Prague in Black and Gold: Scenes from the Life of a European City (68 page)
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Authors: Peter Demetz
BOOK: Prague in Black and Gold: Scenes from the Life of a European City
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Later in the century a patriotic holograph could be seen on the walls of nearly any Czech village inn, showing Havlí
ek taking leave of his wife and daughter, stern gendarmes standing by; many largely maudlin stories were told about his confinement in the distant Austrian Alps. The historian Ji
í Morava, himself a dissident and far from his homeland, devoted nearly ten years of his own recent exile to historical research about Havlí
ek in the Tyrol, and his brave book, published in 1991 for the first time, tells, on the basis of authentic police documents, a mixed story of melancholy, a few happy moments, and an entire family killed by a vicious disease after their return to Bohemia.
ek taking leave of his wife and daughter, stern gendarmes standing by; many largely maudlin stories were told about his confinement in the distant Austrian Alps. The historian Jií Morava, himself a dissident and far from his homeland, devoted nearly ten years of his own recent exile to historical research about Havlíek in the Tyrol, and his brave book, published in 1991 for the first time, tells, on the basis of authentic police documents, a mixed story of melancholy, a few happy moments, and an entire family killed by a vicious disease after their return to Bohemia.Havlí
ek did not resist his arrest (it was too late to use a forged passport for England which he had in his desk), and he was sent via southern Bohemia and Upper Austria to Salzburg, where his transport was checked by a police commissioner named Le Monnier (later police president of Brno and Vienna, gratefully employing the scholarly young T. G. Masaryk to educate his son). From Salzburg, the coach wended its way to lnnsbruck, then Brixen, a small town and residence of a bishop, proud of its cathedral, twelve churches, and five cloisters—just the place for a liberal to be confined. Havlí
ek was put up at the White Elephant, the region’s most fashionable hotel then and now, all expenses paid; later he moved to a small apartment, where two sisters cooked for him and did his laundry. In 1852, his family joined him, and they all lived together
in a
dépendance
of the hotel. He did not know that police offices in Prague and Vienna fought over him, trying to define their policies, but the local Tyrolean authorities, respecting his calm and self-discipline, were rather friendly. He usually spent his day writing, with a picture of Jan Hus above his desk, going on long walks with Julie, who hoped to strengthen her “weak lungs,” and Zdenka. He also talked to a few new friends, among them a postal clerk who had been transferred to the provinces because he was considered a red republican of the Frankfurt variety, and a gentleman who happened to speak Czech and had retired to the Tyrol, telling everybody that his beautiful wife was Italian and wanted to be closer to home; actually he was afraid of his creditors. The Havlí
eks employed a servant girl, Julie baked cakes for their friends, there were little trips to a nearby spa, and a good deal of correspondence, neatly registered and read by the police.
ek did not resist his arrest (it was too late to use a forged passport for England which he had in his desk), and he was sent via southern Bohemia and Upper Austria to Salzburg, where his transport was checked by a police commissioner named Le Monnier (later police president of Brno and Vienna, gratefully employing the scholarly young T. G. Masaryk to educate his son). From Salzburg, the coach wended its way to lnnsbruck, then Brixen, a small town and residence of a bishop, proud of its cathedral, twelve churches, and five cloisters—just the place for a liberal to be confined. Havlíek was put up at the White Elephant, the region’s most fashionable hotel then and now, all expenses paid; later he moved to a small apartment, where two sisters cooked for him and did his laundry. In 1852, his family joined him, and they all lived togetherin a
dépendance
of the hotel. He did not know that police offices in Prague and Vienna fought over him, trying to define their policies, but the local Tyrolean authorities, respecting his calm and self-discipline, were rather friendly. He usually spent his day writing, with a picture of Jan Hus above his desk, going on long walks with Julie, who hoped to strengthen her “weak lungs,” and Zdenka. He also talked to a few new friends, among them a postal clerk who had been transferred to the provinces because he was considered a red republican of the Frankfurt variety, and a gentleman who happened to speak Czech and had retired to the Tyrol, telling everybody that his beautiful wife was Italian and wanted to be closer to home; actually he was afraid of his creditors. The Havlí
eks employed a servant girl, Julie baked cakes for their friends, there were little trips to a nearby spa, and a good deal of correspondence, neatly registered and read by the police.In September 1854, his family chose to return home, Julie fearing that the winter would weaken her fragile health, Zdenka ready for school in Bohemia, and Havlí
ek was alone again, translating, writing sad poems and modern verse epics, and drinking beer in the evening with the Tyrolean peasants, who remained foreign to him. He was bitter and weary, and he tried to convince the authorities that he was ready to go home to Bohemia to settle on a little rented farm in the countryside. On April 15, 1855, the imperial authorities in Bohemia relented and he was allowed, renouncing all political activities, to return home.
ek was alone again, translating, writing sad poems and modern verse epics, and drinking beer in the evening with the Tyrolean peasants, who remained foreign to him. He was bitter and weary, and he tried to convince the authorities that he was ready to go home to Bohemia to settle on a little rented farm in the countryside. On April 15, 1855, the imperial authorities in Bohemia relented and he was allowed, renouncing all political activities, to return home.No holograph has ever shown the tragedy that followed as soon as Havlí
ek crossed the frontier from Austria to Moravia. He expected that his brother-in-law would be waiting for him at Jihlava (Iglau), but they missed each other and only met, by chance, on the road; Havlí
ek, speechless and confused, had to learn that his wife had died in Prague of her tuberculosis, which had been consuming her body for a long time. She had been buried some time ago, a few friends and the inevitable police informers attending. In Prague, he quickly discovered that his former friends and acquaintances were afraid to talk to him; one of the exceptions was Božena N
mcová, by now a prominent writer, who greeted him warmly in the street, saying she did not care what the government thought of her. The problem was that his plans to buy a shop or rent a little farm had been illusions, for his brother-in-law was unable to return the money which Havlí
ek had lent him to invest in his business. Without reserves or income, Havlí
ek had to place his daughter with friends, live with his mother in the country, and petition the police in vain for permission to settle in Prague, where he hoped to find “legal employment”
(read: not one depending on his pen). Early in 1856, he felt tired, suffered from a severe cough, and two doctors, friendly patriots, told him that his lungs and glands were tubercular and gave him little hope. Friends sent him for a short while to a little spa, but he had to be brought back to Prague in agony, and he died in the apartment of his brother-in-law, opposite the railroad station, on July 29. Now that he was dead, the patriots made his funeral a national affair, but his poor daughter, Zdenka, was passed first to her father’s in-laws, who went bankrupt, then from family to family as a “daughter of the nation”; a lottery was arranged which brought her a considerable sum of money to be her future dowry. People did not like the idea of Havlí
ek’s daughter being wooed by an officer (an early suitor), but when the right Czech from the provinces came along, she died of her mother’s and father’s tuberculosis, in 1872, being twenty-four years old.
ek crossed the frontier from Austria to Moravia. He expected that his brother-in-law would be waiting for him at Jihlava (Iglau), but they missed each other and only met, by chance, on the road; Havlíek, speechless and confused, had to learn that his wife had died in Prague of her tuberculosis, which had been consuming her body for a long time. She had been buried some time ago, a few friends and the inevitable police informers attending. In Prague, he quickly discovered that his former friends and acquaintances were afraid to talk to him; one of the exceptions was Božena Nmcová, by now a prominent writer, who greeted him warmly in the street, saying she did not care what the government thought of her. The problem was that his plans to buy a shop or rent a little farm had been illusions, for his brother-in-law was unable to return the money which Havlíek had lent him to invest in his business. Without reserves or income, Havlíek had to place his daughter with friends, live with his mother in the country, and petition the police in vain for permission to settle in Prague, where he hoped to find “legal employment”(read: not one depending on his pen). Early in 1856, he felt tired, suffered from a severe cough, and two doctors, friendly patriots, told him that his lungs and glands were tubercular and gave him little hope. Friends sent him for a short while to a little spa, but he had to be brought back to Prague in agony, and he died in the apartment of his brother-in-law, opposite the railroad station, on July 29. Now that he was dead, the patriots made his funeral a national affair, but his poor daughter, Zdenka, was passed first to her father’s in-laws, who went bankrupt, then from family to family as a “daughter of the nation”; a lottery was arranged which brought her a considerable sum of money to be her future dowry. People did not like the idea of Havlí
ek’s daughter being wooed by an officer (an early suitor), but when the right Czech from the provinces came along, she died of her mother’s and father’s tuberculosis, in 1872, being twenty-four years old.Other books
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