Wrong face up, or Czech absurdity

We were sitting in one of many parks in Prague, sipping delicious Pilsners, chatting and waging a crazy war against an inexplicable army of flying insects (which I believe anticipated further events) when we realized that the evening is like an empty glass and we are very thirsty. Flicking through a dozen of free leaflets recommending plenty of venues to fill up the glass with, Cornelia noticed, to our delight, the ad informing about Petr Zelenka Quartet at Balbinova Poeticka Hospudka. There was no hesitation, and no time – we buried the hatchet with insects and left the park.
We reached our destination after a twenty-minute walk and realized that the farther from the centre of the city, the less people you could communicate with in English. The owner of the place was only able to sell the tickets and confirm that Petr Zelenka was playing that day. Excited and elated, the three of us sat by the table, as close to the scene as possible just to find out in a matter of seconds that the only Petr Zelenka we knew was a famous film director. Now, the Petr Zelenka in front of us was a talented jazz musician. Despite being a bit thrown off the balance, we realized that we were there for the music no matter which Petr Zelenka was to perform and our benevolence was rewarded with a great deal of tasty tunes that evening.

The Late Lover

I opened The History of Philosophy by Władysław Tatarkiewicz and paged the book to read about Abelard. I learned that Pierre Abelard’s career as a thinker flourished and he was distinguished figure at his own time, but he was not a typical philosopher-theologian of the Middle Ages. His short but intensive life was filled with enthusiastically received lectures, persecution, ecstatic love and drama. Never had Abelard assumed that he would make the history as a lover – not thinker.
Who was she?
Heloise was much younger than him. Was it her face, her voice, or the beauty of her mind that turned Abelard into a passionate lover? As a professor of logic, Abelard could explain lots of things; he could even blend faith and reason together. Alas, he was helpless in the face of emotions. It is surprising how a man of reason could have developed such an intense feeling.
When I read the letters the lovers wrote to each other I am perplexed. I become an intruding witness of their romance. Why am I doing this? Why were the letters published? It is not literature only (I recall Werter’s letters – how boring). Their history is a real drama. They had a child and then secretly married. They both were severely punished for the sins of the flesh. Abelard was mutilated. He couldn’t bear the dishonour and that’s why he became a monk. Heloise became a nun. Abelard died at the age of 37. Heloise died about twenty years later and was buried beside him.
In one of his letters Abelard wrote:
I live in a barbarous country, the language of which I don’t understand; I have no conversation but with the rudest people. My walks are on the inaccessible shore of a sea which is always stormy.
The first word that comes to my mind is alienation. Why do some love stories have to end with a misfortune? Why are some lovers to remain lonely and unfulfilled?
Is it their illustrious romance, the history of two beautiful minds that once became one flesh to be humiliated and parted for ages that makes the story captivating? Or is it us, who are just unfulfilled as they were?
(sylwia_t)