Dear Mr. Holan,
I very much regret not being able to send you anything for your magazine. The theme “on the language of the stage” frightened me a bit; I’d be afraid of the seasoned experts, of whom you are starting to have plenty in Prague, for I am a village man, woefully unacquainted with the practices of large theatres! In short, I didn’t dare. And thoughts of other material escaped me in the throng of the slavish labour, worries and damn annoying tasks that have been heaped upon me this spring. A library that has been cut, carved and newly cultivated, but also threatened, has played an enormous role in this very busy schedule of mine.
And I would consider it a great honour to contribute once again to a magazine like Program D 40 was. For the spirit and form of this review kindled the sincerest respect in me.
Please forgive me for not contributing this time, Mr. Holan. I will
As you can see, I am now walking (all alone) in the scenery of Konec Hackenschmidova (Hackenschmid’s End) and Milá sedmi loupežníků (The Sweetheart of the Seven Highwaymen). But that ancient and old-fashioned nature, full of thickets, high-protruding rocky slopes and forest brush would have plenty in it even without the memories of literature and its guide. Of course, it’s much more beautiful for me with them.
Sending my warm greetings and wishing you nice holidays, if you have any left.