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 its contents, but because I had experiences, both my own and other people's, in these matters.

Then on April 25th the clerical paper Reichspost published an item of local news about the completed confiscation of this booklet, and very bitterly expressed its astonishment that I was still allowed to write, and to write things which had to be confiscated,—surely it was well known that I was undergoing a cross-examination.

To this item of local news our papers bashfully replied that the worthy Reichspost had been wrongly informed, that the pamplet "Clericalism Dead" had appeared several years previously, but what is the good of speaking to them when they are Germans and do not understand you?

Some days later this paper again expressed its astonishment. Masaryk, the traitor, it said, was outside the country, but here was a man walking about at liberty in Vienna—yes, and writing too, as if there were no control,—a man who aimed at proceeding from the destruction of altars to the destruction of thrones, and so on.

I watched everything like the spectator of a bad play in the theatre,—with my mind elsewhere, with the fatalism of a Turk. l did not move a finger, l did not speak or write a single word, l gave no explanation, I did not defend myself. The performance was wearisome, there was no chance of getting away, so l waited for the end.

And I met with it on May 7th.

At home everything had been prepared. In an envelope the telegrams to my family and friends which Josefínka was to send off in case of my non-arrival, in my soul there was calm, in my table-drawer the manuscripts of new books arranged for the publisher,—to be prepared is everything. And I was.

So early one day I went to my office.