# The Jail/Chapter VII

VII.
​Through three high barred windows the light of the afternoon sun was visible. It did not enter, its radiance rested upon the walls and windows of the building opposite, of that building where in the December of the previous year I had spent a day as a witness in the trial of Dr. Kramář and associates. What is reflected from yonder, falls in here, and there is not much of it; here prevails the sober twilight of an overcast day. And it is cold here as in a cellar on summer days. In the whole room there are only two military beds, two tables, a few benches, on the walls a few barrack racks were fastened, each rack was crammed with bags, boxes, bundles, clothing, tin dishes, glasses and pieces of bread; from the hooks were suspended capes and towels; high up on the ceiling an electric lamp jutted forth, beneath the windows were piled up sacks of straw, three heaps with six or seven sacks on each—that was the whole equipment of my new dwelling-place. An official notice on the door announced that this was "Strenger Arrest für 9 Mann" (Close arrest for 9 men), now there were about twenty of us here. Of course, in peace time this room was ample for nine criminals, but now there was a war on, it was a time for economy and self-denial, we had to squeeze in together as best we could.
Prepared and fully armed I entered this place, but if it had not been for my friend Dušek, I do not know how I should have managed. Fate had already provided me with various ups and downs in life, but every time I fell from the third storey on the pavement, there always happened to be a straw mattress which somebody was carrying and which broke my fall. But that in room number 60 of the Viennese Military Jail I should fall right into the arms of Dušek, was one of the happiest chances which have occurred to me in the course of my misfortunes.
A man prepares and equips himself with good resolutions, with ​a heroic spirit, with a most firm will; he says to himself: Prison,—good; loss of liberty,—never mind; a jailer,—there must be one: a warder,—there must be one also,—but the reality comes and the prison turns out to be a military jail, a cold and dismal room; loss of liberty turns out to be a complete loss of your own personality; the jailer turns out to be a prison governor, and the warder a Beschliesser; the reality is cruel, coarse, uncouth, and a series of trifles of which you have never thought, here play a very important part.
​He told me about our fellow residents. There were Viennese, Italians, Serbs, Russians, soldiers and civilians, Aryans, Jews, orthodox believers. The room was a kind of clearing-station; four or five were a nucleus as it were, the rest arrived, remained for a few days and then moved out on to the first or second floor. He himself formed part of the nucleus, he had remained, so that he knew best who the fresh arrivals were. I should need clean linen, soap, a toothbrush and a spoon. The food was not fit to eat, I should have to buy substitutes for it from the provision dealer, for which money, a good deal of money, was necessary. The money had to be sent to the office, the prisoner was not allowed to have a single heller on him—in the office everything was reckoned out, and when the things were purchased, the superintendent of our floor handed them over. Everything that was not allowed there was done nevertheless; they read newspapers, played cards, each man had a pocket-knife, a pencil, paper; smoking was allowed only on Saturday afternoon and the whole day Sunday, but as I could see, smoking went on day after day, and from morning till evening, even at night as well. The money which was in the room was called "black",—from time to time the warder came, found it, and you parted with it for ever, but so far very little of it had been found. The same applied to knives, pencils, cigars, paper. The currency among the prisoners and the form of gratuity for all kinds of services consisted of cigars—in return for cigars itwas possible to obtain newspapers, rum, brandy, everything. Letters which arrived were censored by the examining superintendent, and in the same way, the letters were read which the natives of these parts sent away. Writing was allowed only on Sunday mornings under the supervision of the warder, the jailer or some authority set up by them. Visitors could be received only with the permission of the examining superintendent, who was present on ​such occasions, and as he was a German, the language spoken must be German. And such a superintendent often proceeded to Bohemia, either to hold a cross-examination, or to carry out a domiciliary search, or else to fetch back more malefactors, it was desirable that the visitors should apply in writing to know the day and hour when he could come.
A warder opened the door. It was Sergeant Sponner, of whom Dušek told me that he barked but did not bite; he called out my name. It was for my cross-examination.
I went.