Book samples

Excerpt #1

Shortly before František's departure day, his students organized a ceremonial farewell for him. It was called "zastaveníčko". As was customary, it took place in front of the house where he lived. It moved him to tears.

Friends, with whom he regularly met for a beer, prepared a surprise for him in the Prague pub "U Primasů". They ceremoniously recited a poem that they had composed together for him:

Farewell

A seasoned artist, your skills now refine,
A master of music, your talents entwine!
A flag of honor waves high in your name,
As Holland itself bows down to your fame.

You bid farewell to this circle so dear,
But laurels await in a land far from here.
The muse of sweet music, with laughter so bright,
Guides you to shores bathed in glorious light.

Though shadows may fall when your presence departs,
Like orphans we'll feel, with heavy hearts.
In Gambrinus' hall, where laughter once flowed,
Your empty chair stands, a memory bestowed.

The poem had many stanzas, but František heard no more than the first three. After the third one, his eyes blurred, his hands started to shake and his head was running with thoughts of what he would do without all those wonderful friends, amateur and professional singers and musicians.

He took his departure very seriously, and even though he promised his family and friends around him that he was leaving only for one season and would be back faster than Prague would have a Provisional Theatre, he was not light-hearted. He felt the need to leave his children at home with some moral fatherly appeal. Therefore, he wrote the melody of the song "Kde domov můj" into the memory book of each of his children.

He carefully painted with a music staff and meticulously drew the notes on the lines. In each of them he left a piece of himself, his regrets, fears, and worries about the beloved beings he had to leave behind if he wanted to support them. He left those he loved the most to give them at least a slightly dignified life. He longed to give the most he was artistically and physically capable of.

The day of departure came on August 23, 1860.

He left from the Prag train station.

He was accompanied to the station by his wife with children and a few closest friends. The farewell was very painful.

Six-year-old Klotilda took the departure the hardest. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her sentence, "Daddy, when will you come back to us?", still rang in his ears. Thirteen-year-old Boženka was already becoming a young lady and showed that she had the situation under control. She tried to calm Klotička and had a forced smile on her lips. Her eyes were moist and she swallowed her tears hard to show how big and brave she already was. Ten-year-old Karolina held her mother's hand and unhappily buried her face in her embrace. Seventeen-year-old Alfred, as a strong man, carried his father's luggage. The two eldest daughters, nineteen-year-old Gabriela and twenty-eight-year-old Josefina, who was recently married from František's first marriage, walked together in harmony. Her father's departure interrupted her joyful honeymoon.

She blamed herself for contributing to it by wanting to get married. The wedding took place on July 16, 1860, just five weeks before her father's departure. Although it was a rather modest wedding and the dowry could not be as high as would be appropriate for the daughter of the former first conductor of the Stavovské Theatre in Prague, the last remnants of the family savings were spent on it. When the family stopped at the platform, Gabriela unexpectedly hugged her father warmly and Josefina sadly lowered her gaze.

"Come back to us soon, Daddy," Gabriela whispered in his ear.

"I'm not leaving forever, my children!" František tried to make light of the difficult moment. Then he looked at Josefina staring at the ground and pulled her arm towards him. "And you, stop sulking! This way you will soon stop pleasing your husband. Be nice to him, take good care of the household and soon make me a grandfather, Josefinka."

"Daddy, I keep blaming myself..."

"I know, but I would be very happy if you lived your happy life. It was my responsibility, you waited long enough. You were old enough to get married. Don't blame yourself, do you understand?" he insisted.

"Alfred," he turned to his son, who was only now awkwardly placing his luggage on the ground to free his hands, "take care of your mother and younger sisters. While I'm not here, you're the man of the house, son." He patted the boy firmly on the back and then hugged him tightly in a manly way. When he released the hug, he saw all those faces and eyes hanging on him anxiously. "Come here, my dears," he said, and pulled them all close to him, so that they were pressed together, body to body. They all hugged there together in one big bundle. When they parted again, the children stepped aside so that their mother could approach František. She kissed him silently on the mouth several times. She made a cross on his forehead with her hand.

"I'll be back soon. It will go by very quickly, my dear wife, you'll see," he reassured Karolina.

He had a journey ahead of him on the Saxon railways to Dresden and from there, after changing trains, in the direction of Leipzig, Hanover, Minden to Cologne. Here he made a stop to visit his friend Ferdinand Hiller.

Hiller was a conductor, musical composer and also a pedagogue. He was known throughout Europe for his correspondence with many European musicians, including Škroup. He had an excellent reputation. He was considered an honest and good friend and colleague.

František visited him at home. As soon as he entered, Hiller rushed to him with a friendly outstretched hand. He accepted the warmly offered hand and groaned slightly in his mind when Ferdinand squeezed it. He was a good ten years younger and, unlike František, of a more robust build. Škroup was a tall man with raven hair, in which silver was already gently blossoming. However, despite his advanced age, he was not overweight and thus, next to Hiller, he appeared small even despite his tall stature. Moreover, he was tired from the long journey, which did not add to his energy. The perceptive colleague quickly noticed this.

"Bitte setz dich, Freund!" he invited his friend in his cheerful German to sit down and immediately continued: "Surely you will have a cup of good tea? Or perhaps you would like something stronger?"

"I would really prefer tea! The journey was demanding, I don't think I could handle a stronger drink," František said with a smile and accepted a seat in a comfortable armchair.

"Don't underestimate yourself! I have friends in Saxony and there, it seems, they know well how much you have had to endure in recent years... Even though you are so brave that you didn't complain in any of your letters. I had to read between the lines to sense even a hint of all the suffering you must have gone through. Ehm... I'm really sorry. Is there anything I can do to help you?" Hiller didn't hide his emotion.

Škroup became slightly nervous, but before he could react in any way, Antonka entered the salon. Hiller's wife was known for her passion for the world of music. She was originally a singer, but when she married Ferdinand in 1840, she devoted much of her time to supporting his work. Their home became a musical and cultural center, no matter which city or part of the country they lived in. They hosted musical evenings where musicians and virtuosos from different parts of the world and of very different ages and experiences met.

"Antonka, would you be so kind and bring our distinguished guest the best tea and something good to nibble on, please? You surely haven't eaten anything for a long time, friend."

Škroup stood up respectfully to greet Mrs. Hiller, whom he always remembered fondly. He had heard her sing in the past, and it was an unforgettable experience. With her devotion to her husband and her understanding of musical matters, she reminded him of his own wife Karolina. She too was his faithful support and musically educated partner. František was an extremely modest man and he appreciated such women. He bowed slightly and kissed the offered hand in a gentlemanly way.

"Herr Skraup! How happy I am to see you again! We are so glad that you decided to interrupt your journey to Rotterdam and stopped by. How long will you be staying?" Before he could answer, she turned to her husband and added: "Herr Skraup should definitely visit the musical society on Saturday evening. The program will include Mozart's overture and Haydn's D-dur symphony. Excuse me, we heard that you wanted to organize such regular musical gatherings at the Žofínská Academy as well," Antonka spoke enthusiastically.

"Well, that's a great idea, my dear!" Ferdinand winked at her contentedly. He was always happy when she was quick-witted and had good ideas. Then he turned to František to add that it was an amateur orchestra production. "I think you might be interested. If I'm not mistaken, you performed Haydn's D-major in Prague with the Žofínská Academy, didn't you, my friend?"

"Yes, yes, you are very well informed. I think I could attend. That's really nice. But please, I would like to get an idea of my short stay here in the city and plan everything well," Škroup bowed politely and Antonka motioned for him to sit down again. When she ran off to get refreshments, Hiller dared to ask curiously.

"Tell me, dear Franzi, what are your plans? So I know if there is still room in your busy schedule for some of my suggestions. I also prepared something for you."

"How kind of you, Ferdinand! I have the whole of tomorrow morning free, I didn't know how tired I would be from the journey and I didn't want to plan anything for the morning. In the afternoon I should meet a friend of Smetana's and a violinist at the conservatory, whom I also know personally from the time he still lived in Prague..."

"Surely not with Köningslöw?" Hiller interrupted him. František smiled admiringly.

"This huge country is smaller than it seems, isn't it? So I'll go to the conservatory in the afternoon and after that I don't really know. Köningslöwe wrote to me before I left Prague that he had an interesting program for me."

"You see, you have such a great guide! We're just carrying wood to the forest with Antonka, my friend. After all, he's the one who organizes those Saturday musical gatherings at the club. He'll surely take you there, I have no doubt."

"You won't be there?"

"I would like to," Ferdinand growled a little unhappily, "but I have some family obligations. I promised my wife that I would dedicate at least one whole Saturday and Sunday a month to my son and family. I'm not even allowed to compose..." Hiller shrugged his shoulders a little unhappily. Then he took a breath and added energetically: "Surely she would understand in this exceptional situation if I asked her..."

"But not at all, Ferdinand!" František interrupted his thoughts. "Cherish every moment you can spend with your son. How old is your son?"

"He turned seven on May 1st and he already plays the piano quite well!" Hiller replied proudly. But then he realized how inappropriate it could have been, since Škroup had buried a son only a few years older, who was also immensely musically gifted. There was an awkward pause for a few seconds.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I didn't mean to..." Then he became serious and found the courage to ask a sensitive question: "What about your wife? How is she coping with the whole tragic situation, if I may ask you so?"

"Badly. It will only be a year on September 28th since poor Oldřich died. I blame myself for leaving her and the children alone in faraway Bohemia." František took out a handkerchief and wiped his sweaty forehead.

"I can't imagine losing a beloved son and a job in such a short time after each other. It must be incredibly difficult for you and Mrs. Karolina."

"The last few years have been especially difficult, I have to admit. As if the end of my work at the Stavovské had brought misfortune on our whole family. Blow after blow began to befall us. We lost a talented son, in February of this year I lost my brother... We went through those difficult times as a family, all together, leaning on each other. Don't think it was easy for the children either, the loss of a sibling hurt them. It came very unexpectedly and it happened too quickly. We had no chance to prepare ourselves for it and to accept that terrible event. But why should I complain, I wasn't the only one who was mercilessly persecuted in our country in recent years. After all, my friend Smetana lost three of his daughters in the years shortly before this terrible loss befell us. Mrs. Božena Němcová lost her son Hynek. I lost my friend Tyl shortly before losing my beloved job at the Stavovské. As if death had taken a liking to Bohemia in recent years. There were many losses, but the loss of a beloved and so immensely talented son hurts the most," František admitted with a trembling voice.

In the meantime, Antonka brought in a tray of refreshments and Ferdinand helped her arrange everything on the table. All the while, he kept an eye on Škroup and his slightly trembling right hand.

"Will you miss your family very much, my friend?" he asked with unexpected empathy. František's eyes glistened and he swallowed several times to hold back tears.

"I will," he replied after a moment. "More than you think, Ferdinand."

Antonka looked at František compassionately and patted his hand. "It will get better, Herr Skraup. The world beyond the borders of Bohemia knows you well. Unlike those at home, they appreciate you..."

"Oh, come on, Antonka!" Ferdinand interrupted her and then turned to František, "Don't hold it against her, my friend. She's always been a bit outspoken."

Instead of answering, František hungrily bit into a piece of fresh bread generously covered with a thick layer of delicious ham.

Hiller couldn't help but ask: "So how is it in your Prague?"

"But you know how it is. There's bread with two crusts everywhere, especially in our small Czech artistic world! By the way, it occurred to me, colleague, what if we organized something together in Rotterdam, where I will now be conducting the emerging opera?"

Hiller looked at him with a kind gaze and realized that František was not a man who would badmouth his own nest. Just as he had not done so in his letters, he did not resort to it now either. It was clear to everyone that he had been wronged at home in Bohemia, but talking about it would not change that. He nodded and thoughtfully added: "You played my oratorio in Prague, why not in Rotterdam, my friend. Perhaps we could really think about how to cooperate with the Rotterdam Opera. Do you have any information about them?"

"I do and I don't. They are starting with opera there, we in Prague are already much further ahead. Rotterdam wholesalers are establishing an opera in this city and I should become the organizer who will oversee and launch everything. I was called as the first Kapellmeister. I have to do this task as best I can. Artistically, it is an extraordinarily tempting offer, if only I didn't have to leave my family behind at home."

Hiller nodded. "Is it true that it is only seasonal work?"

"Exactly. The theater closes in the summer and the whole ensemble goes home. It's only for the winter. Honestly, I'm glad that the contracts will be renewed every year. I don't feel so bound. And in truth, I left my family with the understanding that it was only temporary. The Provisional Theater will soon open in Prague, and I, I must admit in all modesty, that I think of myself as the main Kapellmeister. Believe me, Ferdinand, I would put all my experience into that work, even the one I will still gain abroad."

"What if we invited you for a morning strudel with fragrant coffee tomorrow? Maybe at ten o'clock, so you could have a good sleep after that long journey? We would be happy if you would stay with us for a joint lunch and then we can go for a tour of a concert hall that I would very much like to show you. If you really have your program planned only for the afternoon tomorrow and if it would be so nice for you."

Antonka immediately joined in with a comment: "I have no doubt that my husband complained to you that he should dedicate this weekend to his son and family, and therefore unfortunately will not go to the musical club with you, Herr Skraup, on Saturday evening, to the men's company. But tomorrow is Friday and Ferdinand has a day off. Your visit will be an honor for us and we would be very happy to have lunch with you. Otherwise you would surely eat in some inn, and that is not like home. I will prepare something festive, if you allow me. Just let Mrs. Karolina be calm, that you are well taken care of."

Excerpt #2

Well taken care of... that is something, my family hadn't been already for a few weeks. As a wife, mother, and housewife, I was failing on all fronts. Instead of cooking a nice lunch and baking a Sunday cake on the weekend, I sat and wrote. A new verb was born in our house. My husband called it "skrouping".

I discovered an inconsistency with the date of František's departure and it completely absorbed me. I think he actually left a day earlier, on Wednesday, August 22, 1860.

There weren't many trains to choose from. If he had actually left Prague on August 23, 1860, he could have left in the morning at 8:05 a.m. or in the morning at 11:10 a.m.[1] The last possibility, that he would have left by the evening train at 20:55 seems the least likely. According to the timetable, in 1860 the journey from Prague to Dresden took 6 hours and 35 minutes (today it is about three hours of travel). Then from Dresden to Cologne via Leipzig, Hanover and Minden it was still a long way. In 1860 trains were slower than today and there were fewer direct connections.

Since he still managed to visit Ferdinand Hiller on Thursday after his arrival, he logically could not have left Prague by a later train than 8:05 a.m. Otherwise, he would not have made it to the visit on Thursday. Moreover, I am afraid that even if he had left so early in the morning, he would still not have had a chance to arrive in Cologne so that he could write in the letter to his wife dated August 27, 1860:

"In Cologne I paid a visit on Thursday, shortly after my arrival, to Hiller, who received me very kindly."

Then he also describes to his wife that on the same day he bought hair lotion, which he forgot to take from home. So when he arrived in Cologne, the shops must still have been open, he obviously didn't arrive very late at night.

This means that the date of August 23, 1860, which is given everywhere, is probably not accurate. It would make much more sense if he had left Prague on Wednesday, August 22, in the evening, by the train at 20:55. He would thus travel all night and arrive in Cologne sometime during the morning, perhaps around noon. That would make sense and fit with everything he writes in his first letter.

The visit to his friend Hiller could thus have taken place on Thursday afternoon. Before that, he would have had time to check into a hotel and rest for a while after the demanding journey.

Instead of pleasing my husband and son with my culinary skills, I was "skrouping". But they were pleasing me. They brought me food, because I forgot about it.

I gave them a taste of my emerging text every day. My son started calling it "S(kr)oup". He teased me that I probably couldn't cook anything else but that.

"So what?" I asked my husband when he read the first pages.

"It's hard to understand that a man like him couldn't support his family," he couldn't get it over his head.

"Well, it's simple. He couldn't make a living as a composer at that time. There was no Kapellmeister position available anywhere else in Prague. Of course he took everything anyone offered him. He conducted regular Advent and Lenten productions for the Society of Musical Artists, performed in Prague churches, monasteries and churches, conducted every concert. Finally, in the spring of 1860 he became the director of the Žofínská Academy, but the income from this work was not enough."

"I don't understand. Director's position? And that wasn't enough?"

"Well, you know, Žofínská Academy sounds grand, but in reality it was a singing and music society. They ran a music school where you could study solo singing or learn to play various instruments. They also taught music history, aesthetics and so on. Students paid tuition. The aim was to give young people and music amateurs the opportunity to get acquainted with music and learn to sing or play an instrument better. It seems that they didn't even have their own stable orchestra, they always put it together from the best students as needed and then had various public performances. I would compare it to today's music schools. It's probably not an entirely accurate comparison, but today you would say it's a private music school that offers leisure courses. I see it as better for Škroup than nothing. But he didn't make any big money from it."

"Aha, so now it makes sense that when the Dutch offered him to lead their emerging opera, he took it," my husband agreed and thoughtfully looked at the bulletin board hanging above my desk. There were photographs of all kinds on it. Some from František's birthplace in Osice, others from Rotterdam, and there was also a period portrait of Škroup. I had his wife Karolina hanging just next to it.

"Yeah, something like that. He did the math and realized it made sense to take the offer even though it was just a seasonal job. Plus, I think it was also artistically appealing to him. It must have been a professional challenge to conduct a completely new German opera on Dutch territory. It wouldn't surprise me at all if he wanted to show everyone back home how good he is. To show that he's not written off yet and doesn't belong to the scrapheap. Maybe he wanted to surprise everyone with a big foreign success, since they swept him out like that at home."

My husband suddenly stopped. He flipped through the pages he had read again and looked at me in disbelief: "You wrote those few pages for such a long time?" His question didn't make me happy.

"It's not the same as making up a story in your own imagination. You're always looking up and verifying something. When you think you know everything and start writing, you suddenly get stuck on some little thing."

"Like what?"

"Like when I wanted Hiller and Škroup to talk about family. I had no idea if Hiller had any children. It took me almost an hour to find out. And why? Actually, just for a few sentences. The reader might not even notice them properly. You can't make up a conversation between these people and know nothing about them at all. Especially when you realize that František had tragically lost a son not long before and it was known. It was almost certain that the conversation would have come up. But they will talk differently if Hiller was childless and completely differently if he had children at that time."

He nodded.

"Well, that's a problem. I don't think you have enough time," he said somewhat sarcastically, knowing that I had to submit the manuscript by the end of the year, which was about six months away.

However, I was prepared to write in every free moment.

Even I, a night owl, willingly set my alarm for five o'clock in the morning so that I could write a full two hours every day before leaving for school, where I work as a teacher.

People who knew me were amazed. In the past, I often worked on the computer until two in the morning and got up around eight. For over twenty-five years that I spent as a freelancer, the rule simply was that anyone could wake me up before eight in the morning only if it was a matter of life and death.

I also suddenly didn't recognize myself. I originally thought that I would be writing in the evenings, like all my previous books. Unfortunately, it turned out that I'm not as fresh in the late evening hours as I would need to be for writing a book. After all, when you lecture from nine in the morning to five in the afternoon, fatigue sets in. That's why I decided to write regularly every morning.

That's what's nice about writing. When it gets you, you can't help it. An owl turns into a morning bird and calmly turns its life rhythm upside down, knowing that it won't write the book otherwise. When you know you want to write it. I started going to bed earlier and getting up early. For the first time in my life, while writing, I started seeing the sunrise.

Excerpt #3

Sunrise. Friday morning. He originally wanted to sleep in, but the plan didn't work out. He was woken up by bad dreams.

The image kept repeating itself in front of his eyes and even entered his peaceful sleep, which it disturbed. He saw the faces of his children. All of them. He felt the last kisses of his wife again and again. He wanted to embrace her one more time, but he only reached into empty space. Suddenly she was gone. She dissolved like the morning mist. He was scared and looked around for the children. No one was there. He was standing at the train station all alone. Only from a distance he could hear Klotička's crying and the resonating sentence, Daddy, when will you be back? It scared him so much that he woke up in an instant. He breathed out heavily and had to wipe the sweat off his forehead. It occurred to him that he should perhaps take it as a bad sign.

From that moment on, he just lay in bed and didn't fall asleep again. He couldn't get rid of the bad thoughts. Maybe he shouldn't have done it? He shouldn't have left them there at the mercy of that terrible time. However, some of the children are still small, of school age. What would they do in Holland?

There would also be a problem with housing.

They had booked him a hotel, because he didn't know the local environment and would have had a hard time choosing a hotel, but he would have to pay for it himself out of his salary. It will probably be some kind of modest accommodation, as the Dutch have already said. Hotels are said to be quite expensive in Holland and if he wants to live in a better one, they will leave it up to him.

It was clear from the beginning of the invitation that his annual salary would not be very high. If he takes his whole family with him, he will have to cover the costs himself. The opera management will not pay for the family's relocation or increase his salary. He couldn't afford that.

The first problem would arise with the journey itself. His heart started racing when he realized that he, the first Kapellmeister of the Stavovské Theatre, the conductor who was often mentioned in laudatory reviews even in far-off countries, did not have enough money to buy train tickets for his wife and five children. Even moving the luggage would not be exactly cheap. After all, children, and especially daughters, have more things than a lone man. It would cost a lot of money that he didn't have.

He didn't enjoy just tossing and turning from side to side with his head full of heavy thoughts, so he preferred to get up early in the morning. At this point, he didn't yet know that this habit would stay with him throughout his stay in the Netherlands. That he would regularly wake up with the first rays of the morning sun, because he would miss both his family and Bohemia immensely. A sore heart, would accompany him throughout his foreign engagement, even though he would experience successes of unprecedented proportions. He will solve this by regularly writing letters to his wife Karolina and friends between seven and nine in the morning[2].

It was Friday, August 24, 1860, and he had a busy day planned in Cologne. He planned to visit the violin virtuoso Königslöw at the conservatory, spend the afternoon with his friend Ferdinand Hiller, and spend the evening with the piano trio at an event organized by the famous violinist.

On Saturday, August 25, he toured the city and bought some small items. In the evening, as Mrs. Hiller advised, he went to a performance of an amateur orchestra at the music club. Ladies were not allowed to enter this event, so he enjoyed the high-society male company, cigars, good food and drink. He was glad for it, because he was somewhat afraid that if there were gentlemen accompanied by their wives, the sadness that he did not have Karolina with him could him too overwhelm.

[1] Source: Period timetables, obtained from the ČD press department, Prague.

[2] A total of fourteen have been preserved to this day. You will read excerpts from them in this publication. All of Škroup's surviving letters are transcribed in their original language version, I have not interfered with them in any way, even if today various language phenomena are written correctly grammatically differently. The collection is managed by the curator of collections PhDr. Markéta Kabelková, Ph.D., head of the department, at the Czech Museum of Music (part of the National Museum) in Prague.