for a few years by their grandmother. This elderly lady possessed just a single dress for all the days of the week and one other for Sundays. Her only treasure was a painted trunk. Betty—this was Božena’s name back then, Betty; she did not adopt Božena, her nom de plume, until she arrived in Prague many years later—liked to look at the trunk with the red flowers painted on it. Her grandmother kept papers and dried medicinal herbs in it, and right at the bottom was this little wooden box, and inside this, a garnet necklace.
“‘Grandmother, why don’t you ever put this necklace on?’ Betty asked.
“‘I wore it while Jiří, your grandfather, was alive. Do you like it? Well then, do you know what, little girl? When I die, the garnet necklace will be yours. Yes, I want you, my eldest granddaughter, to wear it. My garnet stones will protect you from all sorts of evil. If you ever get rid of it, you’ll regret it. Remember, pretty one, if you want to make something of your life, always make sure you keep these garnet stones.’
“Božena remembered it clearly. She said that once at Christmas she didn’t have anything to give her children to eat, and was obliged to pawn a gold chain and a ring in order to buy a few apples, eggs to make a sponge cake, walnuts, and a little tea. But she would never part with her grandmother’s necklace, no matter what.
“Božena confessed to me then that as a young girl she used to laugh at her grandmother’s hopelessly old-fashioned clothes, her opinions, and her habit of speaking pure Czech, without a trace of German in it. Her grandmother taught her the names of the trees and plants in Czech, told her folktales. Betty asked her grandmother to tell her these stories at bedtime. The more often Betty heard a tale, the more she would like it.”
Her next medical treatment continued to be as cold and mechanical as that of the day before. Although the palms of his hands woke up previously unknown desires in her, while his fingers made her delirious with pleasure, the doctor’s expression remained abstracted, distant. He touched her belly and she wanted to look him in the eye. She half-opened her eyes: he wasn’t looking at her. As his fingers stroked her body, his eyes focused on something far away, searching for the white light of day, staring at the far side of the river.
Fräulein Zaleski, do you know anything about . . . No! I’m not talking about the novel The Grandmother. You’ve written us a whole epic poem about this grandmother of hers and I’m fed up with that subject. Do me the favor of not interrupting me from now on. All right? I believe I’ve been too patient with you. Do you know Václav Frič personally?”
“Nein, Herr von Päumann, not personally.”
“What do you mean, no! That is a great mistake! Frič is one of the worst enemies of our monarchy, of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and of our institutions. He is one of the great revolutionaries who set off the 1848 revolution! Němcová invites him to her home almost every day.”
“Yes, Herr von Päumann! At Božena Němcová’s I read some of his writings, all of them full of revolutionary fervor.”
“This man has been released from prison and has had the impertinence to start up a magazine to which the most ardent revolutionary leaders of the Czech movement are supposed to contribute. What do you know about this?”
“I have been able to find out that, indeed, Němcová is preparing her contribution to this publication. Frič and his group are all good friends of hers. She told me once that she shares her frugal teas with them and laughed, saying that, while they converse, she darns their worn-out underwear.”
“Prague society cannot accept such insolence.”
“Mrs Božena is so shameless that the bad things people say are of no importance to her.”
“What about her husband?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out if that impudent man Frič is a frequent visitor even when Mrs. Božena is not at home. He may be plotting something with her husband. Auf Wiedersehen, Fräulein.”
“Herr von Päumann . . .”
“Bitte? Do you have some information for me?”
“I have started to work on . . .”
“On what?”
“You once broached the subject of Božena’s lovers. So I . . . I’ve started to work on . . .”
“Then by all means get on with it. But please do leave right now, for heaven’s sake!”
“Do