EARLY PRISONS AND PRISONERS
Slow development of Prison Reform in Spain--Description of the old
Saladero--George Borrow's account of his arrest and imprisonment
there--Balseiro's escape and subsequent escapades--He seizes the two
sons of a wealthy Basque and holds them for ransom--His capture and
execution--The _valientes_ or bullies--The cruelties they practised
upon their weaker fellow prisoners--Don Rafael Salillas' description
of the Seville prison.
The prisons in Spain have been generally divided into three categories:
First, the _depositos correcionales_, the _cárceles_ or common gaols,
one in the capital of each province, to which were sent accused persons
and all sentenced to two years or less; second, the _presidios_ of
the Peninsula for convicts between two years and eight years; and
third, the African penal settlements for terms beyond eight years.
The character and condition of the bulk of these places of durance
long continued most unsatisfactory. In 1888 in an official report, the
Minister of Grace and Justice said, "The present state of the Spanish
prisons is not enchanting. They are neither safe nor wholesome, nor
adapted to the ends in view." This criticism was fully borne out by
the result of a general inquiry instituted. It was found that of a
total of four hundred and fifty-six of the correctional prisons only
one hundred and sixty-six were really fit for the purpose intended and
the remainder were installed in any buildings available. Some were very
ancient, dating back to the 16th century; and had once been palaces,
religious houses, castles or fortresses.
Many of these buildings were ancient monuments which suffered much
injury from the ignoble rôle to which they were put. A protest was
published by a learned society of Madrid against the misuse of the
superb ex-convents of San Gregorio in Valladolid and San Isidro del
Campo near Seville, and the mutilation by its convict lodgers of the
very beautiful gateway of the Templo de la Piedad in Guadalajara. The
installation of the prison at Palma de Mallorca all but hopelessly
impaired the magnificent cloisters of the convent of San Francisco, a
thirteenth century architectural masterpiece, and a perfect specimen of
the ogival form, like nothing else in Spain. Within a short period of
ten years several of these interesting old buildings were ruined. The
entire convent prison at Coruña sank, causing many casualties, loss of
life and serious wounds.
Sometimes the authorities hired private dwellings to serve as prisons,
or laid hands on whatever they could find. At Granada a slice of the
Court House was used, a dark triangle to which air came only from the
interior yard. The prison of Allariz at Orense was on the ground floor
of a house in the street, having two windows looking directly on to
it, guarded by a grating with bars so far apart that a reasonably thin
man could slip through. One of the worst features of many of these
ancient prisons was their location in the very heart of the towns with
communication to the street. Friends gathered at the _rejas_ outside,
and the well known picture of flirtation at the prison window was
drawn from life. A common sight also was the outstretched hand of the
starving prisoner imploring alms from the charitable, for there was no
regular or sufficient supply of provisions within. Free access was also
possible when the domestic needs of the interior took the prisoners to
the public well in the street.
The Carmona gaol in Seville was for years half in ruins; no sunlight
reached any part of it with the exception of two of the yards; the
dungeons had no ventilation except by a hole in their doors; an open
sewer ran through the gaol, the floors were always wet, fleas abounded,
as also rats, beetles and cockroaches; cooking was done in one corner
of the exercising yard and clothes were washed in the other. The
removal of the gaol was ordered and plans for a new building prepared
in 1864, but they were pigeon-holed until 1883, then sent back to be
revised, and the project is still delayed. The Colmenar prison of
Malaga was always under water in heavy rain, and although simple
repairs would have rectified this, nothing was done. The prison of Leon
was condemned in 1878 as unfit for human habitation, and its alcalde
(governor) stated that it had been reported for a century or more that
it wanted light, air and sanitary arrangements; typhoid was endemic
and three alcaldes had died of zymotic disease in a few years. It
was generally denounced as "a poisonous pesthouse, a judicial burial
ground." The Totana prison of Murcia was not properly a prison, but
only a range of warehouses and shops fit for the storage of grain
and herbs, but wholly unsuitable to lodge human beings. The district
governor speaking of the Infiesto prison at Oviedo in 1853 wrote:
"Humanity shudders at the horrible aspect of this detestable place."
At Cartagena the common gaol was on the ground floor of the _presidio_
or convict prison. Here the innocent, still untried prisoners occupied
a dark, damp den, enduring torments of discomfort, speedily losing
health and strength, and exposed by its ruinous condition to the
extremes of heat and cold in the varying seasons. Females were lodged
on a lower floor, darker and closer and even exposed to the worst
temptations. The convicts of the _presidio_ had free access to their
prison and immorality could not be prevented; no amount of supervision
(and there was really none) could have checked the moral contamination
more easily conveyed than the physical. These painful facts may be
read in an official report dated October, 1877, and are practically the
same as those detailed in the famous indictment of John Howard just a
century earlier.[9]
[9] "Vida Penal en Espana," by Rafael Salillas, Madrid, 1888.
Many of the makeshift prisons mentioned above were located in the very
heart of towns and were without boundary walls or means of separation
from the public, and two hundred and sixty-four had windows giving upon
the streets. It was impossible to ensure safe custody so limited was
the supervision, so insecure and ruinous the state of these imperfect
prisons. Escapes had been of very frequent occurrence, but the total
number could not be stated owing to the absence of accurate records
from year to year. One authority gave the annual average of escapes
as thirty-four, ranging over five successive years. They were greatly
facilitated by the slack, slipshod system of discipline and the
careless guard kept at the gates through which crowds constantly passed
in and out. Friends admitted wholesale to visit prisoners brought in
disguises and easily helped them to evade the vigilance of warders and
keepers. Escapes were most numerous in the small gaols,--about three
to one when compared to those from the _presidios_,--and were often
effected on the way to gaol through the neglect or connivance of the
escort, especially when the journey was made on foot and officers in
charge willingly consented to linger on the road in order to enjoy
themselves in the taverns and drinking shops. They even allowed their
prisoners to pay lengthened visits to their own homes if situated
anywhere near.
A famous escape took place, _en masse_, in one of the prisons on the
occasion of a theatrical performance given by the prisoners in honour
of the governor's birthday. Permission had been duly accorded and the
function was organised on an imposing scale. The stage was erected in
an open space, scenery provided and a fine curtain or act drop behind
which the usual preparations were made. These had not gone beyond
rehearsal, however. All was ready to "ring up," the prison audience all
seated, enduring with increased impatience and dissatisfaction the long
wait which seemed and was actually endless. At last the authorities
interposed and the governor sent a messenger behind the curtain with
a peremptory order to begin. There was no company. Every single soul,
manager and actors had disappeared under cover of the curtain. A great
hole or gap had been made in the outer wall, through which all of the
performers had passed out to freedom.
Numerous as are the escapes, recaptures are also frequent. That fine
corps, the _guardias civiles_, which constitutes the rural police of
Spain, always so active in the prevention and suppression of crime, has
been highly successful in the pursuit of fugitives, few of whom remain
at large for any length of time. Travellers in Spain, especially in
the country districts, must have been struck with the fine appearance
of these stalwart champions of the law. They are all old soldiers, well
trained and disciplined, ever on the side of order, never mixing in
politics, and conspicuous for their loyalty to the existing régime.
The most disgraceful of the old prisons were in Madrid. The Saladero
which survived until very recently had been once an abattoir and
salting place of pigs. But it replaced one more ancient and even worse
in every aspect. The earlier construction is described by a Spanish
writer, Don Francisco Lastres, as the most meagre, the darkest,
dirtiest place imaginable. It had yet a deeper depth, an underground
dungeon, commonly called "el Infierno," hell itself, in which light was
so scarce that when new comers arrived, the old occupants could only
make out their faces by striking matches, manufactured from scraps of
linen steeped in grease saved from their soup or salad oil. When the
gaol was emptied it was so encrusted with abominable filth that to
clean it was out of the question and the whole place was swept bodily
out of existence.
This must have been the prison in which George Borrow was confined when
that enterprising Englishman was arrested for endeavouring to circulate
the Bible in Spain, as the agent and representative of the British
Bible Society in 1835 and the following years. His experiences as told
by himself constitute one of the most thrilling books of adventure in
the English language, and his strangely interesting personality will
long be remembered and admired. He had led a very varied life, had
wandered the world over as the friend and associate of those curious
people, the gipsies, whose "crabbed" language he spoke with fluency
and to whose ways and customs he readily conformed. Readers whom his
"Lavengro" and "The Romany Rye" have delighted will bear witness to the
daring and intrepid character which carried him safely through many
difficult and dangerous situations. He was a man of great stature, well
trained in the art of self defence, as he proved by his successful
contest with the "Flaming Tinker" described in "Lavengro." The bigoted
Spanish authorities caught a Tartar in Borrow. It was easy to arrest
him as he was nothing loth to go to gaol; he had long been thinking, as
he tells us, "of paying a visit to the prison, partly in the hope of
being able to say a few words of Christian instruction to the criminals
and partly with a view to making certain investigations in the robber
language of Spain." But, once in, he refused to come out. He took
high ground; his arrest had been unlawful; he had never been tried
or condemned and nothing would satisfy him but a full and complete
apology from the Spanish government. He was strongly backed up by the
British Ambassador and he was gratified in the end by the almost abject
surrender of the authorities. But he spent three weeks within the
walls and we have to thank his indomitable spirit for a glimpse into
the gloomy recesses of the Carcel de la Corte, the chief prison, at
that time, of the capital of Spain.
The arrest was made openly in one of the principal streets of Madrid by
a couple of _alguazils_ who carried their prisoner to the office of the
_corregidor_, or chief magistrate, where he was abruptly informed that
he was to be forthwith committed to gaol. He was led across the Plaza
Mayor, the great square so often the scene in times past of the _autos
da fé_. Borrow, as he went, cast his eyes at the balcony of the city
hall where, on one occasion, "the last of the Austrian line in Spain
(Philip II) sat, and, after some thirty heretics of both sexes had been
burnt by fours and fives, wiped his face perspiring with heat and black
with smoke and calmly inquired, '_No hay mas?_'" (No more to come?) for
which exemplary proof of patience he was much applauded by his priests
and confessors, who subsequently poisoned him.
"We arrived at the prison," Borrow goes on, "which stands in a narrow
street not far from the great square. We entered a dusty passage at
the end of which was a wicket. There was an exchange of words and in a
few moments I found myself within the prison of Madrid, in a kind of
corridor which overlooked at a considerable altitude what appeared to
be a court from which arose a hubbub of voices and occasional wild
shouts and cries...." Several people sat here, one of whom received the
warrant of committal, perused it with attention and, rising, advanced
towards Borrow.
"What a figure! He was about forty years of age and ... in height might
have been some six feet two inches had his body not been curved much
after the fashion of the letter S. No weasel ever appeared lanker;
his face might have been called handsome, had it not been for his
extraordinary and portentous meagreness; his nose was like an eagle's
bill, his teeth white as ivory, his eyes black (oh, how black!) and
fraught with a strange expression; his skin was dark and the hair
of his head like the plumage of a raven. A deep quiet smile dwelt
continually on his features, but with all the quiet it was a cruel
smile, such a one as would have graced the countenance of a Nero.
"'_Caballero_,' he said, 'allow me to introduce myself as the alcaide
of this prison.... I am to have the honour of your company for a time,
a short time doubtless, beneath this roof; I hope you will banish
every apprehension from your mind. I am charged to treat you with all
respect, a needless charge and _Caballero_, you will rather consider
yourself here as a guest than as a prisoner. Pray issue whatever
commands you may think fit to the turnkeys and officials as if they
were your own servants. I will now conduct you to your apartment. We
invariably reserve it for cavaliers of distinction. No charge will be
made for it although the daily hire is not unfrequently an ounce of
gold.'
"This speech was delivered in pure sonorous Castilian with calmness,
gravity and almost dignity and would have done honour to a gentleman
of high birth. Now, who in the name of wonder, was this alcaide? One
of the greatest rascals in all Spain. A fellow who more than once by
his grasping cupidity and his curtailment of the miserable rations of
the prisoners caused an insurrection in the court below only to be
repressed by bloodshed and the summoning of military aid; a fellow of
low birth who five years previously had been a drummer to a band of
Royalist volunteers."
The room allotted to Borrow was large and lofty, but totally destitute
of any kind of furniture except a huge wooden pitcher containing
the day's allowance of water. But no objection was made to Borrow's
providing for himself and a messenger was forthwith despatched to his
lodgings to fetch bed and bedding and all necessaries, with which
came a supply of food, and the new prisoner soon made himself fairly
comfortable. He ate heartily, slept soundly and rejoiced next day to
hear that this illegal arrest and confinement of a British subject
was already causing the high-handed minister who had ordered it, much
uneasiness and embarrassment. Borrow steadfastly refused to go free
without full and ample reparation for the violence and injustice
done to him. "Take notice," he declared, "that I will not quit this
prison till I have received full satisfaction for having been sent
hither uncondemned. You may expel me if you please, but any attempt
to do so shall be resisted with all the bodily strength of which I am
possessed." In the end the _amende_ was made in an official document
admitting that he had been imprisoned on insufficient grounds, and
Borrow went out after three weeks' incarceration, during which he
learned much concerning the prison and the people it contained.
He refrains from a particular description of the place. "It would
be impossible," he says, "to describe so irregular and rambling an
edifice. Its principal features consisted of two courts, the one
behind the other, in which the great body of the prisoners took air
and recreation. Three large vaulted dungeons or _calabozos_ occupied
the three sides of the (first) court ... roomy enough to contain
respectively from one hundred to one hundred and fifty prisoners who
were at night secured with lock and bar, but during the day were
permitted to roam about the courts as they thought fit. The second
court was considerably larger than the first, though it contained but
two dungeons, horribly filthy and disgusting, used for the reception of
the lower grades of thieves. Of the two dungeons one was if possible
yet more horrible than the other. It was called the _gallinería_ or
'chicken coop' because within it every night were pent up the young
fry of the prison, wretched boys from seven to fifteen years of age,
the greater part almost in a state of nudity. The common bed of all
the inmates of these dungeons was the ground, between which and their
bodies nothing intervened save occasionally a _manta_ or horse cloth or
perhaps a small mattress; this latter luxury was however of exceedingly
rare occurrence.
"Besides the _calabozos_ connected with the courts were other dungeons
in various parts of the prison, some of them quite dark, intended for
the reception of those whom it might be deemed expedient to treat with
peculiar severity. There was likewise a ward set apart for females.
Connected with the principal corridor were many small apartments where
resided prisoners confined for debt or for political offences, and,
lastly, there was a small _capilla_ or chapel in which prisoners cast
for death passed the last three days of their existence in the company
of their ghostly advisers.
"I shall not forget my first Sunday in prison. Sunday is the gala
day ... and whatever robber finery is to be found in it is sure to
be exhibited on that day of holiness. There is not a set of people
in the world more vain than robbers in general, more fond of cutting
a figure whenever they have an opportunity. The famous Jack Sheppard
delighted in sporting a suit of Genoese velvet and when he appeared in
public generally wore a silver hilted sword by his side.... Many of the
Italian bandits go splendidly decorated, the cap alone of the Haram
Pacha, the head of the cannibal gipsy band which infested Hungary at
the conclusion of the 18th century, was adorned with gold and jewels to
the value of several thousand guilders.... The Spanish robbers are as
fond of display as their brethren of other lands, and whether in prison
or out are never so happy as when decked out in a profusion of white
linen in which they can loll in the sun or walk jauntily up and down."
To this day, snow-white linen is an especial mark of foppery in the
Spanish peasant. To put on a clean shirt is considered a sufficient
and satisfactory substitute for a bath and in the humblest house a
white table cloth is provided for meals and clean sheets for the
beds. Borrow gives a graphic picture of the "tip-top thieves" he came
across. "Neither coat nor jacket was worn over the shirt, the sleeves
of which were wide and flowing, only a waistcoat of green or blue silk
with an abundance of silver buttons which are intended more for show
than use, as the waistcoat is seldom buttoned. Then there are wide
trousers something after the Turkish fashion; around the waist is a
crimson _faja_ or girdle and about the head is tied a gaudily coloured
handkerchief from the loom of Barcelona. Light pumps and silk stockings
complete the robber's array.
"Amongst those who particularly attracted my attention were a father
and son; the former a tall athletic figure, of about thirty, by
profession a housebreaker and celebrated through Madrid for the
peculiar dexterity he exhibited in his calling. He was in prison for
an atrocious murder committed in the dead of night in a house in
Carabanchel (a suburb of Madrid), in which his only accomplice was his
son, a child under seven years of age. The imp was in every respect the
counterpart of his father though in miniature. He too wore the robber
shirt sleeves, the robber waistcoat with the silver buttons, the robber
kerchief round his brow and, ridiculously enough, a long Manchegan
knife in the crimson faja. He was evidently the pride of the ruffian
father who took all imaginable care of him, would dandle him on his
knee, and would occasionally take the cigar from his own mustachioed
lips and insert it in the urchin's mouth. The boy was the pet of the
court, for the father was one of the 'bullies' of the prison and those
who feared his prowess and wished to pay their court to him were always
fondling the child."
Borrow when in the "Carcel de la Corte" renewed his acquaintance with
one, Balseiro, whom he had met in a low tavern frequented by thieves
and bull fighters on a previous visit to Madrid. One of these, Sevilla
by name, professed deep admiration for the Englishman and backed him to
know more than most people of the "crabbed" Gitano language. A match
was made with this Balseiro who claimed to have been in prison half
his life and to be on most intimate terms with the gipsies. When Borrow
came across him for the second time he was confined in an upper story
of the prison in a strong room with other malefactors. There was no
mistaking this champion criminal with his small, slight, active figure
and his handsome features, "but they were those of a demon." He had
recently been found guilty of aiding and abetting a celebrated thief,
Pepe Candelas, in a desperate robbery perpetrated in open daylight on
no less a person than the Queen's milliner, a Frenchwoman, whom they
bound in her own shop, from which they took goods to the amount of five
or six thousand dollars. Candelas had already suffered for his crime,
but Balseiro, whose reputation was the worse of the two, had saved his
life by the plentiful use of money, and the capital sentence had in his
case been commuted to twenty years' hard labour in the _presidio_ of
Malaga.
When Borrow condoled with him, Balseiro laughed it off, saying that
within a few weeks he would be transferred and could at any time escape
by bribing his guards. But he was not content to wait and joined with
several fellow convicts who succeeded in breaking through the roof of
the prison and getting away. He returned forthwith to his evil courses
and soon committed a number of fresh and very daring robberies in and
around Madrid. At length dissatisfied with the meagre results and the
smallness of the plunder he secured, Balseiro planned a great stroke
to provide himself with sufficient funds to leave the country and live
elsewhere in luxurious idleness.
A Basque named Gabira, a man of great wealth, held the post of
comptroller of the Queen's household. He had two sons, handsome boys
of twelve and fourteen years of age respectively, who were being
educated at a school in Madrid. Balseiro, well aware of the father's
strong affection for his children, resolved to make it subservient
to his rapacity. He planned to carry off the boys and hold them for
ransom at an enormous price. Two of his confederates, well-dressed and
of respectable appearance, drove up to the school and presenting a
forged letter, purporting to be written by the father, persuaded the
schoolmaster to let them go out for a jaunt in the country. They were
carried off to a hiding place of Balseiro's in a cave some five miles
from Madrid in a wild unfrequented spot between the Escorial and the
village of Torre Lodones. Here the two children were sequestered in
the safekeeping of their captors, while Balseiro remained in Madrid to
conduct negotiations with the bereaved father. But Gabira was a man
of great energy and determination and altogether declined to agree to
the terms proposed. He invoked the power of the authorities instead,
and, at his request, parties of horse and foot soldiers were sent to
scour the country and the cave was soon discovered, with the children,
who had been deserted by their guards in terror at the news of the
rigorous search instituted. Further search secured the capture of the
accomplices and they were identified by their young victims. Balseiro,
when his part in the plot became known, fled from the capital but was
speedily caught, tried, and with his associates suffered death on the
scaffold. Gabira with his two children was present at the execution.
A brief description of the old Saladero, which has at last disappeared
off the face of the earth, may be of interest. It stood at the top
of the Santa Barbara hill on the left hand side, in external aspect
a half-ruined edifice tottering to its fall, propped and buttressed,
at one corner quite past mending, at another showing rotten cement
and plaster with its aged weather-worn walls stained with great black
patches of moisture and decay. A poor and wretched place outside with
no architectural pretensions, its interior was infinitely worse. It
was entered by a wide entrance not unlike that of an ancient country
inn or hostelry with a broken-down wooden staircase, leading to a
battered doorway of rotten timbers. The portals passed, the prison
itself was reached, a series of underground cellars with vaulted roofs
purposely constructed, as it seemed, to exclude light and prevent
ventilation, permeated constantly with fetid odours and abominable
foul exhalations from the perpetual want of change of atmosphere or
circulation of fresh air. Yet human beings were left to rot in these
nauseous and pestiferous holes for two or three years continuously. At
times the detention lasted five years on account of the disgracefully
slow procedure in the law courts and this although trials often ended
in acquittal or a verdict of non-responsibility for the criminal
act charged. Many of the unfortunate wretches subjected to these
interminable delays and waiting judgment, therefore still innocent in
the eyes of the law, were yet herded with those already convicted of
the most heinous offences.
This neglect of the rules, generally accepted as binding upon civilised
governments in the treatment of those whom the law lays by the heels,
produced deplorable results. The gaol fever, that ancient scourge which
once ravaged ill-kept prisons and swept away thousands, but long ago
eliminated from proper places of durance, survived in the Saladero
of Madrid until quite a recent date. Forty cases occurred as late as
1876 and zymotic disease was endemic in the prison. It was also a
hotbed of vice, where indiscriminate association of all categories,
good, bad and indifferent--the worst always in the ascendent, fostered
and developed criminal instincts and multiplied criminals of the
most daring and accomplished kind. When, with a storm of indignant
eloquence, an eminent Spanish deputy, Don Manuel Silvela, denounced
the Saladero in the Cortes and took the lead in insisting upon its
demolition, he pointed out its many shortcomings. It was in the last
degree unhealthy; it was nearly useless as a place of detention, for
the bold or ingenious prisoner laughed at its restraints and escapes
took place daily to the number of fourteen and sixteen at a time. If,
however, with increased precautions it was possible to keep prisoners
secure within the walls, nothing could save them from one another.
Contamination was widespread and unceasing in a mass of men left
entirely to themselves without regular occupation, without industrial
labour or improving education and with no outlet for their energies but
demoralising talk and vicious practices. Not strangely the Saladero
became a great criminal centre, a workshop and manufactory of false
money, where strange frauds were devised, such as the _entierro_[10] or
suggested revelation of hidden treasure, the well known Spanish swindle
which has had ramifications almost all over the world.
[10] See _post_, p. 161.
An independent witness, nevertheless, speaking from experience, the
same George Borrow already quoted, has a good word to say for the
inmates of Spanish gaols. He was greatly surprised at their orderly
conduct and quiet demeanour. "They had their occasional bursts of
wild gaiety; their occasional quarrels which they were in the habit
of settling in a corner of the interior court with their long knives,
the result not infrequently being death or a dreadful gash in the face
or abdomen; but upon the whole their conduct was infinitely superior
to what might have been expected from the inmates of such a place.
Yet this was not the result of coercion or any particular care which
was exercised over them; for perhaps in no part of the world are
prisoners so left to themselves and so utterly neglected as in Spain,
the authorities having no further anxiety about them than to prevent
their escape, not the slightest attention being paid to their moral
conduct,--not a thought bestowed on their health, comfort or mental
improvement whilst within the walls. Yet in this prison of Madrid, and
I may say in Spanish prisons in general (for I have been an inmate
of more than one), the ears of the visitor are never shocked with
horrid blasphemy and obscenity as in those of some other countries and
more particularly in civilised France, nor are his eyes outraged or
himself insulted as he would assuredly be were he to look down upon the
courts from the galleries of the Bicêtre (in Paris)." And yet in this
prison of Madrid were some of the most desperate characters in Spain;
ruffians who had committed acts of cruelty and atrocity sufficient to
make one shudder with horror. Gravity and sedateness are the leading
characteristics of the Spaniards, and the worst robber, except in those
moments when he is engaged in his occupation, (and then no one is
more sanguinary, pitiless and wolfishly eager for booty), is a being
who can be courteous and affable and who takes pleasure in conducting
himself with sobriety and decorum. Borrow thought so well of these
fellow-prisoners that he was willing to entertain them at dinner in his
own private apartment in the gaol, and the governor made no objection
to knocking off their irons temporarily so that they might enjoy the
meal in comfort and convenience.
A more intimate acquaintance with the inner life of the Spanish
gaols has been accorded by a modern writer, Don Rafael Salillas. He
summarises all its evils in the single word "money." All disorders
and shortcomings, the corruption, the absence of discipline, the
cruelties perpetrated, the prevailing license, the shameful immorality
constantly winked at or openly permitted, have had one and the same
origin, the use and misuse of the private funds the prisoners have at
their disposal. Until quite a recent date, everything, even temporary
liberty, had its price in Spanish prisons. This vicious system dated
from the times when the "alcaide" or head of an establishment, the
primary purpose of which was the safe custody of offenders, bought
his place and was permitted to recoup himself as best he could out
of his charges. The same abominable practice was at one time almost
a world-wide practice, but nowhere has it flourished so largely as
in Spain. No attempt was made to check it; it was acknowledged and
practically deemed lawful.
In an ancient work on the prison of Seville, dating from the sixteenth
century, the writer, Christobal de Chaves, classifies the interior
under three heads; the spaces entered respectively by three doors
of gold, silver or copper, each metal corresponding to the profits
drawn from each. Imprisonment might be made more tolerable by payment
regulated according to a fixed tariff. For a certain sum any prisoner
might go home to sleep, he might purchase food where little, if any,
was provided, he might escape fetters or purchase "easement of irons,"
as in the old English prisons. To enhance the value of the relief
afforded worse hardships were inflicted at the outset. Restraint was
made most irksome in the beginning of imprisonment. The fetters were
then the heaviest and most varied, the deepest and vilest dungeons were
the first quarters allotted. A plain hint of relaxation and alleviation
was given, to be obtained at a price and the converse made equally
certain. Increased pain and discomfort were the penalty for those who
would not, or, worse still, who could not produce the extortionate sums
demanded. Tasks imposed were rendered more difficult; it was a common
practice to oil or grease the rope by which water was raised from a
well, so that it should slip through the fingers and intensify the
labour.
When authority had sold its good will or wrung the life blood from its
victims they were handed over to the tender mercies of their fellow
prisoners, the self-constituted masters and irresponsible tyrants in
the place. The most brutal and overbearing ruled supreme within the
walls and levied taxes by the right of the strongest. The "garnish" of
the old British prisons, the enforced payments to gain a first footing,
was exacted to the last in Spain from all new arrivals and was called
"_cobrar el patente_," _i. e._ collecting the dues. To hesitate or
refuse payment was promptly punished by cruel blows; the defaulters
were flogged; they got the _culebrazo_ (whipping) with a rope kept for
the purpose. The quite penniless were despoiled of their clothing and
consoled with the remark that it was better for them to take to their
beds because they were naked, than on account of injuries and wounds,
or they wrapped themselves up in some ragged cloak infested with fleas.
The bullies or _valientes_ were not interfered with by the authorities
but rather supported by them. In fact they played into each other's
hands. Both worked their wicked will upon their victims and in their
own way,--the authorities by right of the legal powers they wielded,
the master-prisoners by force of character and the strength of their
muscles. Both squeezed out money like juice from a lemon, robbed,
swindled or stole all that came in their way.
Guzman de Alfarache, the typical thief of the time of Philip II, whose
life and adventures are told by the author of the most famous of the
picaresque novels, describes his journey from Seville to Cadiz to
embark upon one of the galleys which made up the naval power of Spain.
"As we started on the road, we came upon a swine-herd with a number of
young pigs, which we surrounded and captured, each of us taking one.
The man howled to our commissary that he should make us restore them,
but he turned a deaf ear and we stuck to our plunder. At the first
halt we laid hands on other goods and concealed them inside one of the
pigs when the commissary interposed, discovered the things and took
possession of them himself."
The alcaide of the prison turned everything to profit. He sold the
Government stores, bedding and clothing to the prison bullies who
retailed the pieces to individual prisoners. He trafficked in the
disciplinary processes, accepting bribes to overlook misconduct, and
pandered to the worst vices of the inmates by allowing visitors of
both sexes to have free access to them and to bring in all manner of
prohibited articles, unlimited drink, and dangerous weapons, knives and
daggers and other arms for use in attack and defence in the quarrels
and murderous conflicts continually occurring.
A fruitful source of profit was the sale of privileged offices, permits
to hawk goods and to trade within the precincts of the prison. Salillas
when he visited the Seville prison not many years ago, saw numbers of
prisoners selling cigars and cigarettes in the yards, various articles
of food, such as _gazpacho_, the popular salad of Andalusia, compounded
of oil and bread soaked in water, and drinks including _aguardiente_,
that powerful Spanish spirit akin to Hollands. Some kept gaming tables
and paid a tax on each game and its profits and especially when the
"King" was turned up at "Monte."
Salillas publishes a list of prices that ruled for places, privileges
and boons conceded to the prisoners. To become a "_cabo de vara_," a
"corporal carrying the stick" or wand of office, cost from eight to
sixteen dollars. "Who and what was the _Cabo de Vara_?" he asks and
answers the question. "A hybrid creature the offspring of such diverse
parents as the law and crime; half murderer, half robber, who after
living in defiance of the law is at least prevented from doing further
harm in freedom, is locked up and entrusted with executive authority
over companions who have passed through the same evil conditions and
are now at his mercy. He is half galley-slave chained to the oar, half
public functionary wearing the badge of officialdom and armed with a
stick to enforce his authority. He represents two very opposite sets of
ideas; on the one hand that of good order and the maintenance of penal
discipline, on the other that of a natural inclination towards the
wrong doing in which he has been a practitioner and for which he is, in
a way, enduring the penalty. To succeed he must possess some strongly
marked personal qualities; he should be able to bully and impose his
will upon those subjected to his influence, overbearing, masterful,
swaggering, ready to take the law into his own hands and insist upon
its observance as he chooses to interpret its dictates."
The post of hospital orderly or cook or laundry-man could be secured
for about the same price, while a small fee to the prison surgeon
gained a perfectly sound man admission to hospital for treatment he
did not need, but in which he was much more comfortable than in the
ordinary prison. The place of prison barber was to be bought for
four dollars; employment as a shoemaker two dollars; relief from a
punishment ordered three dollars; permission to pay a visit home, four
dollars. These prices were not definitely settled and unchangeable.
Where a certain profit could be extracted from a particular post such
as the charge of the canteen it was put up to auction and knocked down
to the highest bidder.