When I have to leave my friends, I can still hear their seductive voices in my heart, and when a long time passes without the queen calling for me, I feel sad,” said Victoria, finally.
“I don’t like your dreams, Victoria.” her husband said. “I fear that you will forget about me in that realm of beauty, and that one day you will remain there.”
“Do not be afraid, Vítek. It is only for a very short while that I am allowed to visit the fairy queen and that palace I love so much. I always know I have to come back.”
Even so, Vítek did not like her dreams, as they came back again and again after that night. He feared for the life of his beloved and wanted to free her from that mysterious power. He told himself that the best way to do it would be to cut down the willow tree. But he didn’t want to do so without Victoria’s consent. So one day, while she was basket weaving by the window, he said to his wife:
“That willow tree is blocking the light. Maybe I should cut it down.”
“No, Vítek, you should do no such thing,” Victoria implored. “I love that willow tree too much. If you love me, do not do it. You never know, you may regret it afterward.”
But the man could find no peace. He didn’t want his wife to disappear into a world that he could not enter. One night, when Victoria was sleeping, showing no apparent signs of life, he went out with an axe and a single goal in mind. With four well-placed blows he felled the willow tree and a cry of pain shot through his soul. He threw the axe away and went into the house. In her mother’s arms, Victoria was dead. The blows of the axe, which had destroyed the willow tree, had put an end to Victoria’s life.
They have asked me for a report on Božena’s female friends. That means writing about Johanna and Sophie Rott. Sophie told me delightedly about her first meeting with Němcová. It took place a few years after Božena’s definitive return to Prague. Johanna’s husband, who was then her fiancé, spoke to the two sisters about the writer Božena with admiring enthusiasm. Johanna agreed to meet her although she had reservations: the sisters were from an aristocratic family and had been educated in a private school for noble young ladies. Johanna had turned into a proud and unapproachable woman. For Sophie, who was younger, the idea of meeting the famous writer filled her with panic.
The girls awaited her arrival in the sitting room of their home, an ancient mansion furnished in a style that was equally ancient. Both sisters wore navy blue dresses. I imagine them with their dresses buttoned up tightly and the tension showing on their faces. All of a sudden, Božena appeared: smiling, fresh faced, in a comfortable sand-colored dress with a pleated skirt and a pale hat over her black hair. At thirty, she looked as youthful as a girl of nineteen. Her overall appearance had something of a classical air, her features and dark hair bound at the nape in a Greek chignon, her big green eyes, her slender neck, her long, fine fingers. The writer’s appearance alone captivated the two girls.
After she left, the sisters talked about her excitedly and so began the friendship among the three women.
At least you, Božena, at least you have friends with whom you can share your secrets. But I, what have I got?
I’ve got you. You are the only one who will listen to me. What a twist of fate! And then there is Herr von Päumann, he’s interested in me as well, he needs me too. I shall now write to the police and tell them about your slipups and your sins both great and small. The police will keep you under surveillance, they will persecute you, they will harm you. Yes, that is what they will do. But, even so, you will have lived better than I have; your life will always be more meaningful than mine.
Do not cease to watch Němcová’s every step, and every meeting.”
“With scientists and men of letters too?”
“Naturally!”
“She has many admirers . . .”
“Her readers and literary admirers do not interest me at all; they are a shameless crowd and a bunch of idiots, that’s what they are, to admire a woman who writes in Czech. Czech, a dead language!”
“Do you think so, Herr