'But you're not old.'
'I'll be forty-one next month. Do you realize how dreadful that is?'
'No, that's not dreadful.' He sits up. The light from the street enters the room. What is dreadful is to live a lie, to deceive one's next of kin — this is what occurs to him, but all he says is that she is still a little girl compared to him.
Bára stretches out her arms as if wanting to draw him to her, but she too sits up. 'You want to go already? All right, I know, we have to.' She embraces him again. 'Don't forsake me!'
'I won't.
'But you will. You will in the end. Just now you were thinking what a problem I am for you.'
'No, what was actually going through my mind is that I am deceiving my wife and you're deceiving your husband.' He gets up and goes over to the window. The windmill below the window turns silently.
'I know it bothers you. And already I feel a chill down my spine at the thought of what awaits me at home.' She dresses rapidly. 'Maybe he'll kill me one of these days and you won't even find out! And you'll go on preaching how important it is for us all to love each other!'
2 Diary excerpts
I talk to Eva in a friendly way, I don't reproach her with anything and I act as if everything was all right. But I can't dispel the fear that I've neglected something, that I've messed something up. I always wanted to set a good example to my children, not to speak about truth and love, but to be truthful and live in love. But what if the way I behaved, the way I acted and the way I treated her, only tended to increase her sense of inferiority and inadequacy? Young people are prone either to excessive belief or excessive disbelief. It depends on their character and the people they model themselves on. As a child I scarcely knew my father. He was in prison. When at last he came home he was my hero, but his behaviour was so natural and earthy, and he tried so 'sinfully to enjoy life, that I sometimes found him hard to take. Maybe it would be better for the children if I were to swear sometimes, or play cards, or at least get drunk from time to time. But what if they were to discover what I'm really doing?
It is well known how hard it is to be the child of famous parents. Clergy aren't usually famous people, but their children don't tend to have an easy time either. Exemplary behaviour is expected both from the parents and from the children. But should any of them fail, they are the butt of scorn and their disgrace is the subject of general satisfaction.
My thoughts are in a tangle, just as my life is. And I look for excuses for my actions.
I have definitely fallen far short of being a perfect example for my children. I have simply tried to live in accordance with what I preached. And I have never exalted myself over anyone, and that includes my own children. I've never saddled them with any burden of responsibility. At most I've reminded them of the words of Ecclesiastes that always struck me as wise:
Come now, I will make a test of pleasure; enjoy yourself. But behold, this also was vanity. .
I searched with my mind how to cheer my body with wine — my mind still guiding me with wisdom — and how to lay hold on folly till I might see what was good for the sons of men to do under heaven during the few days of their life. .
I also gathered for myself silver and gold and the treasure of kings and provinces; I got singers, both men and women, and many concubines, man's delight.
And whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them; I kept my heart from no pleasure. .
Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had spent in doing it, and behold, all was vanity and a striving after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun.
I'm not sure whether they were capable of understanding the text. And what about me? Am I still capable of accepting its wisdom? If I am, I'll preach on it. No, if I still accept it, I'll live by it.
I was invited to take part in a radio phone-in on what was supposed to be a topical issue: Why are people losing confidence in the church. Apart from me, there was a parish priest, Father M., a tolerant and big-hearted man, plus some sociologist and an editor. The listeners who phoned in mostly attacked the Catholics, accusing them of hankering after property, of wanting to take possession of the national cathedral, and of having used power to force their beliefs on people and burn the innocent at the stake. I kept on waiting for someone to raise some serious objection, such as calling into question Christ's divinity or Mary's virginity, saying that everything we preach is based on a faith that is an insult to the intelligence of people nowadays, but nobody voiced anything of the sort. I left at the end with the galling feeling that the human mind just flitters on the surface, fascinated with property, violence and old grievances. As Comenius writes in his own biography: 'For I have observed that people do not speak at all, but only mouth things, i.e. they do not transfer a thing or the meaning of a thing from one mind to another, but instead they exchange among themselves words that are misunderstood, or understood insufficiently and wrongly. And this is done not merely by the populace, but also by the semi-learned crowd. .'
From the last letter of Mrs Milada Horáková, written a few hours before her execution on 27 June 1950:
'I'm completely calm and prepared. The minister has been here, and even though Dr Kučera couldn't come, I found it a great support — I begged him also to help you above all. Rely on all of those who can and want to support you. Live! Live!. . There are so many of you — I'm alone and also have to cope.
'I never doubted your strength, but you have surprised me. It will be painful for a while, but the pain will gradually diminish. Go out into the meadows and the woods, you'll find a little bit of me there in the scent of the flowers. Go into the fields, look at all the beauty and everywhere we'll be together. Look at the people around you and I'll be reflected in each of them in some way. I'm not at my wit's end or in despair — I'm not putting it on, I'm so peaceful inside because my conscience is clear.
'. . During these last moments everything has seemed so unreal to me, but in fact I have only minutes left to count. It's not so bad — you're the ones that matter now, not me any more. Be strong! I love you so much and a love like this can't be lost or just evaporate, can it? Nothing in the world is ever lost, everything goes on growing somehow and is renewed again. Follow only the things that are close to life. Cling on to each other and support one another!
'I repeat it once more: the new life that is now approaching has brought me incredible peace of mind. The play is over for me and the curtains coming down, but a new play is beginning. . Maybe I played my part badly, but it was an honest attempt. You can take my word for it. I meekly submit to the will of God — he set me this test and I accept it with just one ambition: to obey God's laws and preserve my good name as a human being. '
What would I write in such a situation? And to whom would I address my last letter?
Bára and I meet in Mother's old flat. We don't see each other more than twice a week and always briefly. We have no time. She talks to me about her work and her life. Several times she has brought a letter she wrote to me in the meantime. But she hasn't wanted me to read it at once. 'You're not going to waste the time you could be with me!' I find her letters almost spellbinding, although I know I must not accept the praise she heaps on me.