# The Jail/Chapter XXIII

XXIII.
Molière is not a hard and unrelenting judge like Shakespeare. He only holds a mirror up to his age, watches it regarding itself ​there, smiles when he sees it frowning and bursts into loud laughter whenever it indulges in a fit of offended wrath. The principle of its life is to enjoy life. To enjoy it as much, as widely, as long as possible. That is why not even old age is to be a hindrance to enjoyment. It wears no beard in which time would so gladly weave its white autumn threads, and in order to escape time's revenge on its tresses, it powders them or replaces them by a wig. Old age forced this fashion upon youth as well, so as to be able to have equal rights with it and to keep pace with it. Besides this, old age makes use of money; old age possesses it, possesses also titles, houses and castles,—everything only for the purpose of being able to enjoy. But the voice of nature does not let itself be silenced; wherever youth is, it is drawn towards the wit of youth, even though it be needy, in debt and without titles. And hoodwinked old age fumes and threatens, but finally submits to the exigencies of the situation; then it assuredly would at once turn aside and search for somewhere else to be able to enjoy itself with better success. And that is life, that is the world. A kingly majesty reigns supreme over it all like a distant, inaccessible sun; only now and then does its ray fall like a deus ex machina, in order to shed warmth upon the numbness of some situation.
In this locality Molière produced a somewhat grotesque effect upon me,—he ought to be read somewhere in a park under the light of noon, in a park where there are artificial ponds and fountains, where statues glimmer in the green dusk, and the stone benches are only just big enough for two people to sit upon.
When I have finished reading this, l shall send for Shakespeare, the revealer of human souls, the stern judge of judges and kings, the creator and destroyer, the poet of poets. I used to think once that if I were cast away like Robinson Crusoe on a desert island ​and could or might choose only a single book as my companion, that it would be Shakespeare. Well, he shall follow me here.
Warder Sponner conﬁded a secret to me; that day a new fellow-countryman was to come into our cell, a doctor, he said, and a bank manager—
Name?
He did not know. A short name, something like—
Dr. Preiss?
Yes, yes.
Then he was there too. I was glad that he was coming to us. I reflected that the superintendent would have to provide one more bed. And I would initiate our dear manager into the prevailing usages, as Dušek had previously done for me. Papa Declich would have one boarder more. So I waited—
Meanwhile, towards noon Papa Declich mounted on to the straw mattresses, his observation post, and called me.
In the large courtyard, he said, two strange people were exercising. Lo and behold,—Dr. Preiss. And the second one the censorists recognized as their Professor Braun, who had been put there for the same business as they were. They were walking together, with their overcoats thrown across their shoulders, and had obviously become acquainted. I beckoned to Preiss,—he smiled.
I jumped down and lay in wait by the door for Sponner's footstep. What was the matter? Dr. Preiss was there, but where had they put him?
At the last moment, it appeared, orders had been given to put him into the tower.
I was summoned to the Tigergasse. Two defence-corps men again went with me, I felt how in the air and sunshine my head was turning and reeling, as it were, and how my step was uncertain. ​Dr. Frank informed me in his correct and precise manner that I had a visitor. On the floor lay bundles of papers, boxes, travelling bags—I pointed to them with my foot and said:
"Ah, Dr. Preiss?"
"Yes we have brought him from Prague," said Frank with a cold smile.
My visitors entered. Three officials from the Bodenkreditanstalt. They brought me flowers. I declined them and pointed out that I was only allowed to smell at them.
Dr. Frank corroborated this with a nod of the head.
All three,—Viennese,—broke out in dialect. When the Viennese speaks slowly, he speaks literary German; as soon as he lets his tongue go like an express train, he talks Viennese.
So, what was I doing there? There was so much work in the office, I was wanted everywhere, they said; they couldn't manage by themselves, everything there was in such confusion, nobody knew what to do—
Dr. Frank smiled. I mentioned solemnly that I had fifteen unoccupied hours daily, and that I could place them at their disposal.
They turned to Frank. How much longer would that last, and was there any sense at all in my imprisonment; they would wager their heads, they declared, that I had done nothing.
I stood up and drew their attention to the fact that we must not detain the worthy authority, that he too had a great deal of work, and that I could not place any of my free time at his disposal either.
Whereupon the defence-corps men led me back again.
During the afternoon exercise I now used to go with Zamazal. The trial of Dr. Kramář and associates had come up again, and they sent Zamazal to the small courtyard so that he could refresh ​himself after his daily sessions in the dock. And Zamazal was standing and waiting for me. He was emaciated, sallow, unwell. He uttered a sentence, and anybody could see what sort of man this "traitor" was. He related about the course of the trial. The reading of the indictment, the speeches of Kramář and Rašín, the defence by Körner. He said that he also was composing a speech which he wanted to deliver. I begged him for God's sake not to do it.
Our dear Hedrich was at last brought up for trial. He was taken to the Rossau barracks before the brigade court. He soon returned sad and overwhelmed. For those few spoons from Belgrade he had received three weeks close arrest, but he was not overwhelmed by the three weeks, but because he had to leave us. From the six months which he had served here they had deducted his sentence, and found that he had been imprisoned longer than was necessary, and that he must now return to his regimental unit somewhere in Russian Poland. He walked about the room with bowed head, closed eyes, and even his little cigar was hanging with the end towards the floor. He was reflecting and considering what he should do so as not to have to leave number 60. He was advised one thing and another, even "fallotish" things, and the good lad already decided that he would perpetrate "something".
I took him on one side and dissuaded him from everything. I reminded him of his future life, and the results that any such folly would have on it. Then I called his advisors to us, and in his presence I reproached them for wanting to spoil his future.
​He got before the colonel and made his request, but the old gentleman snapped at him, and asked him whether he was mad.
Meanwhile we had a collection made. Each one assigned a few crowns for his benefit from the amount deposited with the staff superintendent in the main office; altogether it came to about eight hundred. And with this dowry Hedrich left the jail. He collected his things into a military knapsack, put it on his back, shook hands with us, and wept and departed.
And rarely in my life have I said goodbye to a man with such regret and, at the same time, with such good wishes, as to this simple and unspoiled barber's assistant.
The engineer made another attempt to get in with us. He was again denied.
During exercise he told me that the lieutenant-colonel had said he would have the chains taken from his feet, if he would come and ask for it. The engineer answered that he had not asked for them to be given him, and that he would not plead for them to be taken away.
The style of this answer reminded me a little of a similar remark I had made to Frank,—perhaps that was why I took to him. I gave him all the cigars I had in my pocket.