# The Jail/Chapter XVIII

XVIII
Mr. Fiedler acted as our official newspaper. Day by day he brought in the letters that had arrived, announced who would be transferred from our cell and where, whether there would be many new arrivals in his place, reported the amount of money which had arrived for one and the other, then under the heading of "Miscellaneous News" or "Day by Day" he related something fresh from the interior of the jail, which, by the way, might have been just an anecdote, and then he went to the neigbouring cell. The letters which we received were, of course, censored by the examining superintendent. Dr. Frank consistently erased and blackened in the manner of the Tsarist censors the name of each man who sent me greetings, the names of people I knew, about whom my correspondent informed me that they were ill, that they had died or merely that they asked whether I needed anything,—such circumspection on ​the part of a State certainly affects an imprisoned author in a variety of ways.
If money arrived for anybody, Mr. Fiedler announced only the sum,—never the sender. Evidently also a higher regulation prompted by State cautiousness. But that at least brought about humorous situations; somebody received money which he had not expected, as a rule the amounts used to be small, and somebody else kept waiting and waiting, could not and did not wait any longer. During wartime in Austria immoderate quantities of land-sharks appeared on the scene, provisions sharks on the railways, pecuniary sharks in the jails. You may have written for money, and received the reply that it had already been sent,—day by day Mr. Fiedler came and reported arrivals, but for you nothing had come. You lodge a complaint—in vain. You ask Mr. Fiedler to have another look in the office, he had a look, there was nothing. But when you began to threaten with a statement to the examining accountant, Mr. Fiedler went once more into the office, and lo and behold: "300 crowns have just arrived for you. Just this moment" or, as Mr. Fiedler good-naturedly added, it had been carelessly entered up, and now they have discovered it.
For although Mr. Fiedler was a convict, the official duties which he fulfilled in our superintendent's office, placed him upon "their" side. And he had also the discreetness of persons belonging to the official caste; he never uttered a single word which might demean the officials, the Government and its authorities in our eyes. His "Miscellaneous News" and "Day by Day" were to a hair as innocent as the corresponding headings in any official paper.
Dušek, who was fond of coining aphorisms, said: "Nowhere in Austria does so much stealing go on as in jail." Then Papa Declich, who next to Dušek was the senior member of our room, had ​from his experience fashioned for himself the following eternal truth: "Tutti Falotti".
It was strictly forbidden to read other newspapers. Nevertheless we read them and wondered why. The offensive of our armies against Italy was making glorious progress, we were victorious at Arsiero, Asiago, in the interior of the Empire the profoundest calm and contentment prevailed; if here and there some ruffian grumbled that we had cards for everything and could get nothing, he would read that France is threatened by starvation. England is exhausted and Italy also has nothing, Why we, with the fare we received, were strictly forbidden to read such elevating news, we could not understand.
The censorists obtained the "Neue Freie Presse", Hedrich brought back with him the "Kronen-Zeitung" and the "Neues Wiener Journal" from his shaving errands. Kranz read the "Extra-Blatt" and sent it to me at 9 o'clock, at noon we had the "Zeit" and the "Neues Tagblatt",— from the superintendent's office.
The censorists had at last been permitted to get into touch with the outside world. When Mr. Fels informed me of it, he added by way of commendation to me: "You were right. You took a correct view of everything."
The worthy authorities had certainly pondered long and thoroughly as to how they would be safe from their Semitic artfulness. And this is what they finally devised: They gave them a sheet of paper into each cell, and one after another the censorists wrote briefly and concisely messages to their families, business orders, and directions to their offices,—in order that their souls might be at rest, and that the State might not be guilty of ruining their business careers. The examining accountant then read everything through, censored it, and in his office these messages were copied ​on to postcards and sent off. When replies arrived from the families and offices, the censorists did not receive them into their hands, but one of the acountant's clerks came, had them all summoned into one cell, and read the replies to them. In this way the Monarchy protected itself against all possible dodges of those who otherwise were everywhere its favourites, but who had here lapsed into a condition of guilt.
As soon as Mr. Fiedler appeared in the cell with a sheet of clean paper, everybody rushed up to him to say that he wanted some too. Mr. Fiedler smiled and replied to these requests only with a shrug of the shoulders; he even refused to give the censorists more than the authorities had specified, but Mr. Fels, like the Roman Curtius, one day resolved upon a leap into the abyss. He uttered a few quiet words to Mr. Fiedler, the latter listened attentively to them, and uttered likewise quiet words in reply; whereupon Mr. Fels called Mr. Goldenstein aside, conversed with him as well, Mr. Goldenstein nodded, and said it was a matter of course,—and after a while Mr. Fiedler was back again with several sheets of paper. He also offered me some, in case I should like to make a note of this or that. I refused it.
For the following Saturday Mr. Fels gave an order to the caterer who supplied us with food and other things, for a shirt; Mr. Goldenstein ordered one as well, the third censorist, Mr. Fröhlich, ordered a broom and a clothes-brush; then, when on the Saturday evening the pious sabbath singing resounded from the cell of the rabbinate students, and was immediately drowned by the wild circus-music from the orderlies' room, Mr. Fels smiled and said to Mr. Goldenstein: "They are drinking away our shirts."
"And my brush and broom" added Mr. Fröhlich.
When the first replies arrived for the censorists as a result of the ​relations they had established with the outside world, and had been read to them in number 62, our trio returned in a state of considerable indignation. I was sitting on my bed and reading Julius Caesar; Mr. Fels begged my pardon for interrupting me, but they wanted to tell me about it, so that I could judge for myself. The clerk who had read their replies to them had intentionally employed a Jewish accent in such a way that the thing was a scandal. And to think that these were the words of their wives, messages from their children.
"And this clerk is a volunteer, an educated man" remarked Mr. Goldenstein.
"And a Jew himself, assuredly a Jew“ added Mr. Frohlich excitedly.
"If you had heard how he read to Mauthner: “Es küsst dich ewig deine Lene" said Mr. Fels, warming up.
"Or to me: Moritzchen ist brav und Alfred lernt fleissig,—you know, I really thought I would tell him about it" said Mr. Fröhlich angrily.
"And didn't anybody say anything to him at all? Didn't you interrupt him?"
"Interrupt him? We should only have made our position worse."
I see that I have passed over a number of days in my narrative. One resembled the other, all were as grey as the dust on the high road, each one seemed to be endless, and yet, when one looks back at them, they vanished as quickly as if somebody had lashed them with a whip. Dušek was right,—long days, but short weeks.
I had visitors.
My wife arrived from Prague. Dr. Frank in measured tones offered her a chair, and then sat down with us to complete the triangle, and listened. She was calm and I was grateful to her for it. "They" must not see signs of weakness in any of us. She informed me that ​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—"
​"Take them away again, madam," I said, "where I am living, man alone can survive, but not a flower."
"May he smell them?" asked Madam M. L. with delicate irony.
"Yes, he may smell them."
The ten minutes had elapsed,—Frank drew out his watch. Madam M. L. could return to Bohemia.
We lost the old man Nicolodi. Warder Sponner came in, took him away to the office, and when he brought him back half an hour later, the old man began to collect his belongings,—he was discharged from jail and was to proceed to somewhere in upper Austria, into an internment camp. Mr. Fiedler carried his box into the superintendent's office,—they ordered a cab for the old fellow to convey him to the station under escort of a defence-corps man. He took his leave touchingly, for everybody in the cell he had a pleasant word, which however nobody understood, and everybody said something to him in reply which he also did not understand,—as is usual among the Austrian nations. The old man was an Italian, and in our room there were only three people who could make themselves understood to him,—Budi, Papa Declich and myself.
While he was taking his leave, Mr. Karl was meddling with his bag,—the old man had a small handbag with a piece of bread, butter and three bottles of wine he had saved up in it.—whereupon with conspicuous readiness he carried this bag for him into the superintendent's room.
On the following evening Mr. Karl began drinking away merrily. He was drinking Nicolodi's wine, the three bottles, in place of which he had slipped three bottles filled with water into his bag.
On the morning of the following day Mr. Fiedler burst furiously into the room, swearing at the dishonesty of the world, at the thievishness which flourished even in jail, at the rascality which was ​without equal,—the bottles of wine which had already been changed into water, he had put aside for himself in the office, and he had given the old man for his journey three others, which he had filled up,—also with water.