Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol4, 1920.pdf/52

 ful cries of a lonely heart, which feared that it had lost its all, its everything.

The registrar really became dangerously ill.

The Constitution was the cause of all this, as his wife told Mrs. Roller. The mayor’s widow returned from a prolonged visit to her relatives, and her first call was to the registrar’s. She also brought the news that “Prague was shot to pieces, and that they were catching those rebels like mice.”

When they told this to Mr. Roubínek, his face brightened and he said: “Well, order will come again—.”

There was much talk in the town about Frýbort and Vavřena. But Miss Elis, and by her advice her good friends also, insisted that her philosophers had left for their vacations. Still here and there it was rumored that they had gone to Prague, and had remained there. But Mrs. Roubínek would always add:

“Well did Roubínek say that with that Vavřena it ein schlechtes Ende nehmen wird— .” (“it would take a bad end”)

A few more days passed, but no news came.

The sixth night after the return of the Litomyšl contingent, Miss Elis was suddenly roused from sleep.

She heard a knocking at the door similar to that of Frýbort’s, when he sometimes would come late from Prence’s. She thought that it was merely a realistic dream, but the knocking was repeated, quickly, hurriedly. She trembled and got out of bed with difficulty, then dressed a little, and hastened down stairs.

“Who is it?” she asked in a wavering voice.

“I, Miss Elis, Frýbort—.”

“Holy Virgin!” She opened the door. He grasped her hand and closed the door himself. “Let us go up stairs, but let us hurry—.”

When she made a light, she almost cried out with alarm. The handsome young man, how changed he was! He had grown thin and his clothes were torn and dirty.

“Do not fear, I am all right, only terribly hungry. I have been fleeing from Prague for four days now; I had to hide—only something to eat quickly.—What is Márinka doing?”

When Miss Elis brought him something to eat, he begged her to wake Márinka, if possible, because he must go on the same night.

Miss Elis acted as though in a trance. She rejoiced, yet feared but did as Frýbort requested.

“And what of Mr. Vavřena?”

“He is alive and well; he escaped home to the mountains. We were fleeing together for a time. This slip of paper here is for Lenka—But Špína, the poor fellow, fell on the barricades.”

Miss Elis was dazed and could not even believe it. She would have endlessly pitied him and kept on questioning, if Frýbort had given her time. Márinka and her mother were called and Miss Elis told them the news. Both hastily dressed, and hurried up stairs. Frýbort, seeing his Márinka, did not mind at all the presence of her mother, but jumping up, caught the beloved girl into his arms. The landlady would have lectured him on his folly in joining the rebellion, lamenting that he possibly had spoiled his student career thereby, but the philosopher knew how to comfort her. He would have almost forgotten what he expected to accomplish that night yet, had not the peal of the bell from the tower announced the second hour past midnight, and thus reminded him of his intentions. Explaining everything as far as time permitted, and taking a short but sincere farewell, he left and turned toward the near Moravian border. He promised that as soon as he reached home, he would let them know by a card. Quietly, unnoticed, he came, and in the same manner departed.

And next evening Lenka’s romroom [sic] heard her painful cry no more. A candle flickered on her table and by its light the girl bent over a slip of paper, which announced to her that Vavřena was alive, that he had successfully accomplished his flight, and shortly by letter would tell her more.

The Prague storm was suppressed, but persecution and punishment ensued.

Špína now was beyond all these things. He had not tormented himself long in the monk’s robe, which he despised, but even so, he was compelled to wear it on his journey to eternity.

Before the vacation was over, Mrs. Roubínek and her daughter met with a great sorrow. The registrar went to his eternal rest. He died, having left, as is proper and right, a correctly drawn up last will. He designated therein minutely what he bequeathed to his wife, what to his daughter; where the ‘oberst’ was to go, where “Abraham”, “Klapálek”, and all the other parts of his wardrobe. He devoted a special paragraph to the “priceless” picture of king Herod, upon which even from his bed of sickness he often and long had gazed. He left it to the recorder, his beloved friend, with whom he had so many “delightful” conversations. He did no entireentirely [sic] forget Lenka, but appointed her a modest sum of money for her careful and faithful attendance on him during the fatal illness.

Mr. Roubínek had a splendid funeral. The Heavenly Father did not grant the registrar the joy of witnessing the “good order” of the times of Bach, of blessed memory. Instead, he called him where he could enjoy himself with the company of Žižka and Emperor Joseph, “who left us that church for a memorial.”

After the vacation, there was less noise in the rooms of Miss Elis than formerly. She had no philosophers; instead, three young college students lived with her. She did not feel lonesome for she was more satisfied. Her wish of long age was realized.