traordinary... She looked a little bit like a sylph. Her arms were bare; she wore only golden straps over her pretty, rosy shoulders, only golden straps... And she was strewn with flowers. Streams of tendrilous blossoms covered her loose hair, the color of pale gold; hair and flowers tumbled down over her breast; hair and flowers tumbled down over her dress. On her feet she wore sandals. She was childlike, she was lovely, dressed as a nymph, or A Sylph, A Dream, A Poem – even though she’s hardly lovely otherwise. We vanished from the hall – it was easy – we vanished. We left behind the fantastic whirl and motion, the lights, the music, the magnificent, flaunting parade... The Sylph (or Dream? Happiness? Youth?) wrapped her golden, silken, blossoming and bedewed beauty in a great, gray, hooded cloak; she was snuffed out under that cloak; only her eyes burned in the shadow... and she slipped into the carriage with Reichert and Váňa. Šedivý and I followed behind them on foot. When we arrived at Reichert’s – the samovar was already humming, smoke was twirling from cigarettes, the stove was crackling, the boys were chattering and she sat there with them, a Sylph once again, Youth, Delight... The hour flew by like five minutes. The Sylph began to grow uneasy. ‘It’s so beautiful here, a thousand times more beautiful and free than it is back there,’ she said with a regretful sigh, ‘but I’m afraid and I can’t be happy here anymore... Oh, why didn’t I grow up with you, in freedom, in the sunlight of a free life?... I think that one day I’ll run away from home.’ ‘Where to?’ ‘To you! “To the Human World!”’ A Sylph... A fairy tale. She stood up and looked about sadly. ‘Here it’s so... gentle.’ Childish tears glistened in her eyes. Her shoulders hunched up and she stroked her cheeks with both hands... ( 98 )
Ukázka elektronické knihy, UID: KOS519363
‘I love to spoil myself... I love to be alive in the world. But not there...’ While she spoke she looked at me. ‘Come, let’s go now! Goodbye!’ We returned to the hall. No one noticed a thing. It was a daring stunt, only now do I see that; but at that moment, everything was possible. Obstacles were easily overcome. It’s true, all one has to do is want a thing. A novel without love. Yes, because flirting is not love. Jetmar would laugh at me, of course. But Jetmar is a rather spiteful fellow. It’s a good thing he’s still at his father’s. If only he would stay away for a while longer. It’s silly, but sometimes I fear him – as the devil fears the cross. 22 February Two letters lie in front of me. One from Jetmar and one from her, from Milena. Jetmar writes: Dear Staněk, I must admit that you confuse me. Perhaps you overestimate me. I definitely am not the mature character you take me for. It’s just that I’ve lived more intensively than the rest of you; I’ve lived through more, I’ve risked more. I understand people, that’s the main thing. I see through them sooner and more thoroughly than you and the others do. Your letter is somehow insincere. For God’s sake, what has happened? Actually, I know what’s happened. Why don’t you speak openly? Why don’t you say honestly: I’m in love, I’m infatuated, once again, as usual? Why these false, coy phrases, this brilliantly masked sentimentality – I don’t know why! Are you afraid of me? Are you trying to prepare me for something? Do you want to disarm me in advance? I find it rather painful. What do I care about your affairs, after all? You really ( 99 )
Ukázka elektronické knihy, UID: KOS519363
are afraid of me. You dread my return to Prague. You wretched boy, I’m coming back soon. I’ll be there in a week’s time, or fourteen days at the latest. I find no peace here. I don’t even feel at home. Father is glad that I’ve come; he’d like to keep me here a while. But I find it painful. The poor old man believes in my future; he believes that I’ll finish my studies. But that won’t happen. I find no rest here. I so much looked forward to coming home, like a child. Prague seemed detestable to me; I trembled with love for the village where I was born. But the village where I was born disappointed me, and now Prague calls once more! I’m coming back. But don’t be afraid of me, or you’ll be disappointed someday... someday when the giant appears rather small to you. I wish you happiness and all the best! She’s an angel, that is understood. You believe in her, you believe, you believe! Reichert, Váňa et al. – oh, that was nothing, nothing at all. She never loved anyone. She loves only you and you alone – in short, she’s an angel! All the best, my dear fellow, all the best! You believe – and therefore you will be saved. She has sweet, innocent eyes. She says that she loves you, ergo it must be true. Until we meet again! Your J. Milena writes: My dear, sweet, handsome boy, I am yours and I’m so terribly happy – you probably can’t imagine how happy. Isn’t it so – you simply can’t imagine it? You have no idea how desolate my past has been, how horrid all the years of my childhood and adolescence were. True, I come from a good family. My father was a minor official, but mama had money, I’m told, and so we always lived well. The tidy, little country town where I spent my first years lies in a pretty, green dell; it has a white main square with alleys lined with chestnut trees; the forest is only ten minutes ( 100 )
Ukázka elektronické knihy