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mid；　self…effacing　soul—lay　concealed　in　the　depths　of　her　bowels　and　was　ashamed　to　show　itself。
So　it　was　the　day　she　first　met　Tomas。　Weaving　its　way　through　the　drunks　in　the　hotel　restaurant；　her　body　sagged　under　the　weight　of　the　beers　on　the　tray；　and　her　soul　lay　somewhere　at　the　level　of　the　stomach　or　pancreas。　Then　Tomas　called　to　her。　That　call　meant　a　great　deal；　because　it　came　from　someone　who　knew　neither　her　mother　nor　the　drunks　with　their　daily　stereotypically　scabrous　remarks。　His　outsider　status　raised　him　above　the　rest。
Something　else　raised　him　above　the　others　as　well：　he　had　an　open　book　on　his　table。　No　one　had　ever　opened　a　book　in　that　restaurant　before。　In　Tereza's　eyes；　books　were　the　emblems　of　a　secret　brotherhood。　For　she　had　but　a　single　weapon　against　the　world　of　crudity　surrounding　her：　the　books　she　took　out　of　the　municipal　library；　and　above　all；　the　novels。　She　had　read　any　number　of　them；　from　Fielding　to　Thomas　Mann。　They　not　only　offered　the　possibility　of　an　imaginary　escape　from　a　life　she　found　unsatisfying；　they　also　had　a　meaning　for　her　as　physical　objects：　she　loved　to　walk　down　the　street　with　a　book　under　her　arm。　It　had　the　same　significance　for　her　as　an　elegant　cane　for　the　dandy　a　century　ago。　It　differentiated　her　from　others。
（Comparing　the　book　to　the　elegant　cane　of　the　dandy　is　not　absolutely　precise。　A　dandy's　cane　did　more　than　make　him　different；　it　made　him　modern　and　up　to　date。　The　book　made　Tereza　different；　but　old…fashioned。　Of　course；　she　was　too　young　to　see　how　old…fashioned　she　looked　to　others。　The　young　men　walking　by　with　transistor　radios　pressed　to　their　ears　seemed　silly　to　her。　It　never　occurred　to　her　that　they　were　modern。）
And　so　the　man　who　called　to　her　was　simultaneously　a　stranger　and　a　member　of　the　secret　brotherhood。　He　called　to　her　in　a　kind　voice；　and　Tereza　felt　her　soul　rushing　up　to　the　surface　through　her　blood　vessels　and　pores　to　show　itself　to　him。
9
After　Tomas　had　returned　to　Prague　from　Zurich；　he　began　to　feel　uneasy　at　the　thought　that　his　acquaintance　with　Tereza　was　the　result　of　six　improbable　fortuities。
But　is　not　an　event　in　fact　more　significant　and　noteworthy　the　greater　the　number　of　fortuities　necessary　to　bring　it　about？
Chance　and　chance　alone　has　a　message　for　us。　Everything　that　occurs　out　of　necessity；　everything　expected；　repeated　day　in　and　day　out；　is　mute。　Only　chance　can　speak　to　us。　We　read　its　message　much　as　gypsies　read　the　images　made　by　coffee　grounds　at　the　bottom　of　a　cup。
Tomas　appeared　to　Tereza　in　the　hotel　restaurant　as　chance　in　the　absolute。　There　he　sat；　poring　over　an　open　book；　when　suddenly　he　raised　his　eyes　to　her；　smiled；　and　said；　A　cognac；　please。　
At　that　moment；　the　radio　happened　to　be　playing　music。　On　her　way　behind　the　counter　to　pour　the　cognac；　Tereza　turned　the　volume　up。　She　recognized　Beethoven。　She　had　known　his　music　from　the　time　a　string　quartet　from　Prague　had　visited　their　town。　Tereza　（who；　as　we　know；　yearned　for　something　higher　）　went　to　the　concert。　The　hall　was　nearly　empty。　The　only　other　people　in　the　audience　were　the　local　pharmacist　and　his　wife。　And　although　the　quartet　of　musicians　on　stage　faced　only　a　trio　of　spectators　down　below；　they　were　kind　enough　not　to　cancel　the　concert；　and　gave　a　private　performance　of　the　last　three　Beethoven　quartets。
Then　the　pharmacist　invited　the　musicians　to　dinner　and　asked　the　girl　in　the　audience　to　come　along　with　them。　From　then　on；　Beethoven　became　her　image　of　the　world　on　the　other　side；　the　world　she　yearned　for。　Rounding　the　counter　with　Tomas's　cognac；　she　tried　to　read　chance's　message：　How　was　it　possible　that　at　the　very　moment　she　was　taking　an　order　of　cognac　to　a　stranger　she　found　attractive；　at　that　very　moment　she　heard　Beethoven？
Necessity　knows　no　magic　formulae—they　are　all　left　to　chance。　If　a　love　is　to　be　unforgettable；　fortuities　must　immediately　start　fluttering　down　to　it　like　birds　to　Francis　of　Assisi's　shoulders。

10
He　called　her　back　to　pay　for　the　cognac。　He　closed　his　book　（the　emblem　of　the　secret　brotherhood）；　and　she　thought　of　asking　him　what　he　was　reading。
Can　you　have　it　charged　to　my　room？　he　asked。
Yes；　she　said。　What　number　are　you　in？　
He　showed　her　his　key；　which　was　attached　to　a　piece　of　wood　with　a　red　six　drawn　on　it。
That's　odd；　she　said。　Six。　
What's　so　odd　about　that？　he　asked。
She　had　suddenly　recalled　that　the　house　where　they　had　lived　in　Prague　before　her　parents　were　divorced　was　number　six。　But　she　answered　something　else　（which　we　may　credit　to　her　wiles）：　You're　in　room　six　and　my　shift　ends　at　six。　
Well；　my　train　leaves　at　seven；　said　the　stranger。
She　did　not　know　how　to　respond；　so　she　gave　him　the　bill　for　his　signature　and　took　it　over　to　the　reception　desk。　When　she　finished　work；　the　stranger　was　no　longer　at　his　table。　Had　he　understood　her　discreet　message？　She　left　the　restaurant　in　a　state　of　excitement。
Opposite　the　hotel　was　a　barren　little　park；　as　wretched　as　only　the　park　of　a　dirty　little　town　can　be；　but　for　Tereza　it　had　always　been　an　island　of　beauty：　it　had　grass；　four　poplars；　benches；　a　weeping　willow；　and　a　few　forsythia　bushes。
He　was　sitting　on　a　yellow　bench　that　afforded　a　clear　view　of　the　restaurant　entrance。　The　very　same　bench　she　had　sat　on　the　day　before　with　a　book　in　her　lap！　She　knew　then　（the　birds　of　fortuity　had　begun　alighting　on　her　shoulders）　that　this　stranger　was　her　fate。　He　called　out　to　her；　invited　her　to　sit　next　to　him。　（The　crew　other　soul　rushed　up　to　the　deck　other　body。）　Then　she　walked　him　to　the　station；　and　he　gave　her　his　card　as　a　farewell　gesture。　If　ever　you　should　happen　to　come　to　Prague。。。　
11
Much　more　than　the　card　he　slipped　her　at　the　last　minute；　it　was　the　call　of　all　those　fortuities　（the　book；　Beethoven；　the　number　six；　the　yellow　park　bench）　which　gave　her　the　courage　to　leave　home　and　change　her　fate。　It　may　well　be　those　few　fortuities　（quite　modest；　by　the　way；　even　drab；　just　what　one　would　expect　from　so　lackluster　a　town）　which　set　her　love　in　motion　and　provided　her　with　a　source　of　energy　she　had　not　yet　exhausted　at　the　end　of　her　days。
Our　day…to…day　life　is　bombarded　with　fortuities　or；　to　be　more　precise；　with　the　accidental　meetings　of　people　and　events　we　call　coincidences。　Co…incidence　means　that　two　events　unexpectedly　happen　at　the　same　time；　they　meet：　Tomas　appears　in　the　hotel　restaurant　at　the　same　time　the　radio　is　playing　Beethoven。　We　do　not　even　notice　the　great　majority　of　such　coincidences。　If　the　seat　Tomas　occupied　had　been　occupied　instead　by　the　local　butcher；　Tereza　never　would　have　noticed　that　the　radio　was　playing　Beethoven　（though　the　meeting　of　Beethoven　and　the　butcher　would　also　have　been　an　interesting　coincidence）。　But　her　nascent　love　inflamed　her　sense　of　beauty；　and　she　would　never　forget　that　music。　Whenever　she　heard　it；　she　would　be　touched。　Everything　going　on　around　her　at　that　moment　would　be　haloed　by　the　music　and　take　on　its　beauty。
Early　in　the　novel　that　Tereza　clutched　under　her　arm　when　she　went　to　visit　Tomas；　Anna　meets　Vronsky　in　curious　circumstances：　they　are　at　the　railway　station　when　someone　is　run　over　by　a　train。　At　the　end　of　the　novel；　Anna　throws　herself　under　a　train。　This　symmetrical　composition—the　same　motif　appears　at　the　beginning　and　at　the　end—may　seem　quite　novelistic　to　you；　and　I　am　willing　to　agree；　but　only　on　condition　that　you　refrain　from　reading　such　notions　as　fictive；　fabricated；　and　untrue　to　life　into　the　word　novelistic。　Because　human　lives　are　composed　in　precisely　such　a　fashion。
They　are　composed　like　music。　Guided　by　his　sense　of　beauty；　an　individual　transforms　a　fortuitous　occurrence　（Beethoven's　music；　death　under　a　train）　into　a　motif；　which　then　assumes　a　permanent　place　in　the　composition　of　the　individual's　life。　Anna　could　have　chosen　another　way　to　take　her　life。　But　the　motif　of　death　and　the　railway　station；　unforgettably　bound　to　the　birth　of　love；　enticed　her　in　her　hour　of　despair　with　its　dark　beauty。　Without　realizing　it；　the　individual　composes　his　life　according　to　the　laws　of　beauty　even　in　times　of　greatest　distress。
It　is　wrong；　then；　to　chide　the　novel　for　being　fascinated　by　mysterious　coincidences　（like　the　meeting　of　Anna；　Vronsky；　the　railway　station；　and　death　or　the　meeting　of　Beethoven；　Tomas；　Tereza；　and　the　cognac）；　but　it　is　right　to　chide　man　for　being　blind　to　such　coincidences　in　his　daily　life。　For　he　thereby　deprives　his　life　of　a　dimension　of　beauty。

12
Impelled　by　the　birds　of　fortuity　fluttering　down　on　her　shoulders；　she　took　a　week's　leave　and；　without　a　word　to　her　mother；　boarded　the　train　to　Prague。　During　the　journey；　she　made　frequent　trips　to　the　toilet　to　look　in　the　mirror　and　beg　her　soul　not　to　abandon　the　deck　of　her　body　for　a　moment　on　this　most　crucial　day　of　her　life。　Scrutinizing　herself　on　one　such　trip；　she　had　a　sudden　scare：　she　felt　a　scratch　in　her　throat。　Could　she　be　coming　down　with　something　on　this　most　crucial　day　of　her　life？
But　there　was　no　turning　back。　So　she　phoned　him　from　the　station；　and　the　moment　he　opened　the　door；　her　stomach　started　rumbling　terribly。　She　was　mortified。　She　felt　as　though　she　were　carrying　her　mother　in　her　stomach　and　her　mother　had　guffawed　to　spoil　her　meeting　with　Tomas。
For　the　first　few　seconds；　she　was　afraid　he　would　throw　her　out　because　of　the　crude　noises　she　was　making；　but　then　he　put　his　arms　around　her。　She　was　grateful　to　him　for　ignoring　her　rumbles；　and　kissed　him　passionately；　her　eyes　misting。　Before　the　first　minute　was　up；　they　were　making　love。　She　screamed　while　making　love。　She　had　a　fever　by　then。　She　had　come　down　with　the　flu。　The　nozzle　of　the　hose　supplying　oxygen　to　the　lungs　was　stuffed　and　red。
When　she　traveled　to　Prague　a　second　time；　it　was　with　a　heavy　suitcase。　She　had　packed　all　her　things；　determined　never　again　to　return　to　the　small　town。　He　had　invited　her　to　come　to　his　place　the　following　evening。　That　night；　she　had　slept　in　a　cheap　hotel。　In　the　morning；　she　carried　her　heavy　suitcase　to　the　station；　left　it　there；　and　roamed　the　streets　of　Prague　the　whole　day　with　Anna　Karenina　under　her　arm。　Not　even　after　sh