Against the wall hung a placard containing the prison laws.  I made a note of one or two of these.  For instance:  The prisoner must pay, for the “privilege” of entering, a sum equivalent to 20 cents of our money; for the privilege of leaving, when his term had expired, 20 cents; for every day spent in the prison, 12 cents; for fire and light, 12 cents a day.  The jailer furnishes coffee, mornings, for a small sum; dinners and suppers may be ordered from outside if the prisoner chooses—­and he is allowed to pay for them, too.

Here and there, on the walls, appeared the names of American students, and in one place the American arms and motto were displayed in colored chalks.

With the help of my friend I translated many of the inscriptions.

Some of them were cheerful, others the reverse.  I will give the reader a few specimens: 

“In my tenth semester (my best one), I am cast here through the complaints of others.  Let those who follow me take warning.”

“III TAGE OHNE Grund ANGEBLICH aus NEUGIERDE.”  Which is to say, he had a curiosity to know what prison life was like; so he made a breach in some law and got three days for it.  It is more than likely that he never had the same curiosity again.

(Translation.) “E.  Glinicke, four days for being too eager a spectator of a row.”

“F.  Graf Bismarck—­27-29, II, ’74.”  Which means that Count Bismarck, son of the great statesman, was a prisoner two days in 1874.

(Translation.) “R.  Diergandt—­for Love—­4 days.”  Many people in this world have caught it heavier than for the same indiscretion.

This one is terse.  I translate: 

“Four weeks for misinterpreted gallantry.”  I wish the sufferer had explained a little more fully.  A four-week term is a rather serious matter.

There were many uncomplimentary references, on the walls, to a certain unpopular dignitary.  One sufferer had got three days for not saluting him.  Another had “here two days slept and three nights lain awake,” on account of this same “Dr. K.”  In one place was a picture of Dr. K. hanging on a gallows.

Here and there, lonesome prisoners had eased the heavy time by altering the records left by predecessors.  Leaving the name standing, and the date and length of the captivity, they had erased the description of the misdemeanor, and written in its place, in staring capitals, “For theft!” or “For murder!” or some other gaudy crime.  In one place, all by itself, stood this blood-curdling word: 

“Rache!” [1]

1.  “Revenge!”

There was no name signed, and no date.  It was an inscription well calculated to pique curiosity.  One would greatly like to know the nature of the wrong that had been done, and what sort of vengeance was wanted, and whether the prisoner ever achieved it or not.  But there was no way of finding out these things.