IALWAYS buy a rose at the streetside stall at Vaclavske Square to place at the spot Jan Palach died. I do it every time I come to Prague—a city I think of these days as a sepia-toned photo, sad: a thing of beauty, slowly fading. I'm not sure which part makes me cheerful and which part melancholy. The city itself has long forgotten its past misery. The gloomy buildings, the secret police, the communist party, the statues of Soviet heroes,