THE JAIL
somebody whom everybody looks after as if it mattered how you die.
Frank again collected my observations for the report and concluded: "The poem is not an accusation against the State, but against human society," and with his cold eyes he looked inquiringly to see whether I agreed.
Perhaps after all I had been unjust to him; perhaps he is only—
Third crime: To Dr. Frant. Mesany:
Were I king, I would reward you
With a wealth of honour's garlands;
With Mauritius, Theobaldus,
Then a missive in my writing
Would append a barony
To your name—
I translated,—this time there was not a single divergency in Frank's translation. But the commentary and the reason why I wrote the poem were entirely new to him. In February 1913 Dr. Mesany had operated on me, and with unexampled care and devotion had nursed me back to complete health by the end of April. When my interrupted literary activity was renewed, it could begin in no other way than by this expression of thanks to the man who had saved my life. His position in society was at that time extremely unpleasant. He and the woman he loved were living together without the sanction of the Church, and respectable persons of both sexes were highly indignant thereat; the Post Office made a point of returning letters adressed to his wife, if they bore his surname; in fact, public opinion in a provicial town had found its victim, which it condemned severely and mercilessly, as only such a tribunal can do. My friend suffered immoderately in consequence, and I knew all about it. And here was an opportunity to tell him how time-serving was the
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