by
six. This was the famous Stadt Vogtei prison. "Vogtei," literally
translated, means a bailiff's office, but why a prison should be called
"The City Bailiff's Office," or why the city bailiff's office should be
a prison, I am at a loss to say.
Notwithstanding the bailiff, it was quite a good prison. Large numbers
of English people--five to six hundred in all--had been here before
they were sent to Ruhleben "for purposes of quarantine" as the official
report says. It was a gentleman's prison; it was intended for those who
had sentences for minor offences to serve, e.g. two to three months.
But this did not frighten me, as I knew of its character as a depot
for Ruhleben. I was full of hope. We had two meals of skilly a day
instead of one. I was allowed to talk to the others during the two
hours' exercise they were good enough to allow, and I could buy almost
anything I wanted--bar newspapers.
I had another experience here that nearly killed me. There was the
usual shelf for bowl, spoon, etc., and from the side hung a fat little
book with one hundred and thirty-three rules. It contained all the
punishments for all the various main crimes, worked out in permutations
and combinations. Things such as "for not cleaning out of the cell
for the first time the prisoner is to be punished by the three days'
withdrawal of the midday hot meal, or instead one day withdrawal of the
hot meal, and a second day withdrawal of the cold meal (breakfast), or,
in lieu thereof.... In addition to which ... or as an alternative ...
in substitute thereof.... But for the second offence, or dirtiness of
a second degree, or unpunctuality of the third degree, or noise of the
twentieth degree, the prisoner shall be punished by withdrawal of ...
whereof ... in lieu of this can be subtituted ..." etc. etc.
On the outside of this little fat book with its one hundred and
thirty-three rules was a diagram of the shelf from which it hung,
showing exactly in what order the washing bowl, the eating bowl, the
spoon, the fork, the soap were to be placed. And not merely was there a
front view, but also two side views were given: one showing the side of
the shelf with one towel hanging somnolently from a nail, and the other
side view showing the other end of the shelf with the booklet itself
hanging even more somnolently from another nail. But yes, there was
something more: for not merely was there a picture of the booklet, but
the picture of the booklet had the picture of the booklet pasted on the
booklet's cover, and, what is more, the side which bore this diagram
faced outwards, and the right-hand top corner was against the wall.
Thus was it according to the picture. But it so happened that this was
impossible, for the two were incompatible. Either the picture had to
face inwards, or the left-hand top corner must touch the wall. But both
together was contrary to the nature of the book. Feeling rather jolly
at my new environment, I pointed this out to the jailer, who wasn't a
bad sort of fellow, when he came in. At first he didn't grasp it, but
when he did, he took serious note of it with pen and ink. Next day,
in came the prison governor, a military-looking fellow, and he went
straight to the booklet at the side of the cupboard, and examining the
diagram on the cover, studied the incompatibility carefully for a long
time. He turned round, and after looking whimsically at me, and then at
the warder for some time, as if trying to make up his mind as to who
was the biggest fool, said, "H'm," very definitely, and went away.
Alas, I only remained here five days. I had hardly finished breakfast
when the warder came round with a list and said I was to "pack
up," though, since I had nothing to pack, his orders were rather
superfluous. Again weary hours of waiting in the bureau, and then, for
the first time in my life, I saw the inside of Black Maria.
I had imagined it to have cells all the way down the side, but
there were only two. There were seven of us, including a woman and
a policeman. Heaven knows what the woman was "in" for, and though I
several times formulated the question mentally, I could never manage
to get it out. The policeman was quite a nice fellow, and let us talk,
and joined in himself with an air of a busy man sparing a moment to
play with some children. It soon became plain that one of the men was
the woman's husband, or ought to have been if he wasn't. The others
were gentlemen, sentenced for petty offences, who were being taken to
the town hall to be enlisted in the army. They did not seem to relish
the prospect, but "at any rate," they said, "it would be a change." I
looked through the grille to see what I could of Berlin streets. There
were not many people on them, and the greater number were women and
in black, but the quietness of the place was nothing to what I was
to see later. There were a few luxury-selling shops, such as flower
sellers, that were closed, but the majority seemed able to get along.
That Teutonic spectacle, extraordinary but obviously sensible, of
women going about without hats could be seen everywhere. And then we
suddenly drove into the inevitable yard. Two gates unbarred and locked
themselves automatically as one passed.