Page:The Jail, Experiences in 1916.pdf/116

 es me any amusement. A quiet word produces no effect. Nobody has an idea of what a gang these Polish Jews are. You'd need lungs like a blacksmith's bellows." (It occurred to me that there were no Polish Jews in our cell, but Mr. Sponner shouted there all the same; if one day I should write about this jail, I will print his explanation,—besides, that was the only reason he gave it me).

We entered the isolation room for those with infectious diseases. A few beds were prepared there, even a washing basin was ready; now two tables had been thrust in and pushed up against the beds on one side, and on the other they had put some forms. There was ink on the tables, they lent us pens and distributed paper, envelopes and post-cards, according to the number of applications. It was then possible to write. Forty or fifty people crowded round the tables, others were waiting until a place and a pen were available, and a defence-corps man with a bayonet stood at the door. When a man had finished writing, he waited till the warder came, handed over what he had written and then he could return to the cell. He was not allowed to fasten down the envelope, the letter would be handed over to the examining superintendent who would read it through, would cross out any compromising words or sentences beyond recognition, and, if it was God's will, would send it on. If a man wrote in his native language, the superintendent had the letter read,—and in certain cases also translated,—by a reliable interpreter, a process which always took several days. Interpreters were few and they were burdened with work of a much more important character,—the translation of confiscated letters, documents, pamphlets, books and, in my case, of verses as well.

It was like the inside of a hive,—one knocked against the other, all possible and impossible things were being asked for, pens were scraping, men were abusing them and everything, the stench was