before long, the man is within the barracks, and the woman is with child. Obedience is all that is left for them. Youth, freedom, and spring are for foolish lovers and poets.
“Where are you going, fellas?” a young man stops his friends at the bend in the road. They all then set off together in good spirits, whistling as they go. We follow them into the more secluded parts of the park, to picturesque clusters and blooming corners.
A young man is sitting on a solitary bench. Perhaps his solitude by nature or – let’s get creative – his dedication to painting prevent him from sharing his bench with a girl. Perhaps some serious thoughts prevent him from idle banter with his friends. Such lonely young men seek refuge in the park's hidden corners in pursuit of erotic experiences on a tucked-away bench.
Let's take a better look at this lonely young man, his interests and thoughts. We have guessed that he has a penchant for the “picturesque”. Even though he is not a recognised painter, he considers himself to be a painter, and on his solitary walks, surrounded by nature, he is aware of the injustice done to him by all those who reject his paintings: the professors at the Academy, the public, the artists. What is the story of this young artistic recluse? Who can tell us anything about him? People talk, they know each other, and we happen to learn that Mrs. Vondráková from our block comes from the same village as him. How did we find out about him?
Quite easily, given that the once solitary young man has meanwhile risen to political prominence. Of course she knows him!
Mrs. Vondráková’s parents used to have a house right next to his parents’ house, and his mother always complained how stubborn and wilful little Adolf was. “That stayed with him, the scoundrel,” says Mrs. Vondráková. “Whatever he wants, he has to get.” Just let her tell you the story of how the future dictator, when he was still a boy, once brought her a chicken!