"Celia continuata dulcescit." A cell becomes more sweet as it is more faithfully dwelt in.

Professor van Ginneken rather strongly propagated the opinion that the Imitation has a pessimistic out-look, but in regard to dwelling in the cell, the writer really has an optimistic view, and I myself, as an optimist by birth, have experienced here anew how gladly Thomas à Kempis, and those in whose spirit he wrote, have looked upon the solitary life in a silent cell, after having themselves lived like that.

Well, being brought into a prison cell late at night, the door being heavily closed behind you with locks and keys, you stand and feel rather strange for a moment. The comic side of this affair, my going to jail in my old age, urged me to laugh rather than to cry, but strange it was all the same. There I stood. I arrived rather late, at least for a prison; about half past seven. By then it was time for bed, and labor was finished. I was not expected. Actually no cell had been made ready for me. But then there is not so much to prepare. I was given a jar of water, a towel and also a piece of cloth, to clean something or for serviette, I do not know. As there had been a phone call that I still had to eat, I received a small loaf, which was also meant to do for next morning, and a tin cup of skim milk; on the table was a small pewter wash-bowl with some water; on the bed -- a straw mattress -- two blankets; I had to manage for myself. Though lights in other cells are switched off at eight o'clock, my light was kept on about half an hour longer.

It was not an Inferno, my small cell, number 577. And while entering there I did not read over the door: "Abandon hope all ye who enter here." It did not look ominous, and when the assistant warden pointed out to the soldier that the cell was not ready, the latter said: "It is only for one night."

I did not receive a sheet. I always happen to be unbearably irritated by the tickling of woollen blankets at my head. To arrange things I turned the clean towel down over the upper end of the blankets. On the bedstead were two straw mattresses, one upon the other. In most cells there are two prisoners, in some of them even three. In those cases one of the mattresses must be put on the floor, I think. I experienced that already in my cell at Arnhem where a bedstead was missing. To be quite honest, those straw mattresses and blankets disgust me a bit when they are to be used without any sheets. So for the first night I kept my stockings on. Next morning I received a sheet and a towel. I said to the young man -- he was also a prisoner but he was allowed or had to work a little -- that he was late in bringing the sheet, because I would leave that day. "I would take it,,' he said kindly. "I was only going to be here for three days and it looks as though I'll be here three years." He foresaw things better than I did, and I am very glad to have my sheet and my second towel.

For a pillow I had nothing else but a straw bolster, which also causes some discomfort to my head. Having spent a sleepless night at Arnhem, and desiring to be as fresh as possible next day at the prolonged trial, I invented something in order to be more comfortable. I had taken a jersey undervest with me. I folded this around the pillow and put a new towel over it. It began to have the appearance of a soft pillow. It could have been worse. Every night now I make my bed in this way. Since I cannot go on wearing my socks for ever, I put my second towel over the foot of the mattress, stretch the sheet over myself, and then the two blankets and, for the first days, when it was pretty cold, my duffel greatcoat also. After all this, little fault could be found with my bed. In prison this matter is rather important, seeing that one has to go off to bed at eight o'clock and to rise about seven o'clock in the morning. It is out of the question that I could sleep all that time, but the light is switched off at eight and switched on only at seven o'clock: where can one stay if not in bed?

My little cell itself is not so bad: a tiny bit of a room with the bed occupying the whole breadth. That defines the breadth of the cell, which may be about 1 m. 80, 1 m. 90: six times the length of this piece of paper and a small piece besides (till the mark). The length is nearly double, approximately twelve times this paper, plus a small piece besides (till the mark at the foot of this page). The height is nearly the same as the length. Two thirds of the side walls are made in clean brick work. I count sixty five bricks in the height with a rather thick seam; around the bed the wall is plastered; that is tidier. The walls are a light yellow up to the height of the door; above that they are white. They look rather neat. The door, in the middle of the front wall, is painted brown. Right in the centre is a little square iron shutter through which the food is handed.

Over that shutter is an iron peephole, but I have not seen it open yet. On the first night I thought there was no window, but the next day I perceived that this was to be found high over the door towards the ceiling, taking the whole breadth of the cell and being divided into three parts. The middle part is easily opened by means of a handle. So the light is abundant and the possibility for ventilation excellent. But the windows do not show me anything but the sky; now and then I see a sea gull skimming by. Till now the windows are full of the most beautiful frost decorations for the greater part of the day, although the sun and the cen-tral heating see to it that at least sometimes there are here and there free spots of light. Yes, there also is central heating. At some height over the bed run three heating pipes. They do not give very much warmth. On the coldest days I shiver a bit practically all day long, but they take away the worst cold, and it can very well be endured. At least I do not think it is cold enough to put on my coat, even when sitting.

There is a stone floor, made of fairly big blue tiles, but in front of the door was a good mat, which I put under the table during the day and beside my bed at night. "Table" is actually a grandiloquent name. It is a tip-up table on the wall at the left, a bit smaller than the opened newspaper which serves as a table cloth. I lay my table with the "Vaderland"; it shows its nice title ("Fatherland") on both sides. There has to be something appealing in such a bare cell! Before me I have a small altar, or whatever you may like to call it. I found a paper checkerboard in my cell with checkers. I don't think I shall start playing, but I also found a piece of packing-paper. I wrapped it around the board and using a nail from a cigar box -- one has to manage to get on, for I have been deprived of both knife and scissors -- I made three nicks in the packing-paper; in these nicks I put three holy pictures from my breviary. So in front of me I have the picture of Christ on the Cross, and although it is not full length, at least it is a nice bust with the wound of the Sacred Heart, and it is Fra Angelico, too! On one side of it I put St. Teresa with her motto: "To die or to suffer," and on the other side St. John of the Cross with his: "To suffer and to be contemned." I also found two pins and I used one for putting under the three pic-tures a paper with St. Teresa's motto, "Nada te turbe, etc." in the middle: "Gott so nah und ferne, Gott ist immer da;" and lastly my favourite maxim: "Prenez les jours comme ils arrivent." I had no stray picture of Our Lady in my breviary and surely her image ought to be in a Carmelite's cell. I managed this too. In the part of the breviary we are using now, and which was luckily left to me, is the beautiful picture of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. So now my breviary is standing wide open on the topmost of the two corner shelves, to the left of the bed. When sitting at my table I only have to look a bit to the right and I can see her beautiful picture; while lying in bed my eye is first-ly caught by that star-bearing Madonna, Hope of all Carmelites.

I have no chair, only a three-legged bench, which is rather comfortable. If I need a back-rest -- for one gets more tired here by doing nothing than by doing hard work at home -- I put my bench next to the table near the wall and then I have a most comfortable arm-chair. There is not much to be told about the rest of the furniture, and it is soon counted: a broom and dustpan for tidying up my cell, a small pail and a floor cloth, a wastepaper basket, a big pail with a useful lid which is carried away once daily, and a blue stone jar of water. Lastly, there is a tin soap dish and a row of three pegs. The lamp is put over the tip-up table on the wall. It is switched on and off from outside.

"Beata solitudo, blessed solitude." I am already quite at home in this small cell. I have not yet got bored here, just the contrary. I am alone, certainly, but never was Our Lord so near to me. I could shout for joy because he made me find him again entirely, without me being able to go to see people, nor people me. Now he is my only refuge, and I feel secure and happy. I would stay here for ever, if he so dis-posed. Seldom have I been so happy and content.

Scheveningen. January 27, 1942