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Milena Jesenská (pronounced Mee-leh-nah
Yeh-sen-skah) was born August 10, 1896 in Prague to Dr. Jan
Jesenský, a dentist and professor of medicine at Charles University
in Prague, and Milena (Hejzlarová) Jesenská (in Czech and other
Slavic languages, women's last names have a feminine ending).
Her family was a conservative Catholic one, and although she got
along well with her mother, she feared and later rebelled
against her severe, strict father, with whom she had major problems
throughout her life, much like Franz Kafka's problems with his own
father. When Milena was about three, a son was born to her
parents but soon died. Her mother died when she was 16,
leaving her alone with her father, whose fathering abilities were
nonexistent, and after that she pretty much did what she liked.
She was sent to the Minerva Girls' Academy in Prague, which turned
out to be a hotbed of new ideas, such as feminism. She had a
very dear friend, Staša Procházková, and they were so close in
their teens that they were rumored to be lovers. Milena did
her own thing, taking pills she stole from her father's office and
trying cocaine, as well as going through her father's money like
water.
She met Ernst Pollak
when she was about 20, and soon fell head over heels in love with
him, even though he was ten years older than she was. He
worked as a translator in a bank, but his real occupation was
sitting in the cafés of Prague and discussing art, literature,
politics and other subjects with the other café habitués, some of
them being Franz Kafka, Max Brod, Franz Werfel, and many others of
their circle, although Kafka didn't take much notice of her at
first. She would do things like decorate Ernst's apartment
with basketfuls of flowers, leaving him a bit overwhelmed.
According to her daughter, Jana Černá, after they had been
going out for awhile, she became pregnant by him and had an
abortion. Her father was a rabid anti-Semite and disapproved
of her affair with the German-speaking Jew Pollak, and eventually
had her locked her up in a mental hospital for nine months, from
June to March 1918. After her release, she married Ernst
and the couple moved to Vienna to live with him. She was
pretty unhappy there, to say the least. Her knowledge of
German was still not very good, she knew nobody in Vienna, but most
importantly Ernst began to cheat on her almost immediately with
practically any woman he could find—she would later say to Kafka
that he cheated on her "a hundred times a year." She
worked as a Czech tutor and porter in the railway station before she
started writing and beginning to make a name for herself as a
journalist, becoming the Viennese fashion correspondent for a Prague
newspaper. But her life in Vienna was worse than ever.
She became so miserable she began to take cocaine. But she
wouldn't leave Ernst, at least not until she had become smitten by a
strange and unearthly man.
In late 1919, she took
notice of an interesting little story, Der Heizer (The Stoker),
by a little-known Prague writer named Franz Kafka, and wrote to him,
asking him for permission to translate it into Czech. This was
the beginning of their correspondence, which would continue until
early 1923. This relationship was conducted mostly through the
mail, the only times they met being four days in Vienna and later a
day in a town on the Czech/Austrian border, Gmünd. This
turned out unhappily, though. Milena was still not strong
enough to leave Ernst, and so Franz finally broke off the
relationship. Milena saw very clearly that Frank, as she
called him, was not going to live much longer. There was no
real future for them together, Franz's morbid fears, especially of
sex, his extreme sensitivity, and his worsening tuberculosis coming
in between them. However, he trusted her completely, giving
her all of his diaries in 1922. After he died Milena wrote a
moving obituary for him, saying that "He was clear-sighted, too
wise to live and too weak to fight," and that he was
"condemned to see the world with such blinding clarity that he
found it unbearable and went to his death."
After the final break
with Kafka, she managed to leave her husband and moved to Dresden
and then back to Prague with her new lover, Count Xavier
Schaffgotsch. Milena became the editor of the "Woman and
Home" page of an important Prague newspaper, Národní listy,
writing about fashion and interior decoration, and also editing a
series of children's books. However, she and Schaffgotsch soon
broke up, and in 1927 Milena met and married a Bauhaus architecht,
Jaromír Krejcar. She was happier than she had ever been
before, and when she became pregnant it was the fulfilment of her
dreams. Unfortunately, she became very ill, and the birth of
her daughter, Jana, on August 14, 1928 didn't add much to her
happiness, Milena being so ill that it was thought that she would
die. She recovered, having suffered damage to her right knee
and was lamed for life, and she had also become addicted to
morphine, and many years of hardship and failed attempts to quit
followed until she finally managed to "kick the habit" in
1938.
Meanwhile
Milena, who
had never been very political before, became active in the Communist
Party, writing for the party magazine Svít práce and
believed fervently in the cause. However, she was unable to
silence her doubts about the methods used for achieving this
"revolution," and finally after the notorious "show
trials" in the Soviet Union in 1936, she left the party, or
rather, was expelled—she always marched to her own drummer.
Her marriage was long
since over, Jaromír having moved to the Soviet Union in a burst of
idealism, only to be disappointed with the reality, and when he came
back he had a new lover. Milena herself was rumored to have
many lovers, both male and female. She was now writing
articles for the Prítomnost newspaper, exploring issues
important to her. The threat of Nazism was in the air, and the
Sudeten Germans on the border between Czechoslovakia and Germany
were agitating for autonomy, and after the Munich Conference
in 1938, where the Czechs were left out in the cold as their country
was essentially handed over to the Nazis all became the subjects of
passionately argued articles by Milena, who knew that the country
had to resist with all its might. Even as Germans entered
Prague in March 1939, she was still writing her articles. She
also became involved in the underground movement to get prominent
Czechs, both Jews and gentiles, out of the country, even enlisting
little Honza (Jana's pet name) to carry messages and underground
newspapers and wearing the yellow Jewish star.
Unfortunately, she was
too friendly and chatty about her activities, and was soon arrested.
In 1940 she was sent to the women's concentration camp at Ravensbrück
in Germany, where she managed, despite her poor health, to become an
inspiration to the other prisoners, who admired and even loved her
(all except the Communists, who saw her as a traitor). She met
Margarete Buber-Neumann, who was also a journalist and former
Communist, and they became best friends. They promised to
write a book together when they got out, and if only one lived, she
would bear witness to the other. But Milena's health was
failing. She had one of her kidneys removed after it became
infected, but the other one soon failed as well, and she died on May
17, 1944 at the age of 47. Margarete kept her promise, writing
Milenas Freundin Milena about her. And in 1995 she was
honored at Yad Vashem in Jerusalem as one of the "Righteous
Among the Nations" for her efforts in saving Jews from the
Nazis.
Some Quotes by MilenaAbout
Franz Kafka: "He wrote the most
significant works of modern German literature, which reflect the
irony and prophetic vision of a man condemned to see the world with
such blinding clarity that he found it unbearable and went to his
death."
"He sees life
very differently from other people. . .To him any job—even his
own—is as mysterious, as marvelous, as a locomotive is to a small
child. The simplest things in the world are beyond him. .
.Yes, this whole world is and remains a puzzle to him, a mystery.
Something utterly beyond him, but which with his touchingly pure
naiveté he admires for its efficiency. . . Franz can't live.
He is incapable of living. Franz will never get well.
Franz will die soon."
"His books are amazing. He himself is infinitely more
amazing. . ."
Milena's Obituary for Kafka: "An Obituary for
Frank Kafka"Dr. Franz Kafka, a German writer who lived
in Prague, died the day before yesterday in a sanatorium in Kierling
at Klosterneuburg, near Vienna. Few people here knew him, for he was
a solitary, wise person terrified by life. He suffered for years
from lung disease. Although he did treat his illness medically, he
also consciously encouraged it, and supported it with his thinking.
Once he wrote in a
letter, "When the soul and the heart can no longer bear the
burden, the lungs take over one half of it, so that the weight will
at least be evenly distributed." That is how it was with his
illness. It gave him an almost miraculous delicacy and a
frighteningly uncompromising intellectual refinement. As a human
being, however, he pushed all his fear of life onto his illness. He
was shy, timid, gentle, and kind, but he wrote gruesome and painful
books. He saw the world as full of invisible demons, who tear apart
and destroy defenseless people. He was too clear-sighted and too
wise to be able to live; he was too weak to fight, he had that
weakness of noble, beautiful people who are not able to do battle
against the fear of misunderstandings, unkindness, or intellectual
lies. Such persons know beforehand that they are powerless and go
down in defeat in such a way that they shame the victor. He knew
people as only people of great sensitivity are able to know them, as
somebody who is alone and sees people almost prophetically, from one
flash of a face. He knew the world in a deep and extraordinary
manner. He was himself a deep and extraordinary world.
He wrote books that
belong to the most outstanding works of German literature. They
express the struggles of today's generation, but without any
tendentious words. They are truthful, naked, and painful, so that
even where they speak symbolically, they are almost naturalistic.
They are full of dry mockery and the sensitive gaze of a person who
has seen the world so clearly that he could not bear it and had to
die; he did not want to retreat and save himself, as others do, even
by the noblest intellectual subconscious errors.
Dr. Franz Kafka wrote
the fragment "The Stoker" (published in Czech in Neumann's
[magazine] Červen (June), [actually in Kmen (The
Stem)] which is the first chapter of a beautiful novel of which
the rest has not yet been published; The Judgment, about the
conflict between Twogenerations; The Metamorphosis, the most
powerful book of modern German literature; The Penal Colony, and
the sketches Reflections and A Country Doctor. His
last novel, The Trial, exists in manuscript; it has been
ready for the press for years. It is one of those books that give
one the sense of a totally encompassed world, so that after we have
finished reading them, we feel not a single word needs to be added.
All his books depict the horrors of mysterious misunderstandings and
of undeserved human guilt. He was a man and a writer with such a
fearful conscience that he heard things where others were deaf and
felt safe.
6 June 1924, Národní listy
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letter
from Milená Jesenská
In 1919 the Jewish Czech writer Franz Kafka, recuperating from
tuberculosis in a sanatorium, received a letter from a 24 year old
journalist from Vienna, Milená Jesenská. She wanted to translate his
enigmatic stories into Czech. Early in 1920 she sent him her first
translations, and they bean a tormented Twoyear passion that was
conducted almost entirely by correspondence. for Kafka, Milená'a letters
were
"...the
most beautiful thing that ever happened in my life."
Those letters have been lost. Kafka's own undated letters, preserved by
Milená and hidden in Prague during World War II, tell a story with few
fixed points. The letter printed here is from near the end of their
relationship. The paranoia and uncertainty it expresses--about Milená's
husband finding out, and about the potential sexuality of the
relationship--typify Kafka's state of mind throughout the affair.
Initially they wrote in German, Kafka's native
language. He later insisted that Milená write in Czech, since he could
only capture her whole personality through her native tongue. After the
first Czech letter, Kafka wrote:
"I
see you more clearly, the movements of your body, your hands, so quick, so
determined, it's almost a meeting, although when I try to raise my eyes to
your face, what breaks into the flow of the letter...is fire and I see
nothing but fire."
Kafka found her intensity intriguing, but felt that the fire in her
personality burned mainly for her husband, Ernst Polak. In fact, Milená's
relationship with her husband was disintegrating at the time. He excluded
her from his social and intellectual life, and made no attempt to hide his
affairs with other women. In the face of Ernst's infidelities she reached
completely to the sensitive personality that came across in her prose:
"One
leans right back and drinks the letters, oblivious of everything except
that one doesn't want to stop drinking."
She was not the first woman in Kafka's life, and he tried to be objective
about their future together:
"I've
been engaged twice (three times, if you wish, that's to say twice to the
same girl), so I've been separated three times from marriage by only a few
days. The first one is completely over...the second is without any
prospect of marriage..."
He wanted to marry, he explained, but feared it would affect his writing.
For Kafka, marriage was not a way out of loneliness but a vision of
security, a vocation in itself:
"Marrying,
founding a family, accepting all the children that come, supporting them
in this insecure world and perhaps even guiding them a little, is I am
convinced, the utmost a human being can succeed in doing at all."
Such ordinary happiness was beyond Kafka. He was
well liked, thoughtful, and generous, but his real life was a surreal
fabric of the mind, beset by anxieties. He analyzed every move until no
move was possible. In one of his stories he wrote about a man who is
fascinated by a spinning top and wants to know how it works. Yet every
time he grabs it, it goes dead in his hands. So too, it turned out, with
his and Milená's relationship; it was beautiful in the abstract, but
failed to work once it involved physical realities.
After months of writing to each other, Kafka and
Milená became impatient to meet face to face. The struggled to arrange a
few days or hours together, either in Vienna or Gmünd, on the border
between Austria and Czechoslovakia. Kafka was nervous about the meeting,
using any excuse to cancel or delay it. In one letter he argued that their
ages were the problem. Milená was so young, he protested, and he was
nearly 38 (in fact he was 36). In another he objected on the grounds that
the nervous strain would be too much for him:
"I'm
quite definitely not coming, but if I do--it won't happen--shock myself by
arriving in Vienna, I'll need neither breakfast nor supper but a
stretcher."
Gradually he came to accept the idea. Feeling excited, but uncertain, he
assured Milená,
"You
don't have to worry; once I get into the coach to Vienna, I'll more than
likely get out at Vienna, only the getting represents difficulties."
Four days in Vienna in the summer of 1920 was the
most physical point of their relationship. Neither had much taste for,
"the
half-hour in bed--men's business,"
as Milená called it. Besides Milená was married, and her husband's
interest in her seemed reawakened by Kafka's attentions. During the weeks
that followed, they discussed over and over again in their letters the
problem of whether they could live together or not. In August Milená
wrote explicitly that she could not leave her husband. Kafka replied that
he had known her answer all along:
"It
was behind nearly all your letters...it was in your eyes."
Simple domestic love could never be theirs:
"We
shall never live together, in the same apartment, body to body, at the
same table, never, not even in the same town."
Gradually the letters became less passionate and
more like entries in a diary. Kafka's health deteriorated and Milená
began to fell that she had added to his anxieties. She suggested a
meeting, but he could not bear the pressure of seeing her again, and
shortly afterward proposed that they stop writing to each other. He wrote
to Milená that he was aware of an
"irresistibly
strong voice, actually your voice, that's demanding silence from
me...These letters are nothing but torture, produced by torture,
irremediable..."
In the end it was Kafka who made the decision that he and Milená should
stop seeing each other:
"Don't
write and avoid meeting me, just fulfill this request for me in silence,
it's the only way I can somehow go on living..."
In fact, he had little more life to live. He died of tuberculosis in 1924,
Twoyears after the relationship ended. Milená treasured his letters for
the rest of her life.
Text from
Famous Love Letters
Messages of Intimacy and Passion
Edited by Ronald Tamplin
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