Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol3, 1919.djvu/363

 Oh, Nedošín, Nedošín! thy glory hath departed! Thy wods have grown sparse, thy pavillions and retreats are no more, and thy summer hall, wherein by the gay music the young people were wont to abandon themselves to dancing, has disappeared.

But at this time the glory of Nedošín was still undimmed. Both the way which led through the village, and the one in the chestnut alley which led by the shining pond in front of the grove, were beset by the eager crowds. Directly behind the pond appeared thick woods, which had just put on a new, light-green robe. Today everything resounded with merry voices, laughter, music, and singing. The gladsome music, issuing from the depths of the woods, could be heard far and wide. When its tones ceased, a student glee club began to sing. The pure, sweet-scented air, and the shady vaults of the wide spreading trees loudly resounded with the ancient college song:

And hardly had this group of singers stopped when another circle from a different shady spot answered the refrain:

When Miss Elis with Marin ka reached Nedošín, the grove was already jammed full. In front of the restaurant, a small, tidy building with a covered colonnade, some guests seated themselves on the plain wooden benches, while others spread themselves on the soft grass under the bushy trees. Everywhere was life, bustle and laughter. The main current surged over the path leading from the restaurant past the little chapel of St. Anton and up the slope to the dance hall. There the principal joys centered.

Golden light flooded the vaults of the revivified trees; against the fresh, May green back ground flitted a motley array of light colored dresses.

Márinka burned with impatience. Her keen eyes searched the crowds of students, here promenading, there drinking. Miss Elis also looked around eagerly. Suddenly she stopped. Mrs. Roubínek with Lotty at her side was coming from the direction of the restaurant.

“Their ward is not with them—,” remarked Márinka.

“Oh, most probably she is not. They do not take her anywhere.”

Scarcely had they gone a few steps, when Márinka turned deeper into the grove.

“Somebody is declaiming over there—oh, it is Mr. Frýbort. Let us go to hear him!”

“Of course, we must!”

They reached a knot of students and others, in the midst of which Frýbort, standing on a stump of an old, fallen tree, was declaiming. Miss Elis immediately recognized the piece about the miller’s beer mug, which Frýbort had been so diligently memorizing that morning. All listened attentively; at times they burst into loud laughter.

Márinka did not take her eyes off the beloved philosopher. When he finished, a volley of loud clapping rewarded him. He jumped down, and went directly to the maiden he loved.

He greeted and welcomed her, and immediately escorted her where she longed to be. They came out of the shadows of the grove on the path, passed the little chapel built in the manner of a cave, under which a sparkling spring was trickling, and presently stood before the dance hall. On four crownless tree trunks rested a light roof; under that a flat floor. This was the unpretentious hall, where in full circle couples of young people merrily danced. A band, seated at one side, was playing gayly.

Before Miss Elis had time to look around, she found herself deserted. She saw how Frýbort took the happy Márinka to the dance; and then she caught sight of them several times as they flitted among the dancers.

The crowd of spectators was pressing hard around.

She sought Vavřena, and expected to find him here; but there was not a trace of him anywhere. She had asked Frýbort about him a while ago, and he told her that he saw Vavřena with Mrs. Roubínek and her daughter. Nevertheless, Lotty was dancing with somebody else now.

After a while Miss Elis wedged her way through the crowd, seeking for a still, lonely spot, where only a murmur of the din and music was audible.

She stopped to take a breath. She felt freer, and vet some unnamed fear heavily oppressed her mind.

Dim tones of the merry polka floated to her; in them she heard an echo of the long past years of her happy youth. She fell into reverie. Everything remained here as formerly: a beautiful, spring day, the same old, shady grove, the bustle and joy of “majales” as formerly only the faces were different. Now she forgot them for the times that were gone.

She remembered her youthful years. The days of long ago came back, from dimness of the grove stepped out the familiar, beloved figures and here is that tall, young man who led her away from the dance. She goes leaning on his arm, forgets the dance and the music, and listens only to his words. In a moment one happy hour after another returns, until she stands at the last and the saddest. It was also in this grove, in this place, where she stood with him for the last time, where he parted from her forever. He sac-