THE JAIL
a certain journalist explained the cause of my arrest by saying that I wanted to get away,—to Switzerland. A poet and run off? No, a politician clears out,—that is the natural order of things, not a poet. I was there "for poems of a compromising nature," as Frank himself remarked on that occasion.
"The children?"
"They are ill. They have the measles."
"Remember me to them."
"Perhaps you would like some books?" suggested Frank. "You can have books brought to you—of course, I must look through them first."
"Thanks. I don't want any."
"But you used to say," declared my wife, "that if you were to be imprisoned, I should send you Molière."
"You could read Molière," announced Frank.
"No thanks."
Frank indicated to my wife by a gesture that she should send it to me all the same. And he drew out his watch...
I stood up. The ten minutes had elapsed. My wife could return to Prague again...
After a few days another visit. Madam M. L. also from Bohemia.
As the defence-corps men were leading me into the Tigergasse, I caught sight of Josefínka in one of the streets. Poor thing, she stood there and with wide-open eyes stared at her master.
Madam M. L. had three magnificent roses in her hand and she gave them to me.
"Excuse me" interfered Dr. Frank, "that is not allowed."
"But look, they are roses, there is nothing in them—"
"I am sorry, the regulations."
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