From a Terrace in Prague
by B. Granville Baker · English · Gutenberg #22776 · 449,383 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: From a Terrace in Prague
Author: B. Granville Baker
Release date: September 27, 2007 [eBook #22776]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22776
Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Janet Blenkinship and the
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FROM A TERRACE IN PRAGUE ***
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Janet Blenkinship and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration]
FROM A TERRACE
IN PRAGUE
BY
LIEUT.-COL. B. GRANVILLE BAKER,
D.S.O., F.R.G.S.
WITH 36 ILLUSTRATIONS AND ONE MAP
NEW YORK
BRENTANO'S
PUBLISHERS
(_All rights reserved_)
_Printed in Great Britain by_
UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, LONDON AND WOKING
THIS BOOK
IS DEDICATED TO
A WISE AND GENTLE LADY WHO
LOOKS OUT UPON LIFE
FROM A TERRACE
PREFACE
There are many excuses for the writing of books, and sometimes there may
even be sufficient reason. I offer no excuses, but will give what
reasons I have for committing to paper these my reflections or
meditations inspired by the sight of a fine old capital city as seen
from a Terrace in Prague.
The first reason I wish to give may be altruistic, namely, that finding
so many of my race quite ignorant of Prague and all that city stands for
right down the ages, I feel compelled to add my mite to what has already
been written about the subject.
My second reason, a strong one with me, arises out of my inability to
enjoy things of beauty and interest without letting my friends know
about them. This may be a weak and selfish reason, but there it is.
The third reason rests on my intense desire that you should come out
here, to Prague, even to the terrace of my choice, and look at the scene
through my eyes while I would endeavour to see it through yours. This, I
admit, is undiluted selfishness on my part.
While awaiting you, I am preparing, by means of this work, to introduce
you to a goodly throng of those who know or knew this city and loved it
well. Perhaps they may admit me to their round table as the last to
arrive, and the least. In any case, I owe them a debt of gratitude for
their help in becoming acquainted with Prague and the deeper meaning of
this glorious city. There are many such kindly helpers: there was Cosmas
Pragensis the chronicler, Palacky the historian, there was Count Luetzow,
whose works on Prague, as on his native country, are inspired by intense
love of them, and illumined by transparent honesty. There are others
still among us and doing useful work. A walk with Dr. Je[vr]abek in the
gardens of Waldstein's palace, a talk with Professor [vS]kola, and many
other good friends of mine in Prague, have made a pleasure of this work
I have undertaken. Out of sheer joy in the things I have seen and heard,
and the kindly spirit that informed those who helped me, have I written
and illustrated this book _From a Terrace in Prague_.
+-------------------------------------------------+
|Transcriber's note: |
| |
|In this text the caron has been represented with |
| |
|[vx] [vX] etc. |
+-------------------------------------------------+
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE 7
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCES PRAGUE 14
CHAPTER II
ABOUT GUIDES AND GUIDE BOOKS AND THE WEATHER OF PRAGUE 32
CHAPTER III
VY[vS]EHRAD, LIBU[vS]A AND P[vR]EMYSL, AND OTHER EARLY NOTABLES OF
PRAGUE, AMONG THEM ST. WENCESLAUS 50
CHAPTER IV
MORE ABOUT ST. WENCESLAUS AND HIS IMMEDIATE SUCCESSORS 70
CHAPTER V
GOOD AND BAD RULERS OF BOHEMIA UP TO A CONTEMPORARY OF FREDERICK
BARBAROSSA. STRAHOV MONASTERY 88
CHAPTER VI
FIVE KINGS OF THE HOUSE OF P[vR]EMYSL, INTRODUCES THE FIRST HABSBURG
TO VISIT BOHEMIA 106
CHAPTER VII
BLIND KING JOHN OF BOHEMIA 130
CHAPTER VIII
CHARLES IV KING OF BOHEMIA, OF THE GERMANS, AND ROMAN EMPEROR.
[vZ]I[vS]KA AND HIS HUSSITES. ABOUT SOME CHURCHES IN PRAGUE 148
CHAPTER IX
CHARLES AND HIS BRIDGE. HIS SON WENCESLAUS. JOHN NEPOMUK
AND JOHN HUS 166
CHAPTER X
A HOUSING PROBLEM. ANCIENT AND MODERN PRAGUE 192
CHAPTER XI
SIGISMUND AND OTHER HABSBURGS. GEORGE PODIEBRAD, ALSO THE
"WINTER KING" 216
CHAPTER XII
JESUITS AND THEIR WORK. SOME HISTORIC FIGURES AND SOME BRITONS
WHO CAME TO PRAGUE. EPILOGUE 234
INDEX 257
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FULL-PAGE COLOURED
THE CITY OF PRAGUE _Frontispiece_
PAGE
THE "CHARLES BRIDGE" AND "HRAD[vS]ANY" 60
THE CATHEDRAL OF ST. VITUS 154
THE "POWDER TOWER" 220
LINE DRAWINGS
INITIAL LETTER (ARMS OF CZECHO-SLOVAKIA) 15
MAP 17
INITIAL LETTER (A TOWER OF KARLOV TYN) 33
INITIAL LETTER (A SENTRY) 51
THE HRAD[vS]ANY FROM THE FUeRSTENBURG GARDEN 61
INITIAL LETTER (VY[vS]EHRAD) 71
OLD BOLESLAV 81
INITIAL LETTER (QUEEN JUDITH'S BRIDGE-HEAD) 89
ST. MARTIN'S, VY[vS]EHRAD 95
STRAHOV MONASTERY 102
INITIAL LETTER 107
A RELIC OF THE GHETTO 115
A TOWER OF THE HRAD[vS]ANY 123
INITIAL LETTER 131
INITIAL LETTER (KARLOV) 149
ST. STEPHEN'S 160
INITIAL LETTER 167
VENICE IN PRAGUE 169
TOWER OF NEW TOWN HALL 174
RIVER SCENE 188
"BE THOU LIKE A PROMONTORY" 189
RIVER SCENE 190
INITIAL LETTER 193
ON THE WHITE MOUNTAIN 200
THE CHAPEL OF THE TOWN HALL 201
THE TOWERS OF OUR LADY OF TYN 205
A CORNER OF THE OLD TOWN 207
INITIAL LETTER 217
THE HRAD[vS]ANY FROM THE NEBOZIZEK GARDEN 225
INITIAL LETTER 235
A CORNER OF K[vR]IVOKLAT CASTLE 250
TABOR, BY THE WATERS OF JORDAN 252
CHAPTER I
Refers in a general way to several great and historic cities of this
earth. Indicates the routes by which Prague may be reached by the
traveller from the West, tells a wayside story or two and mentions
several very great people, also others of a less degree. Digresses
seriously from the purpose of the whole book by raking up the author's
personal recollections of people that lived and events that happened
right away back in the last century, and far away in the East.
The author then formally introduces a friend, the ancient and venerable
City of Prague.
The Psalmist once declared in a burst of enthusiasm, no doubt justified,
that "Jerusalem is a city that is at unity in itself." This remark
applies with equal right to other great historic cities, as who can deny
it that has stood in the "Place de l'Opera" and felt that Paris is
indeed at unity in itself?... Or who that has looked upon Constantinople
rising out of the pearly depths of the Sea of Marmora will fail to
realize that the city of Constantine, despite its many vicissitudes, was
indeed a united whole fulfilling its sometime tragic destiny in the
history of mankind?
Lisbon, mirrored in the broad waters of the Tagus, is another such city,
and so, in yet more marked degree, is Prague. The Psalmist, in poetic
exuberance, may appear to have overstated the case, allowance must be
made for him, but in the main he was right. The city of Zion had grown
up at the feet of the temple of David, and its massive strength
impressed the poet who overlooked the bickerings, the quarrels, of the
"dwellers therein"; he knew his city was the centre of his race, for
"thither the tribes go up," and he took in only the big enduring things;
he held the key to the soul of the city.
Let us, then, approach the city of Prague in the right manner, prepared
to enter into the spirit of the place, to realize what it stands for,
what it has always stood for since those dim days when legend and
history entwined.
It is said that "all roads lead to Rome"; as many lead to Prague, as a
glance at the map will show. There are first of all those oldest of
roads--the waterways--along which moved wandering tribes in quest of
betterment and adventure. Two of these waterways meet just above Prague,
the Vltava and Berounka; they open out from the wooded heights of the
Bohemian Forest, the former river leading up towards a pass in those
heights over which you descend to the Danube near Linz, the latter
showing the way into the heart of Bohemia from the west from Bavaria. It
was by the latter route probably that the Boievari, a Celtic tribe, made
their way after a short stay in Bohemia, to settle in the land that is
called after them, Bavaria.
Bavarians, who had become thoroughly Germanized, and many other Teutons,
frequently found their way into Bohemia by this route, notably in the
fifteenth century, when a vast unwieldy army called up by Rome and led
by an English Cardinal, tried conclusions with a nation in arms inspired
by religious fervour and led by [vZ]i[vs]ka the Hussite, and was beaten
ignominiously.
All along this route are landmarks of a history which tells of the
attraction that Prague exercised on the rulers and people of
neighbouring countries.
[Illustration: MAP]
So Eger and Pilsen tell of the horrors of the War of Thirty Years, for
which a Bohemian nobleman was largely responsible. Of him and his doings
more hereafter. Eger, by the way is now called Cheb, a guttural _Ch_
which is a difficult sound to begin a word with, but you have got to
do it if you wish to be considered up to date. The Czech language is
difficult to pronounce, a fact of which the Czechs seem rather proud.
Pilsen, which is known to us chiefly (and rightly) for its good beer, is
now spelt Plzen; this, however, makes little difference to the
pronunciation, and happily none at all to the quality of the beer. The
Czechs are just a bit sparing of vowels; they prefer a good fat cluster
of consonants, as, for instance, in Vltava, Brno, and other such pretty
names, but then you simply insert an indefinite sound here and there
between the spiky consonants, and all is well; anyone who knows
Hindustani or Arabic will find it quite easy. After all, if the Czechs
prefer their language that way it is their concern, as long as they do
not expect the world outside Bohemia to learn it.
Another fine broad road leading to Prague is the Elbe, into which flows
the Vltava, some thirty miles north of the capital. No doubt the Elbe
was the road by which the Slavonic tribes poured into present-day
Germany what time all Central Europe was swarming with migrant peoples
moving westward under pressure from the East.
That a great part of Germany as we know it now was formerly inhabited by
Slavs seems beyond doubt; such names as Berlin, Stettin, Strelitz,
Rostock, have a distinct Slavonic ring.
Remains of primitive Slavonic culture have been dug up on the islands in
the Baltic Sea and even as far west as Hanover; remains of an identical
culture have been found as far east as the Volga, so the Slavs have been
widely spread out over Europe in earliest days. The expansion of Slavs
so far to westward may have been due to the fact that Wittekind, King of
the Saxons, called Slavonic tribes to his aid against the Franks.
Charlemagne and his Franks must have been rather a nuisance to their
neighbours. Charles had a mission in life, and people thus afflicted are
apt to be tiresome. We are taught to number him among the truly great
and good men, but he lived and laboured long ago; moreover, we are not
a cheery lot of heathen living happy and unwashed in the depths of
primeval forests, so our judgment is warped. As to Charles's goodness, I
heard some story about his offering to marry an Empress of the East
while his first wife was still alive, not, it appears, from any ardent
devotion to the lady--I do not believe he ever met her--but simply from
the sordid motive of adding another empire to his business. However, I
am no scandal-monger, and all the parties concerned have been dead some
time.
Charles must have been rather a prig. He was evidently, immensely
pleased with his own little bit of book-learning; he even insisted on
talking and writing Latin--pure "swank"--whereas his family would surely
have preferred their native Frankish. Worse still, Charles had an
obsession, that of a Holy Roman Empire, with himself as head and the
Pope as an "also ran," and this obsession led to endless
trouble--trouble which is not over yet. Charles also had no sense of
humour, or he would have made friends with the Slavs instead of fighting
them. Men with a "mission in life" rarely have the "saving gift," and so
they cause endless trouble; Charles did.
He hammered the Saxons into Christianity: they were Teutons and could
stand it. He tried the same on the Slavs, but force was not the right
method in their case. Charles could not see this, and went on killing
Slavs, handing over their property to Teuton knights. This method, and
especially its results, appealed strongly to Charles's successor, who
continued to hack the way of Christianity through Slavonic tribes until
eventually the latter were completely subjugated in all the
German-speaking countries of to-day. It took a long time to do this, for
there is a deal of resilience in the Slav, and his soul remains his own
even under much persecution. The Slavs were heavily handicapped too;
they were broken up into numerous little tribes and clans, and seldom
became united under the leadership of a strong man of their own race.
They had no spiritual head who would take responsibility for any crime
as long as it was atoned for by a corresponding number of heathen
converted or killed. The pagan Slav would not just push his bit of piety
on to the priest before dashing into the fray; he had to propitiate
various jealous deities in person, not by proxy. This must have been
anxious work and a waste of time to boot. Then again, both sides were
capable and frequently guilty of abominable treachery, with the
difference that the Christian Teuton betrayed his enemy only, which was
counted unto him for righteousness, whereas the Slav was inclined to
sell his own cause, only to be "let down" by the Teuton in the end. The
Slavs were also prone to fight among themselves in their spare time;
there has been no marked improvement on either side for the last ten
centuries or so; however, the history of other nations and races tends
to prove that neither Slav nor Teuton are unique in this respect.
Anyway, the "Holy Roman Empire," describing itself as of German
nationality, spread out over Central Europe, absorbing one Slavonic
tribe after another until there remained as the most western of them
only the Czechs of Bohemia as a coherent body, their national life
centred on Prague.
* * * * *
However, we are still on the way to Prague up the valley of the Elbe, an
interesting route, as it takes you by Dresden, rich in art treasures and
still renowned for its music.
The best time of year to travel by this route is the season when the
fruit trees are in blossom. Then the valley of the Elbe is a mass of
white and pale green set against a background of yellow sandstone rocks
and the sombre greens and purples of pine forests. It is not so very
long ago since this district of Saxony formed part of the Kingdom of
Bohemia, and many names familiar to travellers in these parts recall
memories of Slavonic inhabitants--Blasewitz, Loschwitz, Pilnitz, whither
the royal family of Wettin, another Slavonic name, was wont to retire
for the summer months. The Wettins have now retired from business as
monarchs, and their former subjects are following the prevailing fashion
of submission to democratic rule tempered by an occasional diversion in
the form of an attempted local counter-revolution. These movements are
generally innocuous; they sometimes add to the gaiety of nations by the
sheer imbecility of their inception and attempted execution, and they
appear to be welcome rather than otherwise, as a means of distracting
public attention from the universal muddle and general misguidance of
European affairs, to those who consider themselves called upon and
qualified to set those affairs right.
* * * * *
You may also approach Prague via Vienna; in former days you were
encouraged by Austrian propaganda to do so, and this in order to
emphasize the fact that you were expected to regard Prague as a quaint
little provincial town lying on the road to nowhere in particular. The
hand of the Habsburg lay heavy on Prague, and all the glory of great
possessions had to be concentrated on Vienna.
We are still on the road to Prague, which has come into its own at last,
whereas the glory of Vienna has departed. You wind up to the Bohemian
Forest through lovely scenery, where the grey ramparts of Eggenburg look
out over the blue distances, across the uplands of Bohemia, passing
Tabor dreaming yet of stirring days of religious strife, its towers
mirrored in the waters of Jordan, and onward till a wide curve brings
the first sight of the towers and spires of "Zlata Praha," Golden
Prague.
The usual travelling Westerner prefers the shortest and most convenient
route to Prague, namely, via Paris. You may get right through from
London to Prague in thirty-six hours if you just skirt round Paris by
the _ceinture_, but a right-minded wayfarer, who should never hurry,
will not miss an opportunity of taking the tonic of a few days in the
"Ville Lumiere." If he be a true wayfarer--that means not only an
enterprising traveller but also given to contemplation--he will bestow
some thought on the geographical position respectively of Paris and his
destination, Prague, which should help him to enter into the spirit of
those two cities; but of this more hereafter.
When the wayfarer does tear himself away from Paris he should travel by
the _train de luxe_, which lands him, without the trouble of changing,
in Prague at a reasonably early hour of the evening. This route is
interesting in itself, as it leads through many notable places, Chateau
Thierry, with its grim reminders of the Great War, Nancy, and Strasbourg
restored to France. Then on to Stuttgart, the capital of a small but
healthy German Republic, formerly the Kingdom of Wuertemberg; there has
been no exaggerated display of republican fervour here in this clean and
proper capital, and a crown still tops the coat of arms of a line of
rulers, on the former royal palace. You cross the fertile country of
Franconia, a wide curve gives you a fine view of Nuremberg, and then you
ascend towards the pass that divides the Ore Mountains from the Bohemian
Forest. There are quaint old towns growing out of crumbling battlements
perched on rocks, towns of soft-sounding South German names breathing
history of long ago. There is, for instance, Waiblingen, a very
ordinary-looking wayside station, yet what memories does that name
recall! Memories of Hohenstaufen Emperors, Fredericks and Conrads, down
to the last and luckless Conradin, memories of faction fights between
the city republics of Italy, within the walls of those cities, between
Guelph and Ghibelline, Welf and Waiblingen. This country Bavaria was
also at one time the home of the Welfs; they were a strong, determined
race, and spent much time and energy in vigorous opposition to Holy
Roman Emperors, possibly as men of common sense they considered the
whole prevailing idea of empire rather nonsensical; they were eventually
banished to the country about Hanover and Brunswick, where they
flourished by virtue of their forceful character--and we Britons have
reason to be grateful that it was so.
We move along to Eger or Cheb, where we find a last reminder of the
Hohenstaufen in the ruins of a castle and a round two-storied chapel
built by Frederick Barbarossa.
During the summer season a through coach from Paris is detached at Eger,
whence it is taken to Carlsbad, whither go those who have occasion to
repent them of the evil they have wrought in themselves by
self-indulgence; there they fast and prepare for the next season of
overeating, among peculiarly beautiful surroundings.
From Eger onwards we pass out of the zone of German predominance and
into the ancient land of Bohemia, over wooded heights and broad fertile
fields, past Marienbad, beloved of our King Edward, and where are also
many who love his memory, past Pilsen, and winding along a clear river,
the Berounka, its banks crowned here and there by castles and chapels,
each with a story all its own yet part of the life of the people of
Bohemia, until a sharp curve brings you to the meeting of the waters of
Berounka and Vltava within hail of Prague.
You should travel to Prague when the days are long, so you will be
rewarded by a very fair view as the train crosses the placid River
Vltava. Out of a shadowy mass of grey houses with tiled roofs, divided
by the glittering, winding river, rises the Castle of Prague, a massive
building crowned by a church of which the soaring spires, pinnacles, and
flying buttresses _s'accusent_ against the western sky. The train then
plunges you into a tunnel, a long tunnel taken slowly, where you may
reflect on the vision you have seen, the vision of another city "that is
at unity in itself."
You have had your first glimpse of Prague, and it was beautiful, so you
set about endeavouring to enter into the spirit of the place, to absorb
its atmosphere and to study its character. For every ancient city that
has stood up against adversity and overcome it has a very definite
character of its own. And it is a mysterious, wonderful thing this
character, this _cachet_ of a great city; the charm of Paris or the
grandeur of London, the glittering stillness of Venice or the insistent
glory of eternal Rome.
The character of a city, as is that of man, is formed by experience,
chiefly adverse, and is made evident by the work the city has done for
humanity, its creator and its care. From the study of a city's character
may you look into its future and presage whether it be likely to achieve
success or doomed to failure. For there have been failures among cities
as among men, some pathetic owing to inherent weakness, others as a
consequence of their own misdeeds.
Contrast Constantinople with Eternal Rome. Constantinople, with its
pathetic remains of greatness, failed to remain "at unity in itself";
ancient Byzantium the "Guardian of the Gate" against the invading
Oriental, lived to see its churches turned into mosques, below which
lie, broken and untended, the porphyry monuments of Paleologue and
Cantacuzene.
What of things beautiful was spared wandered to Rome, whence from the
crumbling remnants of an old civilization came the light of the
Renaissance that spread over Western Europe.
Most pathetic of all cities that have failed is Amarapura, not so long
ago the capital of Burma, and a flourishing city on the banks of the
Irrawaddy, placed indeed in the most appropriate position for its former
purpose.
But a new King came who was not content with the capital of his fathers,
so he ordered its removal. A sycophantic priesthood was loud in
prophecies of the great future of the new capital to be built some few
miles away, but Mandalay is this day the provincial centre of the
government of a race alien to those who founded the city; the race of
Kings, the last scion of which abandoned the city of his fathers, is all
but extinct, and Amarapura has returned to the jungle from which it
rose.
Now this, I admit, appears to have nothing to do with the city of
Prague; it is indeed a far stretch of vision from "a Terrace in Prague"
to the banks of the Irrawaddy.
Nevertheless, memories of far-off days in Burma came surging up one day
as I sat on my terrace reading a newspaper printed and published in the
city that lay shrouded in historic mist below. The paper brought news of
an old acquaintance, not exactly a close, not even a bowing
acquaintance, for we were generally kept apart by force of circumstances
(which he might have controlled) at a distance of about a rifle-shot.
This acquaintance was one Wun Thu, a son of Thebaw, last of the Burman
Kings.
Wun Thu objected strongly to British rule, and emphasized his objection
by making trouble with his bands of patriots, whom we called dacoits,
robbers.
Even my peaceable occupation of surveying the land met with obstruction
on the part of Wun Thu, and led to a frequent exchange of perfectly
harmless rifle-shots. And here in Prague, looking down over my newspaper
from the terrace of my choice, I seemed to see the spires of the city
mass closer together and take on the form of giant jungle trees, the
broad Vltava to shrink to the narrow silver thread of a mountain stream
at the crossing of which Wun Thu's sporting warriors had levelled their
blunderbusses lashed to trees and warranted harmless to all but the men
behind them; the paper told of another rising led by Wun Thu. Wun Thu
had lain "doggo" for many years--at least he had done nothing to attract
the attention of Central Europe--yet here he was, a man of my age and on
the downward slope, following the post-war instinct of making
trouble--for himself chiefly, as his attempt failed. I feel sorry for my
old acquaintance; like so many of us of a former generation, he no
longer fits into the picture; he is probably too honest to succeed under
present-day conditions. However, Wun Thu has been banished to Ceylon,
and I am still writing about Prague. Even in this I am last and, I
willingly admit, least of a goodly company.
First in time of this goodly company is Cosmas of Prague, who wrote his
chronicles early in the twelfth century. There are yet earlier German
chronicles which make mention of the Bohemians, but the city of Prague
was not in the days in which they were written. Those German chronicles
suggest that the Bohemians who came into their land some time in the
sixth century were at one time tributary to the Avari, an Asiatic tribe
which had taken possession of the greater part of present-day Hungary,
and were rather a nuisance to Western Europe.
It will be remembered that Charlemagne had forceful argument with these
Avari; it had something to do with that worthy's trip to visit the
Empress of the East; there was a squabble about fares, river dues and
such matters. However, this is _vieux jeu_, and has nothing to do with
Prague. The Avari were devoted to the time-honoured practice of robbing
and ravishing their neighbours, among them the Bohemians. These latter
seem to have borrowed one Samo the Frank, a strong man, from one of the
northern Slavonic tribes, and as he proved a success, invited him to be
King over them.
Samo accepted the invitation, and is said to have founded the first
great Slavonic State with Bohemia as nucleus and a strong castle at
Vy[vs]ehrad, of which we shall have more to tell hereafter. The
neighbouring Franks became uneasy at Samo's increasing importance, and
under Dagobert, their King, invaded Bohemia, to be badly beaten at
Wogastisburg, which, according to Count Luetzow, was near the present
town of Cheb. Samo extended his territory after this victory, and
appears to have lived till about the middle of the seventh century.
There ensues a complete lapse in the chronicling of the history of
Bohemia until Cosmas took up the tale.
Having no historical records of events since the days of Samo, he drew
upon a rich store of legend which, coloured by his lively imagination,
forms a glowing and vivid background to the story of this interesting
and attractive branch of the great Slavonic race, I am not competing
with Cosmas. Bohemia has produced many chroniclers and historians since
his day, men whose soul was filled with pride and love of race, whose
mind was bent on giving to the world truthfully recorded history, men
whose imagination nurtured on lovely legends, on great traditions amid
the beauties of one of Europe's fairest countries, found expression in
works of lasting worth: I need only mention such names as Palacky,
Tomek, and Luetzow among many.
Of strangers who have been charmed to pertinent utterance by the glory
and beauty of Prague there is an imposing array. In the fifteenth
century AEneas Silvius, afterwards Pope Pius II, came this way, and
described Prague as the "Queen of Towns." Then Goethe, whose glowing pen
could add colour to the vibrant beauty of Italian landscape, writes of
Prague as "der Mauerkrone der Erde kostbarste Stein." We will interpret
this, as it is no longer the fashion to understand German, especially in
Prague: "the most precious jewel in the mural crown of this earth."
Another German, Alexander von Humboldt, gives to Prague fourth place
among the world's "cities beautiful."
Rodin considered Prague as the "Rome of the North," a comparison that
seems rather trite at first, but those who feel the meaning of this city
will understand and appreciate the French sculptor's judgment. Prague
has, at least superficially, one quality in common with Rome; in your
wanderings in either city you may come suddenly upon something of beauty
so stupendous as to take your breath away.
Other French visitors of importance show a tendency to dwell upon the
character of the Bohemians in general rather than on the beauty of their
capital. With keen perception they draw the deeper meaning from out the
stones of Prague; thus in the fifties of the last century writes
Viollet-le-Duc, "Prague est une capitale dans laquelle on sent la
puissance d'un grand peuple," and Massieu de Clerval is yet more
emphatic: "si un pays peut se vanter d'une nationalite indestructible
c'est a coup sur la Boheme.--Une nation qui a passe par de pareilles
epreuves ne perira, elle a vaincu la mort."
We must not overlook yet another visitor to Prague whose outlook was
practical rather than romantic, Ibrahim Ibn Jacub. This Jewish trader
from Arabia travelled in Bohemia some time in the tenth century, and was
much struck with Prague, "a great commercial town of stone-built
houses."
So we who would add a belated word of tribute to the glory of Prague the
Golden find ourselves indeed in goodly company. Moreover, we live in the
present, and have, as far as this book is concerned, only just arrived
in Prague.
The morning sun that tips the pinnacles of the Castle of Prague with
gold, that dispels the purple shadows in which the city lies shrouded,
and calls forth sparkling facets on the broad river, dissipates our
dreams of cities that have failed and perished. It summons us to study
this ancient city, old yet ever young. Beautiful, too, in all the
varying glints of light upon the spires and turrets of its hundred
towers, when the morning breeze comes down-stream and rustles in the
trees that deck the islands, to the golden glory of the sunset behind
the purple masses of the castle. Then a short star-lit night while
Prague rests in dreams of former greatness to gain strength to face its
high duties of the morrow.
Indeed, Prague is an ancient city, yet young and active and wonderfully
beautiful in all its aspects.
It is not my intention to conduct you round Prague, to introduce to you
one by one the many features of the city, and tell you all there is to
know about them. This for two excellent reasons: one, that I am far from
having got to the end of such knowledge myself, the other that you may
be induced to come here and find out for yourself how much of interest
and of beauty lies open before you.
As in introducing a friend, I mean to state only a few salient points,
to give you a hint of the city's story here and there as told by ancient
buildings, as shown in public haunts or quiet nooks, hoping that in your
turn you may make a friend of this venerable, this beautiful Prague.
CHAPTER II
Discusses the question of guides and guide-books, and tries to explain
the author's method, or lack of it, when making himself acquainted with
places of interest. Contains also remarks on terraces, which are
expected to edify. There is a good deal about the weather of Prague,
about the gardens at different seasons, also an account of merrymaking
in bygone days, and some reflections, in the same spirit, on present-day
rejoicings.
There are various ways of becoming acquainted with an interesting city.
Some people invest in a guide-book before starting out on the journey,
others do not rest until they have bought one or more on arriving at
their destination. You may notice these people studying the book on the
boat perhaps, certainly in the train; they even let the book interfere
with the proper attention that is due to meals; and allow me to remark
here that the wagon-lit people are very sound on the question of food.
These people are slaves to the guide-book; they leave it not, day or
night, and the more methodical they are in conforming to the cramped
spirit of the book, the less do they discover things by themselves. No
guide-book ever can initiate you into the atmosphere of a city like
Prague.
The sight of the guide-book slave "doing" an ancient and glorious city
always fills me with sorrow, sometimes, indeed, with annoyance. These
slaves frequently hunt in couples, male and female, sometimes with
progeny at heel, and it is generally the male who discovers things--in
the guide-book--and then drags the rest of his outfit in search of his
discovery. As this is usually done at a reckless pace, the performance
is apt to upset the repose of the inhabitants whose perambulations of
their native place are in marked contrast to the silent, ruthless hurry
in the streets of our large towns. The good burghers of foreign towns
seem to have plenty of their own and other people's time to spare; they
also possess the gift of unlimited conversational powers. I have known
many a pleasant chat rudely interrupted by a group of British or
American travellers who, with nose well inside a book, blue or red but
obviously "guide," push their way, ruthless as Juggernaut, through
bunches of inoffensive natives. There is one consolation: those slaves
of the guide-book frequently miss the prettiest bits, just because they
are looking into the book instead of around them.
Ask such as they about the atmosphere of some old-world haunt, and you
will probably hear complaints about the food or the service.
Some tourists aggravate their position by hiring a guide. Every city of
any historic importance breeds a class of mortals that are born guides;
they have come to belong to the "staffage" of picturesque surroundings;
and in this respect Prague is happily yet unspoilt. The born guide, when
young, is generally to be found running after you barefooted, clamouring
for coppers or cigarettes. His picturesqueness is due to the fact that
he does not disclose the incipient traits of villainy in his face by
washing it. The adult of the species does wash his face sometimes, but
he has no other virtues. The species "guide" is found in its perfection
in Southern Europe. Some day I must write a book on "Guides I have
Spurned"; there were many, and I have had to acquire a cursory
acquaintance with several foreign languages in order to deal adequately
with the spurning action which is chiefly vocal and invective. For the
present I can only remember one of the many spurned ones. He had been
following me about all over the ruins of a Moorish castle, and finally,
breathless, came up with me by a little pile of stones leaning, with
some faint attempt at symmetry, against a wall. In gusts a
garlic-charged voice explained, "Zat modern. Zat rabbit-'ouse!" In his
case the spurning could be done quite conveniently in English.
We cannot all afford to be original. I lay no claim to that quality for
myself; my method of making the acquaintance of such an interesting old
city as Prague may be that of thousands of other wayfarers. However this
may be, I propose to explain my method, not necessarily in order to
induce others to adopt it, but rather because it explains the title of
this work. I look upon cities, landscapes, in fact upon life in general,
from a terrace--not over or through the leaves of a guide-book.
There is a deal more interest in a terrace, and you can always find one
if you really want to do so, than the casual passer-by is inclined to
realize. It is easy to reconstruct the scene of building up the first
terrace. Some fairly primitive man had emancipated himself from the
old-fashioned ancestral habit of just letting the rain wash away the
hillside, and with it the family's prospects of green food for the
season. Squatting outside his cave he had done some hard thinking which,
transmitted into action, had led him to build up a wall here and there
on the hillside, a wall of clumsy stones kept in place by stakes
hammered into the ground, yet a wall, indeed a terrace, and an advance
upon the methods of his neighbours whose struggles he could watch from
the surer footing he himself had gained--a terrace and a point of view.
It is not suggested that the wayfarer on arriving in a strange city
should make a bee-line for the nearest terrace.
There are terraces and terraces, each one with its own definable point
of view, and it is this quality which should influence the traveller's
choice. Prague offers considerable variety in terraces suitable to every
conceivable outlook on life. You may choose a terrace that looks out
over the factory quarter of Prague, over grimy Smichov for instance, and
make notes on the growing industrial prosperity of the city. You will
probably be smoked out of your position, for a cheap and nasty variety
of brown coal is used by local industries. If you belong to the eclectic
you may be privileged to look down on Prague from a terrace with a
background of diplomacy, and find the outlook somewhat limited.
Again, there are terraces where you can get beer and other refreshment.
Such terraces are generally so contrived as to give you an outlook too
varied to allow of concentration on the essentials of the city; the
background to these terraces is generally some little building where the
waiter lurks for orders. But there are other, real terraces to be found
by those who search diligently and know how to discriminate, terraces
with a background that has grown up with the city, that strikes no
foreign note in that harmony of form and colour, of clustering red-tiled
roofs surmounted by domes, towers and spires, which is Prague. Such a
terrace is that from which I write. It is a real terrace, serving its
original purpose in supporting a garden on a hillside. A garden
carefully, fondly tended by generations of those who lived useful lives
and looked out over the city from this point of view.
It is old, very old, this terrace, and it has witnessed many terrible
scenes, fire and slaughter and religious strife, but it has also seen
more that is ennobling and inspiring. In its strength this terrace has
supported those who passed their days upon it, imbuing them, and those
who live there yet, with the serenity that comes of a faith built on a
sure foundation. This terrace is a bridge to the "Abiding City." It is
not my intention to disclose the locality of this terrace; let every man
find one to suit his own particular outlook.
Having found your terrace, settle down to a serious contemplation of
your surroundings and of the outlook before you; absorb as much as you
can of the atmosphere of the place, let it sink into you. For this
purpose a guide-book is not only useless, it is a let and a hindrance.
After all, what does a guide-book tell you? Either it recites dry facts
in an utterly soulless voice, or else, if it make any pretence at
_belles-lettres_, as some of them painfully do, it goes off into
sentiment and rapture before you have decided whether these be suited to
the occasion. Anyway, a guide-book is the expression of some one else's
opinion or experience, and as such is harmful to the soul as likely to
exert undue influence.
From your terrace you take in a more or less comprehensive view of the
city and its surroundings, and also form some conception of its inner
meaning. Then descend from your terrace and wander at random about the
streets, choosing as the more appropriate time the long twilight of a
summer morning which brings the cruder modern aspect of the place into
harmony with the fundamental values. Then, before she awakens to the
stir and activity of everyday life, old Prague will speak to you of
herself and take you into her confidence; she will tell you some
startling stories, for she has a lurid past, has the city of Prague.
I do not know what was Rodin's method of appreciating Prague, but can
easily imagine him looking out over the city from the terrace of his
choice, looking out over Prague and recalling memories of Rome as seen
from the Pincio. There are certain obvious points of resemblance. First
there are several hills on which Prague is built; they are said to be
seven in number, as in the case of the Eternal City. Personally I can
only make out five hills, and I have counted them carefully. It seems to
be the right thing in cities of venerable antiquity to claim seven
hills; to me this seems a mixture of superstition and snobbery. Prague
can well afford to be original and rest content with standing on five
hills. This, by the way, does not include all the suburbs which have
lately been added in order to make up Greater Prague; the innovation is
much too recent, and no "Terrace in Prague" can embrace a view of all
the latest additions to the urban district.
Further superficial points of resemblance to Rome are the towers and
cupolas that rise above a sea of houses, and the winding river; to find
yet more would be a serious strain on the imagination. But there is a
deeper resemblance, and this perchance is what Rodin meant when he
described Prague as "the Rome of the North." I say "perchance," because
Rodin never gave any closer reason for the comparison he drew, so I can
only give my own personal impression of what he may have meant. There
are, to my thinking, two distinct Romes as there are two distinct
Pragues. The old original Rome seems to me fundamentally, gloriously,
and, indeed, unblushingly pagan. All the top-hamper even of such beauty
as Michel Angelo conceived does not alter this my impression. Churches
arisen out of an Emperor's bath, or resting on some pagan shrine, are
superimposed on Rome. Rome and all that Rome stands for down the ages is
that glorious mass of ruins which cluster about the Capitoline Hill or
come upon you in unexpected places. And so it is with Prague;
Prague--the real Prague--is to be found in the graceful and enduring
monuments erected by Kings of Bohemia in the Middle Ages; Prague of the
Luxemburg monarchs, with echoes, faint yet insistent, of remoter
legendary times. Over this ancient Prague rise structures of an alien
nature, _baroque_ creations of the Jesuits, in spirit foreign to all
that the capital of Bohemia stands for. Indeed, most of these buildings
are imposing; some are beautiful, but despite the mellowing influence of
time it seems as if they had not been completely merged into the soul of
the city; they do not express its inner meaning unreservedly. And modern
Prague is built up among and about the gracious relics of past ages; at
first it appears detached, as it were hesitant between the serenity of a
former golden age, the forcefulness of the Jesuit era and the vigour of
modernity, but at heart it is one with the Prague of many centuries, is
"at unity in itself" by virtue of reverence for noble tradition and hope
for a glorious future.
"Thither the tribes go up"; indeed, they have been swarming in since
Prague came into her own some few years ago and became the capital of a
free and independent republic. In former years, when Prague was still
accounted a small provincial town of somnolent habits, there were only
two or three hotels that counted at all as accommodation for foreigners;
now there are many yet inadequate to the number of visitors. As to those
that are drawn to Prague, their numbers may be accounted for by the fact
that most of them are native Bohemians who have business in the capital
as the seat of government and also as a commercial, industrial and
intellectual centre; these latter qualities attract an ever swelling
stream of foreigners. To account for this I will draw a comparison all
my own between Prague and Paris.
The true Parisian will probably shrug his shoulders at any idea of
comparing his city with Prague; but as he is above all a logically
minded, reasoning sort of person and, moreover, courteous, he will
listen to my argument, and even should he not agree, is generous enough
to join me in the happy auguries for Prague which my comparison
suggests.
Take a map showing the physical features of France and you will find
that the capital of the country could be nowhere else but exactly on the
spot where Paris stands in a fertile plain where meet a number of
waterways--Seine and Marne just above the city, Oise some little way
down. By these waterways and by high roads that came after, a constant
stream of peoples has been swirling into France and mingling in the
basin of Paris. Among these were Latins from the south coming up the
valley of the Rhone and Saone, over the heights and down the Yonne to
the valley of the Seine. Then came Franks through the gap of Belfort and
over the hills by Nancy, down to the Marne and the Aube; Celts and
Flemings from the north, and Norsemen from the west, all met and mingled
with the native Gauls and eventually became Parisians. Environment acted
its part, and so did the forces of Nature. The soil of the basin of
Paris is fruitful, the climate equable, but neither encourage idlers;
both demand a toll of strenuous labour, yet not so trying to man's
strength as to leave him exhausted at the end of the day's work; he may
recreate himself and bring his mind to bear on the result of his
handiwork.
This made him critical, and the constant flow of foreigners brought him
new ideas to test by the light of his own experience, and so Paris
became, as it were, a crucible in which theories of life were tested and
rendered by science into practical form.
Only the best is good enough for Paris, and this will remain the case
until the disintegration of our planet; no invading hosts, be they never
so numerous, nor the most fiendish inventions in modern chemistry, can
alter this fact, they may beat down the superficial Paris, they cannot
destroy its spirit.
To a lesser degree this is also true of Prague. As we have already seen,
its geographical position marks it out as a centre where meet roads
coming from all directions. This fact was not discovered at such an
early period as that in which Paris arose out of the river swamps.
Possibly this was due to the westward tendency of migratory races during
the first centuries of our era when Teutonic tribes and Celts passed
over Bohemia under pressure from the east. It is strange that the Romans
did not discover the geographical advantages of the site on which Prague
was founded. Roman influence began to make itself felt early in the
first century of the Christian era in these parts, but the trade route
which connected the Danube with the Baltic shore passed eastward of
Prague, it seems via the valley of the Morava and the "Gate of Bohemia"
at Nachod, through Breslau and Stettin, both, by the way, former
Slavonic settlements. There are not many traces of Roman culture, and
what there are seem to have been imposed on the inhabitants themselves
rather than left behind by the Romans. Even Marcus Aurelius, who wrote
about most things under the sun, has little to say of the country north
of his stronghold at the confluence of the Danube and Morava. It was not
till several centuries after the Roman Empire's glory had departed that
Prague became a place of importance, and this was largely due to the
Luxemburg Kings, whose introduction of French culture made of the city a
centre of attraction on the eastern marches of Europe. How and why
Prague lost in importance may be gathered from its history; whether it
will again gain and hold the prominent position to which it is entitled
by its situation must depend entirely on the people of old Bohemia and
the other countries which compose the new Czecho-Slovak Republic in
general and the citizens of Prague in particular; the fortunes of their
country and capital are in their own hands to make or mar. They have
many points in their favour: first, a central position in a country
endowed with great riches; then a sturdy, hardworking and law-abiding
population; and finally a climate that neither encourages idleness nor
puts too severe a strain upon man's power of endurance.
The people of Prague have their theories about the climate of their
country; they maintain that it is governed by certain rules that are
made to apply to Central Europe generally. Thus they will tell you that
the winter is severe, that ice and snow keep the country bound for
several months at a time, that spring comes swiftly but gently with the
melting of the snow and the gradual breaking up of the ice-floes on the
river, that then a fine summer follows, a summer hot indeed but tempered
by cool breezes from the north and showers from south and west; then
through a glorious autumn all russet and gold on a background of hazy
blue mountains, back to a winter as in the Christmas carol about Good
King Wenceslaus. All this is theory; in reality the weather here, as
elsewhere, is not to be trusted, though, indeed, it is not as fickle as
that of our own dear country. Still, the people cling to their theory
about the climate of the country, and if perchance the theory does not
fit, there is always an "oldest inhabitant" handy to declare the weather
quite exceptional. Why is it that the oldest inhabitant is invariably
the greatest local liar? Is it simply a matter of long life and ripe
experience?
Whatever the climate may be, whatever vagaries the weather may indulge
in, the view from my terrace is always lovely, its subtle beauty ever
new. If I were called upon to say which season shows ancient Prague at
her best, I would say the spring time. Then the orchards on the slopes
are arrayed in virgin white of pear and cherry blossom, with here and
there a blush from apple-trees and a faint glimmer of delicate green
against cool grey of stone walls showing among the purples of trunks and
branches warming into new life under the fitful rays of April sunshine.
The sunshine draws out colour from soaring spires or copper domes of
churches and from the quaint towers and pinnacles of old Prague's former
defences against enemies that came like storm clouds from out of the
west or over the giant mountains to northward. A passing cloud throws
into the shade the middle ground of grouped and red-tiled roofs
overtopped by some stately church, and the terraced gardens that descend
into the harmonies of deep reds and greyish purples which is the
dominant note in the colour scheme of the "Mala Strana," the small side
of Prague on the left bank of the river. Far beyond are the encircling
heights--some wooded, others under cultivation; cloud shadows pass over
them like ghosts of the tragic events that made up the history of
Bohemia and its capital. But the sunshine wins over the clouds and draws
out the strength and glory of Golden Prague.
Summer and autumn bring fulfilment of spring's promise of plenty, with
fruit in abundance. Autumn lingers in red and yellow motley, stoutly
resisting winter's attack until boisterous winds from east and north
send the last leaves shivering to the ground and spread out the city's
winter garb. Then Prague assumes a severer aspect; reds and warm greys
have vanished, castle, churches, palaces stand out in marked relief,
their features accentuated by piled-up snow on roof and gallery and
flying buttress. And seen from my terrace, Prague under snow is very
beautiful.
The winter had been erratic; spells of intense cold when ice-floes piled
up about the piers of the bridges, and even gave rise to anxiety
concerning the safety of those structures; then mild winds from the
south driving the smoke of the Smichov factories across Castle Hill.
This, too, has its beauties when reluctant rays of the setting sun try
to dispel it and cloak the Hrad[vc]any in a shroud of purple mist.
Winter lingered on into the beginning of the week of Resurrection. On
Tuesday in Holy Week wild gusts from the north drove powdered snow in
scurries across the uplands through the broad streets and into narrow
alleys, where it lingered during two breathless days until with Good
Friday came glorious sunshine, dispelling the last traces of winter
storms.
As if to attune themselves to the change from winter's bondage to
generous life, from the season of Lent to the Day of Resurrection, the
people of Prague, as is their wont, called music to their aid. On Palm
Sunday, as the last light of a grey day faded away, the church dedicated
to Saint Henry, standing austerely apart from the traffic of the
streets, was filled with the sweet sadness of Pergolesi's "Stabat
Mater." From the organ-loft came the soul-searching harmony of two
voices, a pure white soprano and a rich vibrant contralto, which spread
about the lofty building, penetrated to the secluded corners where the
scent of incense lingers, and then seemed to lose itself in the shadowy
arches of the roof, merging, as it were, into the memories of centuries
of prayer and praise.
There was that feeling of impending relief from pain, then as of a
healing touch when glorious sunshine ushered in Easter Sunday. Larks
poured out their soul into a cloudless sky over the battlefield of the
White Mountain, the pale green of larches showed up bravely among the
riot of live purple and crimson and the flashing trunks of birches, over
the wall that confines the park of the Star. The Star itself, that
singular monument, a former hunting-box of Bohemian Kings and built in
the shape of a six-pointed star, is undergoing renaissance: it is being
arranged as a museum for the Czecho-Slovak legionaries. The little brook
that makes such a long detour on its way to join the Vltava, passing
through the rocky gorge and the winding valley of the Sharka, was very
emphatic on the subject of spring's arrival, and its voice must have
penetrated to secluded nooks and crannies, rousing sluggard forms of
life from winter sleep. Spring was asserting itself with all the
glorious certainty of youth, and was calling aloud to all and sundry to
come out and witness a brave display in the many gardens of Prague.
I doubt whether any other town in Europe is so well equipped with
gardens as is Prague for its size. Chiefest among these is the
Stromovka, on the northern slope of the Letna Hill. Your best approach
is from the direction of the castle by a broad and shady avenue which
leads you first down, then up again to a little plateau where stands a
building called Zamek. This building is said to be an old hunting-box of
Bohemian royalty: it certainly tries its best to look ancient, but fails
to convince you. Then by shady winding ways down the slope to a broad
valley deep in verdure. A little stream, which broadens into a lake,
keeps up the necessary moisture, and the grass and the weeping willows
in their loveliness offer it their silent thanks. The trees on the
northern slope grow high: they had to do so to meet the sunshine.
There are broad, shady drives and rides, and many seats, also two
restaurants, with at least one band playing heartily of an afternoon.
But the beauty spot in all this loveliness is right in the centre--a
rose-garden. It is no use trying to describe this rose-garden; only a
poet could do that, so all I say is, Come and see for yourself.
Other public gardens I would mention, at least the larger ones--Kinsky,
Nebozizek, Riegrovy--but there are a number of others, smaller ones,
with shady nooks and plenty of seats. These gardens are dispersed about
the town in its workaday quarters; at midday--in fact, at any time of
day--you may see the workers enjoying a rest and also whatever kindly
fruits of the earth happen to be in season--in July your path is paved
with cherry-stones.
There are rows of trees along many of the streets; there are many
private gardens of palace, hospital, monastery or convent, adding the
freshness of their verdure to the beauty of Prague.
No wonder, then, that with so much loveliness about them the people of
Prague should be gay and intent on enjoying life amid such surroundings.
On a Sunday or feast-day you have music all round you. Look over the
holiday city from your terrace, you will see happy well-dressed crowds
moving to one or other place whence rise the strains of music. From one
side you hear the solemn notes of the fanfarade from Libu[vs]a; a little
farther away a very cheery brass band is stirring its audience with a
rattling march--impossible to keep your feet still; then while the brass
band pauses for breath and beer the insistent cadence of a dreamy valse
floats up to meet you.
Finest of all was Stromovka. Here weeping willows trailed their weeds of
daintiest green; here vigorous chestnut buds threw out their strong
scent; here osier-beds were a living tangle of gold and crimson
reflected brokenly in the lake where frogs made merry, the frogs being
about the only wild animals left in the Stromovka. Things were very
different in this park when it was known as the Thiergarten, Hortus
Ferarum, as long ago as the days of King John, the knight-errant ruler
of Bohemia. It appears that bison, "aurochs," were kept here, and it is
recorded that the sole surviving specimen died in 1566, which fact
Archduke Ferdinand, the Kaiser's lieutenant, reported to Emperor
Maximilian; he was thereupon ordered to ask the Duke of Prussia to
oblige with a new couple of bison.
The Stromovka was at one time described as "where the ox preaches on a
sack of straw," which description was probably meant to be humorous. The
connection comes about by the fact that the tailors of the town held
their revels in the Thiergarten every Tuesday in Easter week, and it
seems that a sack of straw was necessary to their happiness. This sack,
of the finest white linen, was sewn up with great neatness and adorned
with bows of ribbon, red, blue, yellow, green and white, by the
apprentices. The sack was further decorated with a design representing a
lass and a lad.
There seems to have been no particular object for the sack, as it was
only fastened to a pole round which danced young men and maidens. As the
gay Czechs of the present day are ready to dance without any such
fortuitous aid, it may be presumed that there was some meaning in the
idea of carrying a sack about and then dancing round it; but the
chronicler does not mention this point--he probably missed it.
Not to be outdone by the tailors, the cobblers of Prague had their day
on the Wednesday after Easter, and went for their diversion in an
opposite direction, namely, to Nusle, which lies tucked away behind
Vy[vs]ehrad. The cobblers' feast-day was called "Fidlovatchka," which
has a cheery ring, and tradition gives the following origin: The
cobblers' guild had built a pair of boots, a most excellent pair of
boots, for Emperor Joseph, who himself had learnt their craft. Every
cobbler's apprentice in Prague had contributed of his labour to this
pair of boots. In token of gratitude the Emperor had given to the guild
a little tree, silver-plated, on which were displayed specimens, also in
silver, of all the implements used in the cobbler's handicraft. This
imperial present was displayed at the cobblers' guildhall and held in
high honour.
Now as it happened the cobblers' apprentices seem to have been afflicted
more than those of other guilds by the complaint called by the Germans
"Blue Monday," which being interpreted meaneth "the morning after the
night before." It was of necessity observed as a holiday. Masters
insisted on abolishing this holiday, apprentices insisted on its
retention. The latter removed the silver-plated tree from its sanctuary
and carried it, to the strains of music and with much vociferation, to a
mill, now no longer, at Nusle, at which place the adventure had been
planned.
Not a single apprentice was to be found in Prague: needless to say, they
had the enthusiastic support and inspiring company of all the cobblers'
errand-boys.
The apprentices kept up the feast for several days until their funds
were exhausted; they then stripped the imperial tree of its ornaments
and sold them. When they had arrived at the stage known as _au sec_ they
passed the time in fighting. Eventually a deputation of masters came
out, a conference was held, the "Blue Monday" feast was reinstituted,
and the apprentices returned to Prague, carrying, in place of the
imperial tree, a maypole--premature, no doubt, but it probably best
expressed their feelings.
The very learned will tell us that the maypole custom of the Prague
cobblers dates back to much remoter times than those of Emperor Joseph,
and may draw attention to the habit prevalent in Saxony and other
neighbouring countries with an originally strongly Slav population of
displaying a birch-tree at the beginning of May. The learned will then
dive down into Slavonic mythology, which process to the dilettante in
such matters, is like "going in off the deep end"--you never know when
or where you may come up again.
At any rate, it appears that the cobblers' apprentices chose to call
their maypole "Fidlovatchka," and that they carried it about on their
feast-day, the Wednesday after Easter. Tradition has it that they all
smoked in turn, from a giant pipe capable of holding two pounds of
tobacco. Here a fastidious chronicler draws the curtain.
The habit of the Prague apprentices in the matter of keeping the feast
remains much the same to-day; moreover, it is not their exclusive right
or privilege. I know few other places in the world where people are more
ready to make merry on the least provocation. I do not know why this
is, nor have I analysed the Czech disposition towards festivities; I do
know that it is contagious. Perhaps it is due to the fact that the
Church of Rome encouraged the converted Hussites to keep things merry
and bright on every available saint's day so as to deaden all
recollection of Hus's martyrdom, but this is a deeper matter which we
will discuss later. The fact is that the Czech is by nature gay and
cheerful and an expert merrymaker, as who would not be in a country like
Bohemia, with its grand natural beauties, its wealth of music and
poetry--and its beer?
The Government has recently abolished all holidays but a few of the very
obvious ones, such as New Year's Day, Good Friday, and May Day. I do not
think that this paternal decree will make the least difference to the
cheery Czech; in fact, only a day or so after the decree was passed into
law the event was celebrated by a very hearty tribute, lasting two days,
to a national saint, followed by a day's strike organized by those who
protest against all such obsolete notions as saints' days. Everyone was
satisfied; everyone's opinion had been freely expressed, and everyone
had enjoyed three holidays in one week, thus, by the way, exceeding the
allowance for the whole year. Oh yes! the Czechs know what they are
about when it comes to merrymaking.
Such a day of merriment is March 7th, very much of a feast-day
indeed--the birthday of President Masaryk. Were I a Czech or Slovak, I
should celebrate right heartily at least once a week the birthday of the
present President, for he is one of the few great men among the swarm
that arrived at the top as a result of the World War.
CHAPTER III
Deals in order of seniority with two of the hills on which Prague
stands. First in order, Vy[vs]ehrad, with its memories of Libu[vs]a and
her supernatural gift. Refers also to one P[vr]emysl, Libu[vs]a's chosen
consort, and the long line of rulers his descendants. Tells of how the
foundations of the Hrad[vs]any were laid according to Libu[vs]'s
instructions. Tries to describe the Hrad[vs]any as seen to-day,
inadequately be it admitted, but illustrations are added in order to
help the reader's comprehension of this crowning glory of Prague. Tells
a story or two about sentries, one of which at least is intended to
thrill. There is also mention of one Czech, of his discovery of the hill
[vR]ip. This chapter shows also how by degrees the descendants of
P[vr]emysl emerged from the mist of legend with the dawn of Christianity
over these Slavonic tribes.
Duke Mnata and his wife Strzezislava flit across the stage. Then we
linger on Bo[vr]ivoj and note that German influence begins to make
itself felt. St. Methodius is also mentioned, as is one Svatopluk,
Prince of Moravia. Finally we arrive at properly authenticated Princes
of Bohemia, each labelled and dated correctly, St. Wenceslaus and his
brother Boleslav. Mentions also a saintly lady Ludmilla and her
daughter-in-law Dragomira in vivid contrast. Family dissensions among
the P[vr]emysls which lead to such unpleasant happenings as the murder
of St. Ludmilla and the consequent banishment of Dragomira by her son
Wenceslaus, of whom there is so much to relate that he is worthy to open
a fresh chapter.
Let us lift up our eyes unto the hills, the hills on which stands
Prague, and if help do not come at once we may at least hope for
inspiration; the beauty of the scene alone assures us. Look out from
your terrace of a morning, a cloudless morning of early summer, and
gainsay it if you can. The town is extending considerably, growing up
the distant slopes on the far side of the river and trickling down into
the little valleys, but the general outline of Prague is much the same
as it has been for centuries; the eternal hills may be scarred and
patched by us who have here no "abiding city," but they remain.
I have already mentioned the hills on which Prague was built, and had
decided that they are five in number, not seven as is popularly alleged.
I have counted those hills several times over, and make their number
five, and quite sufficient too; another two hills would mar the
composition. At the risk of repeating myself, I maintain that Prague can
well afford to be original and forgo any imitation of other cities by
insisting on standing on seven hills; a truly great city should not
descend to servile flattery. Paris, for example, undoubtedly a great
city, is quite content to stand on two hills, Montmartre and
Montparnasse, the latter quite worn flat by the levelling tendencies of
modern times.
It is now time that we delved down into the history of Bohemia, and in
this we gain inspiration from the hills of Prague, the works of man that
crown them and the traditions, legends, shreds of history that cling to
them. Of these hills that of Vy[vs]ehrad is entitled to hold seniority
in the history of Prague. It takes a place somewhat akin to that held by
the Capitoline Hill of Rome. It was from here that the city started,
though this hill has little left of former grandeur and shows nothing to
compare with Rome's monuments to a glorious past. A crumbling block of
masonry, the story of which is quite unknown, a round chapel dating from
the days when Christianity was young among the Slavs and still found
ready martyrs in its cause even among princes, and an _enceinte_ of
brick fortifications, stone-faced and in Vauban's best style, battered
by Frederick the Great's guns, are all that Vy[vs]ehrad has to show by
way of relics of a stormy past.
Vy[vs]ehrad is about the first striking view you obtain of Prague as the
_train de luxe_ brings you round a bend before crossing the railway
bridge over the Vltava. Travellers seeing Prague for the first time are
apt to mistake this hill of Vy[vs]ehrad for the castle. I did so myself;
my delight, therefore, at the first sight of Prague's crowning glory,
the Hrad[vs]any, was all the greater.
Seen against the evening sky, Vy[vs]ehrad looks very imposing; it is at
its best by winter twilight, when the heavy mass is dully reflected on
the surface of the frozen river. Then you may gain some idea of what
this rugged promontory stands for in the life-history of a race that has
passed through great tribulation. Two Gothic spires point to the skies,
rising from a church which, despite its newness, seems more in accord
with the spirit of Prague than do the copper domes of Jesuit
structures; but then this church is built on foundations so ancient as
to defy investigation by the most assiduous chroniclers. No doubt those
spires are right enough in their way, but they are almost painfully
modern and unromantic compared to a square bit of crumbling masonry that
clings limpet-like to the crags of Vy[vs]ehrad overhanging the river at
the feet of the twin church towers. For here, according to legend, is
the cradle of the city of Prague. In popular parlance this bit of
masonry is called Libu[vs]a's bath, and hereby hangs a tale to introduce
which we must hark back some fourteen centuries.
* * * * *
Some time in the sixth century--nobody seems to know exactly or to care
much when it was--one Czech or Czechus was wandering about this land of
Bohemia with a party of friends and relatives, probably a whole tribe of
them. Czech seems to have had the country to himself; if he had met any
strangers there would have been a fight, and we should have heard about
it. It may therefore be assumed that the former occupants, probably
lodgers only, had moved on. There was much movement going on in those
early centuries of the Christian era, the main tendency being from
north-east to south-west, from cold, damp and short-commons to warmth
and plenty. Now we have sufficient reason to believe that Thuringians
and Rugians abode for a while in Bohemia and parts of Bavaria, and
Lombards in Moravia, and that these gentry, hearing of loot to be had in
plenty farther south, left their temporary homes, crossed the Danube and
made themselves unpopular elsewhere, leaving the lands of Bohemia and
Moravia to anyone who cared to take them. This happened some time about
the middle of the sixth century, which gives us something more definite
to go upon as to Czech's place in time. Anyway, there were Czech, his
friends and relations wandering at their own sweet pleasure over the
rolling wood-clad landscape of Bohemia. On this excursion Czech espied
from afar a peculiar shaped hill (not one of the hills of Prague) to
which he promptly gave the appropriate name of [vR]ip. Now this
innocent-looking word is, by virtue of the sign placed over the R,
pronounced in a peculiar manner; between the initial consonant and the
"i" you should insert a sound somewhat like that of the French "j" as in
"jamais," for instance. Heaven and the Czechs only know what meaning you
would convey did you neglect this euphonious concatenation of consonants
and simply say "rip"--probably something to cover the young person with
confusion; but rightly pronounced, and with due regard to the soft but
insistent sibilant, this mixture of sounds means--toadstool. It is all
so simple when once you know: [vR]ip = toadstool,--and there you are.
The description tallies too: the hill of [vR]ip does look like a
toadstool; I have seen it myself, and am prepared to support Czech's
statement on oath. Anyway, [vR]ip stands there still, much the same as
when Czech discovered it, but for a chapel dedicated to St. George on
its summit, the result of some one else's piety.
You can see [vR]ip for miles round, as it has chosen a fairly level
plain out of which to arise much like a mushroom on the lawn after a
rainy night. No wonder, then, that Czech made straight for [vR]ip,
climbed to the top, looked around him, approved of what he saw, and
decided to stay. He did, so did his friends and relatives and those that
came after them, and no power on earth was able to shift them. The
descendants of Czech are there still. One of these told me that the best
and sturdiest type of Czech is bred round about [vR]ip; he was born
thereabouts himself, and should know. I am prepared to believe it
anyway, as my friend is certainly of the best and sturdiest type of
Czech.
That much for Czech and his descendants; we must now skip a century or
two which even Cosmas of Prague was unable to fill out with legend, and
return to the lady whose bath I have already referred to. Not that I
believe the ruined bits of wall to have contained a lady's bathroom; I
have tried to imagine Libu[vs]a using the place for the morning tub,
and have failed to conjure up any picture that would carry conviction.
However, I do not wish to prejudice the case; come out to Prague and
judge for yourself.
Libu[vs]a was one of three sisters, daughters of Krok, Prince of
Bohemia, or at least some part of it, for frontiers in those very early
days were even more elastic than those drawn by International
Commissions. Anyway, there was Krok lording it over as much of Bohemia
as he could control, from his fastness of Vy[vs]ehrad. Of Libu[vs]a's
sisters, Kazi and Teta, nothing but their names is known even in legend;
they passed into oblivion on Krok's demise, for he ordained that
Libu[vs]a, his youngest daughter, should succeed him. Libu[vs]a,
according to legend, was a model of all the virtues, and as in those
days there was no ever-ready Press lurking to pounce on historical
inaccuracies, we may accept the statement of kindly Saga.
Libu[vs]a had a rare gift, one which proved uncomfortable to other
ladies of legend similarly endowed, uncomfortable both to themselves and
their belongings, the gift of prophecy. She foretold the future
greatness of Prague, and undoubtedly spotted a winner. This was not the
only occasion either, for she did herself a good turn too by means of
her supernatural power. As it happened, despite her possession of all
the virtues, she had trouble with her subjects, who declared themselves
weary of petticoat government and urged her to look round for a husband.
She did, calling to aid her uncanny gift. The discussion with her
subjects probably took place in the open, high up on Vy[vs]ehrad.
Libu[vs]a, with that far-away gaze proper to all soothsaying, pointed
out over the distant hills, saying, "Behind those hills is a small river
called Belna, and on its bank a farm named Stadic. Near that farm is a
field, and in that field your future ruler is ploughing with two spotted
oxen. His name is P[vr]emysl, and his descendants will rule over you for
ever. Take my horse and follow it; you will be led to the place."
The lady was not quite correct about P[vr]emysl and his
descendants--they have ceased to rule over the Czechs, and are now
replaced by a sovereign people; but she certainly was right in her
description of her future husband and his surroundings. The search
party, following Libu[vs]a's horse, found P[vr]emysl busy at his plough,
roped him in and brought him to their Princess. Legend again asserts
that P[vr]emysl made a first-class husband and ruler (he probably did
exactly as his wife told him) and his descendants reigned with varying
fortunes, until the first years of the fourteenth century--a very good
innings for the lineage of P[vr]emysl, the sturdy farmer, and that
far-seeing lady Libu[vs]a, his wife. During those centuries the Czechs
had consolidated into an important kingdom; from a misty chaos of
heathen Slavonic tribes had grown a people brave and generous, with a
culture all its own, and above all with a surpassing gift of expressing
itself in music.
It must not be supposed that Libu[vs]a rested content with being wife to
P[vr]emysl, just keeping house, mending clothes and minding the babies.
She continued her activities as directress of her people's fortunes, and
is made responsible, among other matters, for choosing the site of the
Hrad[vs]any, the Castle of Prague, and this is what the chronicler has
to say about it.
One day as Libu[vs]a looked out from her fastness over the river towards
the wooded heights to northward, she was moved by the gift of prophecy
to which she was addicted when deeply stirred.
Her own abode, built by her father, hung upon that rocky crag called
Vy[vs]ehrad, and was probably by no means roomy; Krok, her father, had
no doubt found it a convenient spot, being somewhat difficult of access
in those days to armed visitors, who were likely to prove a disturbing
element. The ancient Slav preferred to build in secluded spots, on
heights amid forests for choice, there was so much to guard against in
those dark ages, so the wooded heights that Libu[vs]a looked out upon
must have appealed to her strongly. Anyway, she decided to act,
prefacing action by some quite useful sooth-saying. According to the
chronicler Cosmas of Prague, who lived three or four centuries after
Libu[vs]a had passed away, the following impressive scene was enacted:
Libu[vs]a, standing on a high rock on the Vy[vs]ehrad in presence of her
husband P[vr]emysl and the elders of the people, incited by the spirit
of prophecy, uttered this prediction: "I see a town, the glory of which
will reach the stars. There is a spot in the forest, thirty stades from
this village which the River Vltava encircles, and which to the north
the stream Brusnice secures by its deep valley; and to the south a hill,
which from its rocks takes the name Pet[vr]in, towers above it. When you
have reached this spot you will find a man in the midst of the forest,
who is working at a door-sill for a house; even mighty lords bend before
a low door. From this you shall call the town which you will build there
'Praha.'" The elders did as they were bid, and so Prague arose. The
Czech name is Praha, the derivation possibly from _prah_= door.
The Hrad[vs]any Hill was thus by Princess Libu[vs]a indicated as the
pinnacle on which should rest for ever the glory of Prague and of
Bohemia. Glory is a doubtful gift and costly, and the history of Prague
shows clearly that this is true. No doubt work was started at once on a
castle to crown the hill. Libu[vs]a probably saw to it that there was no
time wasted. This would be some time about the middle of the eighth
century, but history, as handed down from those days, is wrapped about
with mystery and legend from the obscurity of which events gradually
detached themselves. It was not till Christianity had got a firm hold of
the Czech people that any half-way reliable records were kept.
We will take it for granted that it was Libu[vs]a who, with the seer's
eye penetrating the future, laid the foundations of that right royal
pile, Prague's crown of glory, the Hrad[vs]any. We have the authority of
Cosmas for this; also Smetana composed an opera all about Libu[vs]a, so
all our doubts are dispelled. We have noticed the site, and that it is
admirably adapted to defence, a rocky eminence rising like a promontory
above the broad Vltava, its steep sides falling down to the river on the
eastern side, and to deep-cut valleys to north and south. The position
offers a wide view over the rolling plains to westward. It was from this
side chiefly that the attackers came--Germans in the cause of the Holy
Roman Empire, mercenaries of many nations that swelled the imperial
hosts arrayed against Protestant Bohemia, marauding armies of Swedes,
all these surged up against the walls and towers of Prague's Royal
Castle. They broke and passed away like the fleeting cloud shadows you
may watch floating across the fields and wooded slopes of Jilove,
[vC]erny Kostelec and Zbraslav to the blue hills of Hrade[vs]in beyond.
But the castle still stands a sentinel over ancient Prague.
It must have been a pleasant post, that of sentry upon a look-out tower
of the Castle of Prague. What with the ever-changing beauty of the
landscape and the chance of noticing a hostile force approaching with
colours flying and spear-heads a-glitter in the sun, with, moreover, a
prospect of a fight, a sentry's life should have been a happy one. It
would be expected of the sentry that he should not be so held by the
fascination of the scene as to omit to report any unusual occurrence. I
have known such a thing happen even to an otherwise well-regulated
sentry. It was in Mandalay where from a wooden tower in the middle of
Fort Dufferin a sentry held watch and ward over the town. One bright
afternoon the town caught fire. The sentry was so much impressed by the
grandeur of the scene that he quite forgot to report the matter, and a
large part of the town was utterly destroyed. That man might have been
qualified as an artist, an author or a poet; as a sentry he was
disappointing.
There are no records of sentry yarns dating back to the really exciting
times in the history of the Hrad[vs]any; I have discovered only one, and
that of a comparatively recent date. The event narrated happened in the
autumn of 1753 at 11 p.m. The sentry was a grenadier; please note the
accuracy of detail which should dispel any doubt as to the truth of the
story--the grenadier touch is especially convincing. This grenadier, it
would seem, was posted in the inner court of the castle, probably at the
entrance to what is now the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Propaganda
(places of that kind want a deal of watching). The grenadier was
probably as bored as any sentry can be up till midnight sharp, when
things began to happen. First of all, the dark mass of the cathedral was
suddenly brilliantly illuminated from within. Then from that little side
entrance to the cathedral emerged a tall figure all in white. The sentry
challenged, as a sentry should. No use. The tall figure strode up to the
sentry, halted before him, cast a handful of corn at his feet and
stalked back the way it came. Lights out!... The next night at the same
hour the programme was repeated before a new sentry, also a grenadier:
the former one had probably reported himself sick. On the second night
the apparition cast down a handful of silver coin. The grenadier left
them all lying on the ground--this is the only part of the story that
strikes me as weak. On the third night, the military being represented
as before, the tall figure reappeared with commendable punctuality. On
this occasion the management had arranged a display of moonlight in
order to show up the pallid features, blood-stained clouts and other
accessories suitable to a first-class apparition. Moreover, this being
positively its last appearance in public, the tall figure spake: "1754
rich harvest, 1755 gold in plenty, 1756 blood in streams." And so it
happened. In the year 1754 there was a record harvest in Bohemia, the
year 1755 brought considerable wealth into the country (the handful of
silver was probably something on account), and in 1756 the Seven Years'
War broke out. So the story must be true, all except that little bit
about the grenadier leaving all the silver lying on the ground.
* * * * *
We were really still watching the Hrad[vs]any grow out of Libu[vs]a's
prophecy. The chronicler left it to others to find out where the
building stood for which the man in the forest was carpentering the
door-sill as described by Libu[vs]a. That great lady simply said that
the work was going on in the forest which surely extended down to the
river-bank in those days. This may have encouraged the belief that the
first house, built by Libu[vs]a herself, of course, stood somewhere
below the Castle Hill--it is said on the site of the old posting house,
but some one obliterated all trace of it by erecting a church, dedicated
to St. Procopius, above it, no doubt as part of the business of stamping
out paganism. The Church of St. Procopius is no longer in evidence, and
as there have been further additions and improvements to the quarter of
Prague in question since the eighth century, it is now quite impossible,
even to the liveliest imagination, to fix upon the spot where stood that
first house. It does not matter very much either. The Hrad[vs]any itself
is easily the most imposing and interesting sight which Prague has to
offer.
The massive strength of the castle, the Hrad[vs]any, holds your gaze
from whatever quarter of Prague you may happen to look out. The castle,
as we know, has a hill to itself, up the sides of which rise clustering
palaces, churches, convents and monasteries, buildings of grey stone and
red-tiled roofs, standing amidst terraced gardens. In spring this
ancient quarter decks itself with glorious apparel of white of cherry,
pear and plum, with here and there the delicate pink of almond blossom;
in winter, when the snow lies "smooth and crisp and even," the scene is
changed into a fairy network as of delicate lace on a foundation of grey
and purple; in all seasons it is beautiful.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE HRAD[vc]ANY FROM THE FUERSTENBERG GARDEN.]
The first sight of the Hrad[vs]any conveys an impression of sheer
strength, much as does Gibraltar; it also suggests a lion couchant but
watchful and strong to protect the city at its feet; this effect is
particularly noticeable from the Fuerstenberg garden. The beauty of this
massive pile grows upon you gradually as you see it under the
ever-varying atmospheric conditions of Prague. By all the canons of
art the long straight lines of the Hrad[vs]any should be unlovely. The
towers which broke those lines no longer stand out boldly as shown in
old prints and engravings, at least on the townward side of the castle.
They have been gradually merged into the general mass of the building as
time and progress brought greater demands for living room and lessened
the need of defensive measures. The straight outlines are still broken
here and there by some trace of the ancient building showing through, a
mullioned window, an old stack of chimneys, but on the whole, the mass
by itself is heavy and uniform. Nevertheless, the general effect is
splendid, whether you see this stately pile standing out strong and
massive above the mist from the river or rising in tiers out of dimmed
silvery greys against an evening sky all gold and emerald, or flushed
with sunset scarlet. The crown of all this terraced glory is the great
cathedral. A square massive tower stands up out of the body of the
church. A purist may find fault with the mixture of styles this tower
incorporates. The bulk of its structure is Gothic; at the base of the
superstructure appears a nondescript medley of styles (nondescript at
least in the eyes of a dilettante) out of which arises a concern of
domes and cupolas one above the other, supported at each corner by
little pinnacles crowned with onion-shaped tops. The copper coating of
these domes and cupolas gives a distinctive touch of colour to the whole
edifice of warm grey stone; this note of green you will find repeated
elsewhere on the churches and other buildings of Prague, a piquant note
but alien to the spirit of Prague both ancient and modern. There has
been talk of removing the superstructure from the main tower of the
cathedral and replacing it by a Gothic spire such as adorn the towers
that flank the west front of the building, spires that gleam like
lacework when standing out sunlit against dark banks of cloud. It were
best to leave the superstructure of the main tower as it is; it marks an
epoch and serves as reminder of a tyranny now overpast. The highest
point of the main tower is not adorned with a usual emblem of our faith,
a cross or a cock, but flaunts instead the "Lion of Bohemia" in all his
rampant pride of a double tail. I shall have more to say about this
wonderful heraldic animal on some future occasion; it is significant
that this crest swings over the sacred fane where rest the remains of
St. Wenceslaus, over the cradle of Bohemia's religious life.
You will remember Libu[vs]a's vision of an endless succession of little
P[vr]emysls. She overrated P[vr]emysl a bit as a good wife should, for
the P[vr]emysl dynasty ended abruptly with the murder of Wenceslaus III
in 1306 at the hand of some unknown assassins at Olomouc, by the Germans
called Olmuetz. Nevertheless, the family had had a good long spell of
life and plenty to keep them busy during those six or seven centuries;
it produced some very fine rulers; all honour to old farmer P[vr]emysl.
The first eleven scions of that line are very faint figures; they are
not even dated; only a few of them show more than a shadowy outline in
the mist of legend and dawning history. Of these early rulers there is
echo of one Mnata, who is said to have built the first stone house on
the Hrad[vs]any for his wife Strzezislava. I wonder what he called her
for short? Strz sounds a bit abrupt, Slava is too general among Slavonic
people: perhaps he called her Cissie. Strzezislava is certainly too rich
for ordinary household use. Cosmas passes by this point in silence,
which is a pity; it is just those intimate little touches that foster
pleasant social relations and justify the chronicler's attitude of
omniscience; our illustrated Press has reached perfection in that line.
Mnata and Strzezislava flit across the stage and pass into oblivion
without the benefit of gramophone and cinema. Then emerges one
Bo[vr]ivoj, first of that name, who stands out more distinctly against
the background of misty legend, probably by reason of his having
embraced Christianity; he also embraced a lady, Ludmilla, who became his
wife and one of Bohemia's moat popular saints and patrons. It happened
that Bo[vr]ivoj had occasion to ask his neighbour Svatopluk, Prince of
Moravia, for protection, and then he became acquainted with that
energetic missionary, St. Methodius. Unhappily we have no precise
information concerning date and place of this picturesque event. The
chronicler has done his best by giving the following story to fill up
the blank. He narrates that Bo[vr]ivoj was not allowed to sit at table
with Svatopluk, but was given a low stool apart, as being unfit to
associate with Christian company. This is what the Christian chronicler
says, and he made it his business to bear testimony on all occasions. It
is, however, quite conceivable that Bo[vr]ivoj's manners were not up to
refined Moravian form. Anyway, Bo[vr]ivoj allowed himself to be
converted, and as there is no mention of his table manners we may assume
that he reached the required standard.
After all, manners are a matter of relativity, and not so long ago,
somewhere about 1700, the Austrian Court found it necessary to issue a
handbook thereon, in which guests bidden to the imperial banquets were
requested not to throw their chicken bones under the table, it made so
much extra work for the servants. There is quite a modern touch about
this.
With all the fervour of a convert, Bo[vr]ivoj set about the salvation of
his people from heathen darkness. I have sought diligently for some
records of the beliefs held by this branch of the Slavonic race. There
is no evidence of any deities of strong if unpleasant personality, such
as that obstinate, one-eyed Wotan, or that destructive bully Thor, whose
brutality coloured German mentality down to most recent days, and seems
to do so still. Neither seem those Slavs to have been subject to
visitations in their homes by such doubtful characters as Hermes, nor
was their sense of propriety outraged by the "carryings on" of Zeus. No
doubt they had some benign deity, and also a malignant, jealous one, no
western creed is complete without the latter at least, if only for the
benefit of the priests, but they have left no trace on a people that has
suffered so much from the wickedness and stupidity of their human
oppressors. The western Slavs in general and the sons of Czech in
particular, had their flights of fairies, sprites, pixies and other
lovable immortals. They are here still; even I, a stranger, claim to
have heard them in "den heiteren Regionen, wo die reinen Formen wohnen,"
on the sun-kissed snow of the mountains, in the whispering voices of the
forest and the song of the burn in the glen. A sight of these benign
beings has been denied me--for this I make the heavy cuisine of Bohemia
responsible; but their spirit lives on and informs the sons of Czech in
the realm of the spirit, in art and poetry, above all in music.
Bo[vr]ivoj plunged into Christianity with enthusiasm; he is known to
have built a church at Levy Hradec, and is said to have laid the
foundations of another on the Castle Hill. It appears, however, that
the pace he set was rather too hot for his people; they raised a deal of
trouble, and Bo[vr]ivoj had to call in the German King Arnulf to help in
restoring order. This step did not bring unmixed blessings; it gave the
Germans an excuse for interfering in Bohemian affairs. Now Arnulf was a
Carolingian, of bastard blood indeed, but nevertheless under the "Holy
Roman Empire" obsession, and therefore convinced of the German right to
round up all Christian countries into that Empire. In this action of
Bo[vr]ivoj we see the first instalment of the endless trouble caused by
the obsession which originated with Charlemagne as mentioned in the
first chapter. Moreover, this German intervention gave to the
inhabitants of Bohemia their first experience of religious dissension.
Their first contact with Christianity brought them the choice of rival
liturgies, the Latin as favoured by the Germans with their "Holy Roman"
idea, and the Slavonic which St. Methodius had introduced. So
Christianity in Bohemia began with an exhibition of divergent religious
views, which may account for a good deal of the suffering brought upon
this country for its own salvation and its neighbours' benefit.
Bo[vr]ivoj's successors, Spytihnev I and Vratislav I, were kept so busy
guarding their country against Magyar inroads that it seems they had no
time to worry about religious differences. Neighbour Svatopluk's
extensive empire had fallen to pieces owing to the quarrels of his sons
and under Magyar aggression; this gave Spytihnev the opportunity of
freeing himself from the supremacy of Moravia which Bo[vr]ivoj had
accepted in return for assistance rendered him by Svatopluk and the
Slavonic liturgy thrown into the bargain. This, again, brought the
Germans nearer to Bohemia, as neither Spytihnev nor Vratislav were
strong enough to stand alone. As politics and Church worked hand in hand
in those days, the Germans imposed the Bishop of Ratisbon, and with him
the Latin liturgy, on Bohemia, whereas such Slavs as had taken to
Christianity at all were rather inclined to the other version. This must
have caused a good deal of trouble, so it is not to be wondered at if
the rulers of Bohemia recalled happier, simpler days. There came a
certain reaction in the affairs of the P[vr]emysl family. We have noted
the saintly lady Ludmilla, wife of Bo[vr]ivoj, the first Christian
Prince of Bohemia. Ludmilla was very pious indeed; you will find
frescoes illustrating her good deeds, adorning the walls of Karlov Tyn
(Karlstein), a fine old castle of which I will tell you more by and by.
It is quite impossible to be so picturesquely good and pious as was
Ludmilla, in these days of mail-orders, wholesale departments, banking
accounts and cheque-books. There was another lady of the P[vr]emysl
family, and she, according to all accounts, was neither good nor pious.
She was a reactionary, a thorough-paced pagan, and it was this lady who
caused trouble in the household. The lady's name was Dragomira; she had
married Bo[vr]ivoj's second son, and had been left a widow with three
sons. This did not have the usual soothing effect upon the lady.
Dragomira, as regent during the minority of her sons, had revived
paganism, and this brought her into conflict with the German King, Henry
the Fowler. Pious Ludmilla, Dragomira's mother-in-law, was much upset
about this conflict, for with all her good works she found time to take
an active interest in foreign politics. Here were all the elements of a
hearty family row; in addition, Dragomira's sons took different sides:
Wenceslaus with his grandmother Ludmilla, Boleslav the younger with his
pagan mother. The chronicler sides entirely with Ludmilla and Wenceslaus
in his narrative of the domestic dissensions of the P[vr]emysl family.
He shows no sympathy for the other side, does not realize that Dragomira
must have got very weary of her mother-in-law's piety and annoyed at
that lady's interference in the education of her sons. There is a great
deal to be said for Dragomira's point of view, and it is a pity that her
remarks on the rival Christian liturgies, Latin and Slavonic, have not
been handed down to us. Dragomira certainly carried matters too far when
she strangled Ludmilla with her own veil one evening in chapel; she made
the mistake of furnishing the other side with a first-class saint and
royal martyr.
Wenceslaus, the pious elder son, was extremely annoyed at this open
demonstration of family discord. Dragomira was sent into exile; her name
was never mentioned again. The treatment meted out to his mother made of
young Boleslav a more determined pagan than he was before; he sat up at
night hatching heathen plots against brother Wenceslaus. Boleslav's
reincarnation is probably to be found among international financiers of
the present day. The result of his machinations must be told in a fresh
chapter.
CHAPTER IV
Begins with the accession of Wenceslaus I, tells you how to pronounce
his name correctly in Czech, and informs you of his piety and general
saintliness. There is also mention of other saints as suitable company
for Wenceslaus, and a short account of how that prince qualified for a
halo himself. We note also the contrition of Brother Boleslav, who made
a martyr of Wenceslaus, how Boleslav did a good deal of fighting, most
successfully, and extended his dominions thereby. Also how Boleslav
learnt to be neighbourly and wise in his choice of a wife for his
neighbour who was promptly converted to Christianity. Of the son of
Boleslav I and Dubravka, wife of Duke Mieceslav I of Poland. How
Boleslav II, called "the Pious," earned that epithet and started Prague
with a bishop all to herself. Of churches and convents, and Milada, the
pious sister of Boleslav II. Of the growing importance of Prague and how
it was recognized and appreciated by Ibrahim Ibn Jacub and many of his
race.
With the accession of Wenceslaus, first P[vr]emysl prince of that name,
Bohemia passes out of legend into ordered history; its rulers are
henceforth properly labelled and dated. This is chiefly due to the
spread of Christianity; priests and monks take up the tale of kindly
Saga, and keep careful record of events. These chroniclers were not as a
rule unbiassed; I cannot see how they could have been otherwise, for not
only did they undertake the task of compiling history, they were
constantly making propaganda for their own ideals against the paganism
which still had a considerable hold on the sons of Czech. I doubt
whether any historian can be absolutely unbiassed; a warm-blooded
man--and you must be that if you would record the doings of your
fellow-men--is bound to feel sympathy with or dislike for one or other
actors in the far-off pageant of history. I frankly admit myself biassed
in favour of Brother Boleslav the hearty heathen, and somewhat bored by
that saintly lady Ludmilla. A night out with Boleslav would have been
more amusing, if less edifying, than a country walk with pious
Wenceslaus, who would be sure to waste a good deal of time at wayside
shrines; a picnic arranged by Dragomira and in that lady's company,
would have been at least a material improvement on any little outing
with Ludmilla, who would surely have discovered some reason for fasting
on that particular day. But then I can afford a bias; am only making
observations from "a Terrace in Prague."
Monkish chroniclers sang the praises of Prince Wenceslaus. My spelling
of this name is incorrect, but it is more familiar to English eyes than
any other, as our Christmas carol "puts it with a 'we.'" I do not
suggest that this St. Wenceslaus is identical with the "Good King
Wenceslaus" we sing about--in fact, I have discovered another ruler of
that name who fits the part much better; but of this more anon. The
correct version of this saintly prince's name is Vaclav, pronounced
Vatslav. It is as well to get a proper grip of this word, as the show
street in the town is named Vaclavske Nam[ve]sti, which being
interpreted meaneth Wenceslaus Place; the Germans call it Wenzel's
Platz, but this designation is not popular at the moment. It is
advisable to acquire the Czech version of the name, as the Vaclavske
Nam[ve]sti is in the business and amusement quarter of the town. As to
the pronunciation of Vaclavske Nam[ve]sti, it presents no particular
difficulties, despite the profusion of accents (the Czechs are very
liberal in this respect), they seem to make no noticeable difference
with exception of the inverted circumflex, which makes "ye" out of plain
"e." This is nothing to what the Czech language can do in the way of
tongue-twisters.
The Vaclavske Nam[ve]sti rises gently towards another hill of Prague,
Vinohrady. At the top of the rise, looking right down the broad avenue
over the old town and beyond it to the Hrad[vs]any, is an equestrian
statue of St. Wenceslaus. There are other likenesses of the Saint; a
number of them adorn his chapel in the Cathedral of St. Vitus, and
another statue stands near the castle entrance on the Hrad[vs]any, in
the latter Wenceslaus is shown looking out over the city, his hand
upraised in blessing, which is right and proper and quite what the city
expects of him. The equestrian statue is the most recent portrait of the
pious prince, and is really quite convincing. We know, or at least I am
about to tell you, that Wenceslaus was a man of peace, he is therefore
represented carrying a lance; the modern sense of propriety requires of
a non-combatant that he should sit for his portrait armed. He need not
introduce a bunch of bombs or a pot of poison gas into the composition,
a sword will do. Wenceslaus brought his lance much as the up-to-date
war-winner girds on a sword when he goes to be photographed. Swords may
also be worn at weddings, at funerals, also at christenings I believe;
anyway, on all filmable occasions.
As far as I can discover, St. Wenceslaus only had one fight in his life,
and then he got killed.
Now that we have arrived at the first of authentically dated rulers over
Bohemia, Wenceslaus I, 928-935, we may as well take a look round the
Europe of that time. We find first of all that the peoples were capable
of getting into just as bad a mess as they are in to-day, and that
without the aid of any new diplomacy, League of Nations and
International Conferences. England was, so to speak, nowhere in those
days; Englishmen did not wander about the Continent making observations
from terraces, did not even launch missions and commissions on harmless
and unsuspecting countries, in order to impress the inhabitants thereof
with our wealth and our good taste in getting rid of it. England was
very busy with the Scots, Welsh and Danes, who were also causing a deal
of trouble to the broken-up remnants of Charlemagne's Empire. The ideal
of the Holy Roman Empire still lived and inspired a host of adventurous
Counts of the Marches and other bearers of German culture to inroads
into territory inhabited by Slavonic races. The idea seemed to be that
as each Slavonic tribe, principality or kingdom adopted Christianity it
should come under German domination and be held in trust for Mother
Church by German princes as long as the Papacy conformed to their
conception of right and wrong. The Papacy itself seems to have had no
definite ideas of right and wrong at the time, or at least did not put
them into practice; had, in fact, become thoroughly corrupt and
ineffective for good. Christendom was in a parlous state, disunited and
assailed by hosts of barbarians, Danes, Saracens, Hungarians. The latter
had become especially dangerous to the Slavonic peoples. Before Arpad
arrived at Pressburg (now called Bratislava, please) in 829, the
territory inhabited by Slavonic tribes, mostly in principalities of
varying size and importance, had extended with fluctuating frontiers,
from Holstein south-eastward through Central Europe to the Adriatic and
the Balkan range. Arpad drove a wedge into this Slavonic mass and broke
it into two parts; Arpad's descendants still separate northern and
southern Slavs. We have seen how the Empire of Moravia went down before
the Magyars, and that the Bohemians, no longer able to count on support
from that side, were forced to turn to Germany. The intrusion of the
Magyars into Central Europe, by dividing the mass of Slavonic races,
also weakened the influence of the Eastern Church among the Bohemians
and forced those that were inclined towards Christianity into closer
communion with Rome via Germanism. German priests were beginning to gain
the ascendancy over those of the Eastern persuasion, they objected to
services in the Vulgate, and as they knew no language but their own and
only sufficient Latin for their clerical duties, their influence began
to threaten the Slavonic genius of the Bohemians with extinction. This
was undoubtedly their purpose, and it accounts for much of Bohemia's
sufferings during the thousand years following the imposition of a
German bishop on this country by the German King Arnulf to whom the
immediate predecessors of St. Wenceslaus, Spytihnev and Vratislav had
appealed for assistance.
Another social institution which was beginning to make its influence
felt at the time under discussion was the feudal system. Hitherto,
civilized Europe had depended for offensive and defensive operations on
large slow-moving armies of foot-folk; these were ineffective against
marauding barbarians, Vikings in their sharp-prowed ships, or the light
cavalry of Hungarian or Saracen. Moreover, the governmental system
organized by Charlemagne had fallen to pieces, and there was no central
power to order the movements of a large army. Luckily for the cause of
Christendom and western civilization such as it was, the subordinates of
Charles's successors hit upon the right tactics to employ against the
invaders. The nominal subordinates, Counts of the Marches, burgraves,
barons, took a very free hand in those days of decentralized authority
and bad lines of communication. Based on impregnable strongholds, they
met the swiftly moving hosts of marauders with equally mobile troops of
mailed horsemen, raised, trained and paid by themselves, and bound to
their feudal lords by the ties of discipline out of which grew the
tradition of military servitude. It was these feudal lords and their
mailed horsemen who saved Western Europe; they took their own reward out
of the lands they saved and out of the neighbours whom they insisted on
saving, till they eventually became an unmitigated nuisance from which
Bohemia suffered as much as any other country. But for the moment we are
concerned with the times of St. Wenceslaus and the first half of the
tenth century.
It is a pity that no one had thought of holding an International
Conference in the early days of the tenth century; there were a great
many things to discuss, and a Conference would have added to the gaiety
of nations. There was the question of those Northern Slavonic tribes who
had steadfastly refused the blessings of Christianity as purveyed by the
Teuton; of course, no one could foresee that the Western Church's
activities in those northern regions would eventually produce the modern
Prussian. Then the Conference would have to decide whether or no
Vikings, Hungarians and Saracens should be admitted to the comity of
nations, and if not, how to start doing business with those people all
the same. Then the place of the Conference would have to be decided;
there was quite a fair choice of suitable localities. Paris was becoming
popular, had already been discovered by people from over the seas--by
the Vikings, who, in quest of souvenirs, on one occasion sacked the
city, on another burnt it down. Aix-la-Chapelle had been popular for
some centuries before the Vikings discovered the attractions of Paris;
it had the waters to recommend it, and also memories of pious
Charlemagne, on which members of the Conference might reflect when not
engaged in feasting and providing the Press with fiction. Constantinople
would also have been well suited to an International Conference in the
tenth century. The Emperor Constantine Porphyrogenitus was rather a dull
dog, but he kept a glittering court, and none but the most refined
society is good enough for secretaries, bottlewashers and other numerous
hangers-on of conferences. Kings and rulers would probably have attended
the Conference in person, not being willing to afford the luxury of
allowing a Prime Minister to neglect home affairs. It would have been a
pretty gathering, Constantine Porphyrogenitus the bookworm probably as
president, AEthelstan of England, Charles the Simple of France or as much
as his neighbours allowed him, that doughty poacher Henry the Fowler,
German King, and Pope Leo not on speaking terms with him, St. Wenceslaus
of Bohemia trying to make peace with Henry, and a make-weight of German
counts and churchmen, possibly representatives of Vikings, Hungarians
and Saracens. The proceedings would have been marked by a "certain
liveliness," as we used to say at the front when the fur began to fly.
The Conference would have differed from those of the present day, by
leading to a definite result if only in the form of a handsome row of
corpses; Counts of the Marches, Vikings and others would have attended
to that. It would have been interesting to note how monkish reporters
would clothe, or rather veil, their account of proceedings in suitable
language.
On the accession of Wenceslaus I the relations between his house and
the German King were strained. This, we have seen, was due to
Dragomira's anti-German foreign policy. Wenceslaus, however, as we know,
had occasion to send his mother into exile; she cannot have gone very
far, as according to popular belief the earth swallowed her up before
she had had time to get clear of the Castle Hill. Later generations put
up a chapel over the spot where Dragomira vanished; I consider this
conduct lacking in tact.
Anyway, Wenceslaus had to face a guileful, determined and quite
unscrupulous adversary, who had even called at Prague with an army; so,
being a man of peace, he came to terms with King Henry for a slight
consideration, namely, an annual tribute of six hundred silver marks and
one hundred and twenty head of cattle. This warded off trouble from the
west, but there remained the danger of barbarian invasion from the east
and there was every reason for erecting strongholds in Bohemia as in
other countries of Europe. I have found no trace of any such work by
Wenceslaus. He surely must have done something towards strengthening the
Hrad[vs]any, Hrad S. Vaclav or something like that, as it seems to have
been called at the time. Wenceslaus had built a chapel here in which to
house the relic of St. Vitus; I cannot imagine him leaving such a
treasure quite unprotected. This precious relic, namely, the arm of St.
Vitus, had been presented to Wenceslaus by King Henry which was handsome
of him, as he only got a trifling annual contribution of money and
cattle out of Bohemia, whereas that country was started off with
something of sufficient value to account for that noble fane the
Cathedral of St. Vitus. Bohemia did very well in the way of saints and
sacred relics; some of her kings were enthusiastic collectors, and we
remember that Christianity among the Czechs started with a royal martyr,
the saintly Ludmilla, who was shortly to be joined by another, as you
will be told later on in this chapter.
We are still trying to find out what Wenceslaus did for his capital and
country besides collecting odds and ends of saints and building a
chapel here and there, and regretfully state that little record of
anything but his piety is handed down to us. Piety, it seems, was no
more compatible with statecraft in the early days of Christendom than it
is to-day, and as Wenceslaus took the pious line, he gave way too much
to the German menace, thus laying up a store of trouble for his
successors and the sons of Czech which lasted well up to the present and
does not appear to be exhausted yet. In the meantime Wenceslaus,
evidently well pleased with himself, continued to set his people a godly
ensample. I should like to know whether they appreciated him to the same
extent as did some members of his family, Boleslav for instance, who
helped Wenceslaus to a crown of celestial glory by the simple process of
hitting him over the head. I am rather inclined to think that the piety
of Wenceslaus interfered with some of the innocent amusements of his
people, among whom paganism was not quite dead yet, as subsequent events
show. There was an interesting burial ground lying on the route which
Wenceslaus would follow when going from the Hrad[vs]any to Vy[vs]ehrad,
which remained the seat of government for several generations of
P[vr]emysls after the pious prince's demise.... This burial ground, a
very extensive one, is now covered by the Church of Emaus and its
monastic buildings; you can see those twin towers, dark ochre in colour
and topped by characteristic steeple and pinnacles, rising from among
fruit-trees and red-tiled roofs. Na Morani was the name of this burial
ground, after Morana, the goddess of death. It was the correct thing in
pagan society to make pilgrimages to this place in spring: a pleasant
afternoon in a cemetery was a pastime as popular then as it appears to
be to-day. The _cachet_ of Na Morani had been rather spoilt by the
erection of a little church some time in the ninth century, perhaps by
Wenceslaus himself. Anyway, the pious prince found this church a
convenient half-way house between Vy[vs]ehrad and Hrad[vs]any, and he
was wont to put up a prayer or two here before going on to drop a tear
on the Hrad[vs]any relics. The little church was dedicated to Cosmas
(not the chronicler) and Damian, saints of the third and fourth
centuries. It is not known why these gentlemen clubbed together to have
a day to themselves, but this need not act as deterrent to anyone who
wishes to observe their day. Wherever pilgrims visit, there you will
find settlements growing up, beginning with booths and shanties of those
who sell appropriate commodities, candles, wreaths and such-like. The
traffic in these articles continues; it was only last Palm Sunday that I
was offered a variety of wreaths to choose from, small wreaths of
snowdrops and fir twigs, to be worn on the wrist, to be blessed by the
priest and then to be left lying about the sitting-room until fit for
the dustbin. I resisted all temptation to deck myself with snowdrops and
fir twigs; their subdued tones do not match my aura.
It seems to me that Wenceslaus did nothing in particular for his people;
he concentrated on his part as royal saint and martyr, and was already
posing for the statues of himself and the frescoes depicting his good
deeds, which later ages produced. There was little to show for all this
prince's good intentions. Pious, indeed, was Wenceslaus; he spent a
great part of the night in prayer when he should have been recuperating
for strenuous work on the following day: there was plenty to do for a
country threatened on the one hand by marauding Magyars, on the other by
insidious German influence. "He was in the habit of himself cutting off
the wheat and grapes that the priests required to prepare the holy
wafers and the wine for the sacrament"--I quote Count Luetzow, but his
conception of political economy allowed him to pay a large tribute in
exchange for German interference and the remains of a saint. He lavished
money on the Church, whereas strongholds were required in defence of
Christendom, and finally he adopted the tonsure. This struck home to the
family and made Boleslav's cup of bitterness o'erflow; he plotted more
persistently than ever against Wenceslaus. Another habit of the pious
Prince was that of attending Church dedication festivals and their
anniversaries, in every part of his dominion. The Church feast of
Cosmas and Damian, much patronized by Wenceslaus at a little town
called Boleslav, was due on September 28th. Wenceslaus was invited to
attend this function by Brother Boleslav, who resided there. Boleslav,
by this time very weary of his pious brother, sat up with a few friends
of his own way of thinking, waylaid Wenceslaus, and killed him. This
happened in 935, and the 28th of September is still kept sacred to the
memory of St. Wenceslaus by those who feel inclined that way.
My sympathy with Boleslav does not blind me to the fact that he did
wrong in killing his brother. I am glad to report that Boleslav showed
signs of contrition. The town of Boleslav henceforth became distasteful
to him, so he quitted it and raised another of the same name. Stara
(Old) Boleslav, where Wenceslaus gained his degree of martyrdom, is a
sedate little town near the banks of the Labe (known as Elbe in Germany)
dozing among orchards and lush meadows and o'ershadowed by tall
elm-trees. It is by no means a suitable setting for a sensational
fratricide; I have been to see the place for myself and consider that
the Wenceslaus-Boleslav, drama requires a different scenario. The newer
town, Young Boleslav (Jung Bunzlau in German) is much better suited to
the film; it stands up high on a rock and looks a likely habitation for
an expert in assassination such as was Boleslav, brother of Wenceslaus.
Despite all Boleslav's efforts, popular opinion has it that Wenceslaus
is not dead, but fast asleep inside a mountain, making up for nights
spent in prayer no doubt. I do not believe this report.
* * * * *
[Illustration: OLD BOLESLAV.]
Boleslav succeeded Wenceslaus as first Bohemian Prince of that name. His
was a long and eventful reign, from 936 to 967, long at least for those
days when rulers were apt to be removed abruptly. None knew this better
than Boleslav himself. Monkish chroniclers have little good to say of
Boleslav I--allegedly on account of that little affair at Stara
Boleslav and of Boleslav's persistent paganism; actually, I imagine, on
account of the anti-German attitude he adopted at the outset of his
reign. Boleslav ruled with a firm hand; he subdued a number of Bohemian
nobles who had allied themselves with the national enemy the German,
before he resumed the conflict with Henry the Fowler which his mother
had started. Henry, no doubt, was quite ready to quarrel, using the
murder of his ally as a pretext, but he died before he had had time to
settle down in the saddle, and left his son Otto to carry on. Now Otto,
first German Emperor of that name, was a strong man, and is called Great
on account of his success in reviving the Holy Roman Empire. Boleslav
was a strong man too: Palacky, the famous Bohemian historian, describes
him as "one of the most powerful monarchs that ever occupied the
Bohemian throne." He succeeded in defending his country from the armies
that Otto launched against it, and even the invasion of 950, led by the
Emperor himself, brought no decisive victory for the Germans. Boleslav
seems to have considered it futile to continue quarrelling with his
western neighbour, especially as the usual trouble continued in the
east, in which direction the Prince proposed to extend his dominions. By
955 we find Germans and Bohemians allied against the Magyars, who had
acquired a habit of ravaging Western Europe once a year. They met their
match on the Lechfeld, near Augsburg, and were utterly defeated in one
of the most sanguinary and decisive battles fought during the Middle
Ages. According to Count Luetzow it appears that a Bohemian contingent of
a thousand men formed part of the victorious army. Boleslav himself,
with the greater part of his troops, remained to guard the frontiers of
his country. The defeated Magyars suffered another defeat at the hands
of Boleslav on their retreat through Bohemia, and their leader, Lehel,
was taken prisoner. With peace and friendliness on his western front and
his eastern enemy thoroughly beaten, Boleslav was in a position to carry
out his ambitious plans. He freed Moravia from the Magyars and united it
to Bohemia, and he is said to have conquered a considerable part of the
country between the Carpathian Mountains and the Danube; probably
Slovakia of to-day. By his conquests Boleslav became a near neighbour of
Poland and managed to come to a good understanding with Duke Mieceslav
I, ruler of that country, by giving that prince his daughter Dubravka in
marriage, which would no doubt be considered a friendly act. Dubravka
succeeded in converting her husband and his yet heathen people to
Christianity. Mieceslav must have taken to it very strongly, for between
them he and Dubravka produced a pious son and heir who was to become
known as Boleslav the Brave.
Boleslav II of Bohemia, called "the Pious," enjoyed an even longer reign
than his father did, from 967 to 999, which is one of those easy dates
to remember. Monkish chroniclers seem to have ascribed a good deal of
the work done by Boleslav I to his son, probably on account of the
former's lack of piety in his early days and the latter's exuberance in
that line. Certain it is that Boleslav II was ruler over larger
dominions than had ever been held by any Prince or King of Bohemia.
Besides Bohemia itself the power of Boleslav II extended over Moravia,
present-day Slovakia, a great part of Silesia, including Breslau,
districts of Poland nearly up to the town of Lemberg, with a frontier
touching that of the Russian rulers of Kiev. The Bohemian nobles who had
troubled his father were entirely suppressed by Boleslav II, who
appointed burgraves called "z[vu]pans," over the various districts into
which his territories were divided, and the central authority became
absolute.
It is not certain whether Vy[vs]ehrad was still the actual seat of
government or whether the Hrad[vs]any had taken its place. Certain it is
that the Hrad[vs]any had grown in importance chiefly in the religious
life of the nation. The foundations laid by St. Wenceslaus were
extended. It appears that the Church of St. George on the Hrad[vs]any
dates back to this early period; you can see its two rather stunted
white steeples standing out over the complex of buildings near the
eastern point of the Castle Hill before it dips down towards the Vltava.
The earliest church on this point is attributed to Vratislav, uncle of
St. Wenceslaus, but this sounds rather doubtful. Boleslav II, however,
is known to have founded a convent here, probably the oldest in Bohemia,
and he installed his sister Milada as first abbess. St. Ludmilla was
also buried here, so the Hrad[vs]any was increasing in sanctity.
Boleslav II is also responsible for providing Prague with her first
bishop. We have seen that Henry the Fowler had incorporated Bohemia into
the bishopric of Ratisbon; this was before that country could be
considered as Christian, with right, as we have noticed the lapse after
the demise of St. Wenceslaus. Boleslav II, however, was in a position to
point to a much improved state of affairs, and so Otto I consented to
the formation of a separate bishopric of Prague. The Pope consented
likewise, under the express condition that the connection with the old
Moravian archbishopric should be broken, and that the Latin liturgy only
should be used. The German connection was further strengthened by
placing Bohemia under the supremacy of the Archbishop of Maintz;
Thietmar, a German, became the first Bishop of Prague. This worthy was
succeeded after a few years by a native of Bohemia, Adalbert, who
finally established Christianity in the country. He had a hard task, as
many heathen customs, such as polygamy, were difficult to extirpate;
there are even in this day very few churches dedicated to St. Anthony, a
saint who does not seem to interest or convince the Bohemians. Adalbert
carried his ideals farther afield, to the country of the heathen
Prussians, who killed him for trespassing on ground dedicated to one of
their deities. Adalbert became the third saint and martyr of Bohemian
origin, and was adopted by the Poles as patron saint.
Though there are no buildings other than those on the Hrad[vs]any
mentioned by the chroniclers, we may assume that a township was growing
up by the river at the feet of the Castle Hill. We have the testimony of
Ibrahim Ibn Jacub, who speaks of Prague as "a great commercial town of
stone-built houses." Ibrahim's visit must have taken place in the reign
of Boleslav II. I conclude that he was talking of a town on the left
bank of the Vltava, because others of his race who came here in that
Prince's day are said to have been allowed to found a school in the Mala
Strana quarter. Some fifty years later yet more Jews came to Prague
bringing presents for the ruler, Prince Vratislav, and Bishop Gebhard.
They were allowed to build twelve little houses on the outskirts of the
town, which would be somewhere about the Harrachove. These Jews promised
to be of good behaviour and to pay double taxes, but in three months
their numbers had increased to seven hundred, so half of them were
ordered to go out over the river to where the old town now stands;
another Jewish settlement was established there. The advent of these
visitors is proof positive that Prague was becoming not only habitable
but also a place of importance.
CHAPTER V
In which good and bad rulers of Bohemia make or mar the fortunes of the
country, the points being chiefly in favour of the good rulers, despite
the constant intrigues, quarrels and general misconduct of the
P[vr]emysls.
Of the harm done by Boleslav III, of the sons of Dubravka the Bohemian
Princess, Boleslav the Brave and Vladivoj. Of a somewhat tiresome trio
of brothers and how the line of P[vr]emysl nearly died out. The romantic
story of Ulrich and Bo[vz]ena the village maiden, and of their
stout-hearted son B[vr]etislav, who reigned from 1037 to 1055 and
greatly restored the prestige of his country during those years. How St.
Adalbert was recovered from Poland, and a few appropriate remarks on the
subject. Of the buildings and other matters of interest which date from
the tenth and eleventh centuries and are to be seen in Prague. Of the
bridge built by Judith, Queen of Vladislav II, in 1167. Of some churches
in Prague and the round chapels. Of Vratislav, first King of Bohemia,
and his fights for the Empire. Of B[vr]etislav II, and how he greatly
exerted himself to extirpate paganism, forbidding pilgrimages to the
shrines of heathen deities at Arkona on the Island of Ruegen, Of
Sob[ve]slav, who became hereditary cup-bearer of the Empire. Of
Vladislav II, contemporary and ally of Frederick Barbarossa. Vladislav's
crusade and campaigns in Italy. Vladislav founder of the monastery
called Mount Zion at Strahov. About Strahov and the beauty and interest
thereof.
Boleslav II had left dominions more extensive than any Slavonic State
before or since could boast of; moreover, he left the name of P[vr]emysl
in high repute for piety and ability. Boleslav III, his son, undid all
the good his predecessors had brought to their dominions and their
reputation; in fact, within a few years of his accession he found
himself stripped of all his belongings save Bohemia, and his hold on
even that country was under dispute at times. It appears that Boleslav
III was constitutionally unable to agree with anyone; contemporary
chroniclers describe this Prince as cruel, avaricious and distrustful.
The sons of Czech have always had a strong objection to paying for what
they do not want, and that is what Boleslav was always expecting of
them. He became so unpopular among his own people, who were called upon
to finance him in his troubles with his brothers, that they invited
their Duke's cousin, Prince Vladivoj, brother of Boleslav the Brave of
Poland, to intervene. Vladivoj died young, so his brother took charge
of all that had been the Bohemian realm, and incorporated it with his
own; Boleslav of Poland, it is said, even contemplated making Prague the
capital of his Empire. There is no trace of anything he did for the
city, so we must assume that he did not carry out his intention: he was
probably prevented by the inevitable friction with the Germans, who
always found some excuse for putting down any attempt at founding a
strong Slavonic Empire. In this instance King Henry II intervened on
behalf of Boleslav III, who had stooped to becoming a vassal of the
German King, with the title of Duke. After the usual fighting, Boleslav
III was restored to his country for a short period in which he
distinguished himself by wholesale assassination of his opponents. He
eventually died in Poland as prisoner of Boleslav the Brave. Meanwhile,
what with his cantankerous brothers, with Polish ambitions and German
ill-will, Bohemia was having a sorry time.
In all this unseemly wrangling among the members of the P[vr]emysl
family I find only one bright spot of human interest, and that is the
little affair of Ulrich and Bo[vz]ena. All three brothers, Boleslav III,
Jaromir and Ulrich, the last surviving P[vr]emysls, were childless, and,
failing heirs, their inheritance would pass to Poland, to the children
of Dubravka. A P[vr]emysl successor was wanted; Ulrich and Bo[vz]ena
provided one. It is undoubtedly true that Ulrich was already married
when he encountered Bo[vz]ena, the beautiful village maiden, while she
was washing the family linen at the village pump. It was a picturesque
event, this meeting of the young prince and the village maiden, and has
been satisfactorily illustrated by a patriotic Bohemian painter. You
will find highly coloured reproductions of that artist's work in a shop
window on the Narodni T[vr]ida, all illustrating events in the history
of the P[vr]emysl family, and when you see what Bo[vz]ena looked like
you will not blame Ulrich. Anyway, Ulrich married Bo[vz]ena. How he
managed this without causing complications is not our affair; the
ancient chroniclers were satisfied; they insist on the legality of this
union, and as we know them to have been very particular in such
matters, it is not for us to discuss the point. You must also remember
that Christianity was yet young among the Czechs and that they had been
strongly addicted to the amiable habit of polygamy. You may also gather
what was the attitude of Bohemian chroniclers from the remark which
Dalimil, the contemporary of Ulrich, puts into the latter's mouth:
"Rather would I entrust myself to a Bohemian peasant girl than that I
should take a German queen for my wife. Every heart clings to its own
nation; therefore would a German woman less favour my language. A German
woman will have German servants; German will she teach my children."
From this remark you will understand that the Bohemians thoroughly
appreciated their neighbours.
Ulrich reverted to type, and once again the stout peasant stock of Czech
came to the rescue of a fading dynasty; the son of Ulrich and Bo[vz]ena,
B[vr]etislav I, was destined to restore the house of P[vr]emysl to a
position more in keeping with its great traditions. Before succeeding
his father, B[vr]etislav was given an opportunity of proving what good
stock he came from. Boleslav of Poland had died, his sons quarrelled
over their heritage, and their dissensions gave the neighbours an excuse
for interfering. One of these neighbours was King Stephen of Hungary,
afterwards called "the Saint." He had only recently been converted from
paganism, but he took part in this Polish dispute just as if he had been
a ripe old Christian monarch of some standing. Stephen had the happy
thought of taking Moravia for himself, no doubt in pious memory of his
ancestor who first stole it. The same idea occurred to Ulrich of
Bohemia, who sent young B[vr]etislav into Moravia, where the latter
defeated the Magyars rather badly; Moravia thereupon was added to
Bohemia, whereas Slovakia remained with Hungary.
B[vr]etislav failed to realize his ideal of forming a strong national
Slavonic State, independent of German rule--he had too strong an Emperor
against him, Henry III; but he certainly restored Bohemia and the
P[vr]emysl dynasty to a position of some importance in Europe. He was,
however, unable to shake off the German grasp of his country; German
armies had arrived before Prague and threatened that city with
destruction, so B[vr]etislav submitted to the inevitable, paid tribute
to the Emperor and spent the last and peaceful years of his reign in
restoring order and prosperity to his country. The city of Prague
benefited by the bravery of B[vr]etislav, for as a result of that
Prince's successful campaign against the Poles the body of St. Adalbert,
whom you have met before as Bishop of Prague, was captured by the
Bohemians and restored to their capital. There was, I believe, some
trouble about this operation of B[vr]etislav. The ruler and people of
Poland had appointed Adalbert as their patron saint; he had been killed
in their country, had been buried there some time, and had even a
cathedral to himself at Gnesen. The Pope launched a bull or two at
B[vr]etislav over this business. I do not know whether any of them took
effect. The Bohemians were ordered to return Adalbert to the Poles, but
I do not know that they did so, neither have I seen him lying about in
Prague, probably because I have not looked for him. Adalbert is the
patron saint of Emaus in Prague among many other churches in Bohemia,
but no doubt he can find time to patronize Poland as well. Anyway, I do
not anticipate any strained relations between the Republics of
Czecho-Slovakia and Poland on this account; both countries are more
interested in a yet older fossilized form of creation--coal to wit.
With the best will in the world it is difficult to rise to any
enthusiasm over the majority of Bohemia's rulers in the eleventh and
twelfth centuries. There seems to have been nothing of beauty or
interest in individual P[vr]emysls to break the monotony of endless
quarrels between brother claimants to the throne and appeals of
unsuccessful rivals to their German neighbour, whose decision would be
entirely guided by the desire for a further weakening of Bohemia. Prague
has little to show in the way of architectural interest dating from the
eleventh and twelfth centuries, but what there is is good. I doubt
whether any other city in Europe has much to show of that period of
transition from Romanesque to Gothic: whatever there was has generally
been pulled down or built over when the great flood of Gothic poured
over Europe some century or so later. But if there is little to see in
Prague which can be clearly traced to the two centuries under
discussion, it is of interest in showing the expansion of the town since
Libu[vs]a's prophecy concerning it. The Hrad[vs]any came in for some
attention. Another church, dedicated to All Saints and built up very
near the Basilica of St. George, dates back to the eleventh century.
There are, or were till recently, distinct traces of work dating from
that century to be found in the Karmelitska Ulice, that thoroughfare
which leads from the Malo Stranske Nam[ve]sti towards Smichov. We have
already noted that the Jews had settled in this part of Prague towards
the end of the tenth century and that some of them had been ordered
across the river to another settlement of their kind, so there must have
been good steady business to be done in Prague. I have often wondered
how and where people crossed the Vltava previous to 1167 when Judith,
Queen of Vladislav II, built a bridge very near the site of the present
Charles Bridge. Judith's bridge was eventually carried away by floods,
but the Mala Strana bridgehead tower remains; you see it with its squat
tower and broad chisel-shaped steeple, rising up beside the more
graceful and ornate tower of the present bridge, which was new in the
early years of the fourteenth century. The stout tower built by Judith
is a very interesting study of architecture; it has had a long life of
usefulness, having been used for many years as a lock-up for the froward
youth of the neighbourhood, and it is still inhabited. This sturdy
remnant of Judith's bridge, which you can see from my terrace, is the
only trace I have found of means of communication between the two banks
of the river. There must have been considerable traffic, as we know, for
instance, how St. Wenceslaus was in the habit of going to and fro
between Hrad[vs]any and Vy[vs]ehrad. The river was probably fordable in
several places, but it is rather a treacherous stream with a swift
current and an uncertain bottom; some Hungarian troops attempted to
cross it by a ford on a certain memorable occasion, and were swept away
to perdition. Yet even before Judith's time there must have been need of
a bridge. The town and various settlements around it were growing up, as
is proved by the number of churches which were considered necessary or
appropriate. The Hrad[vs]any was very well off in that respect. Then
there was the Church of St. Cosmas and Damian, where you now see the
towers of Emaus, and in the twelfth century, if not at the end of the
eleventh, the foundations of the Tyn Church were laid. This period also
has left three quaint little Romanesque chapels in various parts of
Prague. They are very well preserved, these little round chapels, and
the fact that they are pretty far apart suggests the extent to which
Prague had expanded by the end of the twelfth century. There is one of
these chapels dedicated to St. Martin, on Vy[vs]ehrad, another to St.
Longinus, rather difficult to find, some half-mile north-east of Emaus;
and a third, the oldest of all, the Chapel of the Holy Cross, stands
near the old Town Tower of the Charles Bridge. There is also a
seventeenth-century _baroque_ imitation of these Romanesque chapels
under the riverside slope of the Letna Hill, which is not worth
troubling about.
While Christianity was striking its roots yet deeper into the soil of
Bohemia, the rulers of that country were being drawn into the quarrel
between the spiritual and the would-be temporal head of the Church; the
"Investiture Strife" gave Vratislav, son of B[vr]etislav I, an
opportunity of strengthening his independence and increasing the
importance of his country. He took sides with Emperor Henry IV against
one of the strongest of the Popes, Gregory VII. The Emperor's Bohemian
allies took part in many of that monarch's battles, chiefly against the
Saxons, who appear to have been hereditary enemies of the sons of Czech,
and the victory at Hohenburg on the Unstrutt in 1075 is attributed to
the bravery of the Bohemian troops. Six years later Bohemian troops
helped Henry IV in his attack on Rome, and their leader, Wiprecht of
Groitch, was one of the first to scale the walls of the Eternal City.
The Czechs have always been good hearty fighters, and of the three
hundred who set out to help the Emperor against Rome only nine returned
home to Bohemia. The Germans, even in those early days, were thorough
utilitarians.
[Illustration: ST. MARTIN'S, VY[vS]EHRAD. B.G.B. 1912.]
As reward for his many and great services Henry IV promoted Vratislav to
the rank of King. It appears to have been, as it were, brevet-rank only;
it was not hereditary. Nevertheless it was a great day for Prague when
the ruler of Bohemia was crowned with the golden diadem, presented by
the Emperor himself. There was no doubt that King Vratislav had earned
the distinction--he had done well by himself, by his country and by his
ally the Emperor--so no doubt the Basilica Church of St. George on the
Hrad[vs]any and its congregation did all honour to the crowning of
Bohemia's first King. It is also interesting to note that Vratislav had
"contributed to the party funds"; he had lent money to the Emperor. This
should strike a homely, familiar note among us.
The frescoes in St. George's Church probably date from the time of King
Vratislav; there was a distinct revival of love for things beautiful in
those days when the peoples were beginning to see the light that was
rising, gently but persistently, over the subsiding chaos that had
claimed Europe for the past three centuries and more. True, the world
was still a confused and worrying sort of place to live in; apart from
the soul-sickening public quarrels between Rome and the Empire, there
was a good deal of private enterprise in that line between all manner of
petty potentates. Nevertheless there was some improvement to be noted,
first in the tendency of fostering national feeling in place of a
confused cosmopolitanism, secondly by the effects of the Cluny movement
in its endeavour to reform the Church. The tendency of the time
expressed itself in beautiful illuminated manuscripts, and Prague is
lucky in the possession of many such. It is probable that Duke
B[vr]etislav II, grandson of the first prince of that name, encouraged
the expression of his people's religious and national sentiments, in
those illuminated manuscripts of the Bible, of Missals, and the
"Cantionales," those works so beautiful in design, so loyal and sincere
of execution, their colours as fresh as when the artist's hand withdrew
reluctantly from the finishing touch.
B[vr]etislav II had had a misfortune in his youth; he had caused a
courtier of the name of Zderad to be murdered. Zderad had insulted the
young Prince; what with that and the courtier's unpronounceable name it
is no wonder that B[vr]etislav was roused to act indiscreetly. He found
it advisable to spend some years abroad after this little affair, and
only returned home when his father's neck was broken out hunting.
B[vr]etislav took up the anti-pagan line very strongly. It seems
strange, but there was still a certain amount of paganism lurking in
secret places in Bohemia. It was not safe to indulge in heathen rites at
home, but there were places abroad where it was still possible. One of
these places is still a fashionable holiday resort, the Island of Ruegen
in the Baltic Sea. Here there was a temple at Arkona, to Svantovit, the
god of air and light, besides a local and household deity president over
all Ruegen, called Rugevit. I can quite imagine a couple of Czech
householders, law-abiding and good church-goers, conspiring to get away
from the family for a bit and take a trip to Ruegen, just for a flutter
with the old gods. What with the secrecy required, as both Ruler and
Church forbade the practice of worshipping Slavonic deities, the
practice must have been quite as exciting as _petits chevaux_.
Whether it was this interference with the Ruegen pilgrims or his action
in stamping out the custom of holding religious services in the language
of the country, B[vr]etislav II was not popular; he was eventually
murdered by some of his nobles. The successors of B[vr]etislav seem to
have been cantankerous and inefficient; it is wearisome to read of those
hopeless people throwing away the fruits of good work done by such stout
fellows as B[vr]etislav I or even the hearty heathen Boleslav. In all
this distressing muddle of brothers, cousins, etc., fighting, getting
beaten and running off to the German Emperor to howl to him about it,
there are occasional bright spots. So for instance, one Sob[ve]slav, who
came to the throne in 1125, and found things in the usual mess, with
half the country against him; nevertheless he managed to beat Emperor
Lothair most heartily. Lothair had crossed the Giant Mountains in order
to support the claims of some other P[vr]emysl, had met Sob[ve]slav's
hastily gathered army at Kulm, near Teplitz, and had been handsomely
beaten. Not only that, but Lothair and the remnants of his army were
surrounded, and it was up to the Bohemian Prince to impose terms this
time. Sob[ve]slav was thus able to improve the status of Bohemia
considerably, and he added to his country's dignity by receiving the
high office of hereditary cup-bearer of the Empire, from Conrad III,
Lothair's successor. Cupbearer in perpetuam to an Empire sounds very
important and suggests great possibilities of influencing people. As a
matter of fact the office gave Bohemia certain rights within the Empire
which went some way to balance the obligations; nevertheless German ties
were fastened yet more securely on the sons of Czech.
Sob[ve]slav was succeeded by his nephew Vladislav, another P[vr]emysl to
rise to royal rank. This Prince passed through the usual troubles before
securing the throne to himself, and was perforce driven to invoke the
German Emperor Conrad in order to establish his sovereign rights over
the whole of Bohemia and Moravia. The reign of Vladislav I (as King) is
relieved by a certain picturesqueness, by a touch of romance, from the
usual sordid course of events in the life of the P[vr]emysl dynasty with
its rivalries, treachery, conspiracies and other social amenities of the
time. There is even something picturesque in the fact that the Pope had
felt obliged to send Cardinal Guido with a special mission to establish
order among the Bohemian clergy. These amiable gentlemen would persist
in entering the bonds of matrimony; if Bohemian ladies were as
attractive then as they are to-day, I feel the sincerest sympathy with
those gallant priests. It is easy to imagine what trouble arose when
Cardinal Guido insisted that all married priests should either separate
from their wives or renounce their dignities, and there were some
clerics of the highest rank, among them a couple of deans, who were
called upon to this act of renunciation. The immediate result of the
Pope's interference was that the Bohemians chased his legate from Prague
to Eger, where the latter succumbed to his injuries. This was certainly
a picturesque incident, but it was not appreciated by the Papacy, which
was hotly in favour of Cluniac principles. There were other picturesque
events pending which forced a compromise even on Rome; the second
crusade, much encouraged by Cluny, was in course of preparation, and as
all Christian countries of Europe were expected to take part, the time
was not propitious for bringing pressure to bear on Bohemia's ruler. He
had not arrived at royal dignity when the Guido episode took place; it
was within the first year of his reign. The royal crown was bestowed on
Vladislav a few years later by another romantic personage, Frederick
Barbarossa, in consideration of Bohemian assistance against the
Emperor's enemies in Northern Italy. Vladislav marched an army of ten
thousand men from Bohemia, took part in the siege of Milan, and himself
killed Dacio, one of the leaders of the Milanese.
I doubt whether Vladislav is entitled to an effigy with feet crossed, as
his part in the second crusade was not remarkable. He took his troops to
Asia, left them there under the charge of King Louis VII of France, and
returned to his own country via Constantinople, where he indulged in a
little intriguing with the Greek Emperor Emanuel. This seems to have
given the flamboyant Greeks the impression that Bohemia's King had
become a vassal of their Emperor; they were disillusioned some years
later when Vladislav assisted Stephen III on to the throne of Hungary
against the Emperor Emanuel's choice.
It is all very fine and thrilling to read about picturesque princes,
romantic rulers, and we shall hear of several in the history of Prague,
but they are not necessarily an asset to a country that wishes to
develop in peace and consolidate within its own boundaries. It is
difficult to see what good Vladislav did by his trip to Asia with the
crusaders; he left his troops in charge of a foreigner and created a
distinctly wrong impression on another people while on his way home.
Again, he was romantically brave in Italy at the head of a Bohemian army
which was much in excess of the numbers required of him by his agreement
with Barbarossa. Of this large army very few returned to their native
country. There is, however, one deed by which Vladislav becomes entitled
to undying merit: he founded the Monastery of Strahov.
Where the strip of land which connects the Hrad[vs]any Hill with that of
Pet[vr]in, mentioned in Libu[vs]a's forecast, dips a bit before rising
again, there Vladislav laid the foundations of Strahov. This happened in
1140, what time Vladislav was beset by enemies of his own house, who
disputed his right to the throne; he was even assailed in his capital,
Prague, by another P[vr]emysl, Conrad of Znoymo. Nevertheless the walls
of Strahov Monastery rose over the terraced valley that dips down into
Prague between Pet[vr]in and Castle Hill. The good monks of Strahov,
illumined by the light that spread from Cluny, soon made of their house
a home of learning and piety, a haunt of peace where weary souls found
rest from strife and turmoil; Mount Zion, the people called this sacred
spot, and the name still clings to it despite the many vicissitudes
through which it has passed. It must have been a-building when the
enemies of Vladislav attacked the city, it was destroyed when the
Hussite wars broke out over Bohemia, and it suffered at the hands of the
Swedes during the War of Thirty Years. But the good work that Vladislav
the King had started on Mount Zion of Strahov was not allowed to perish;
the monastery re-arose from its ashes after each visitation, with
renewed strength, arose to look out over Prague from its terraced
height. While looking out over the city with the eye of a friend full of
loving understanding, the congregation on Mount Zion pursued the even
tenor of its way, collecting treasures for the benefit of future
generations. The library, a wonderful sight and soothing after the
turmoil in the streets of Prague, contains many of those collected
treasures, instruments used by the astronomer Tycho de Brahe, the works
of Racusani the philosopher, a gift of Sir Thomas Saville to Hajek the
sixteenth-century biologist, astronomer, professor of Prague University,
who had studied in Milan and Bologna and had visited England in 1589.
Then there are the poetical works of Elizabeth Weston of a noble
English family, who had made her home in Prague and died here in 1612. A
very learned lady this, but, it would seem, unhappy. You may see her
tomb in St. Thomas's Church in Mala Strana, just beyond that imposing
Jesuit Church of St. Nicholas, on it the following inscription:--
D. O. M. S. B. M.
Elisabethae Joannae Westonae
Nobilitate patriae Britanniae,
Seculi nostri Sulpitiae,
Cui nomen dant litterae illibati
Minervae floris
Suadae decoris
Musarum delicii
Foeminarum exempli.
Strahov Monastery has, I hope, passed through its vicissitudes and has
entered at last into an existence of undisturbed usefulness. Of its
earliest appearance there are neither record nor any traces left; the
storms that passed over Bohemia have obliterated any outward sign of the
Mount Zion which Vladislav founded and whither generations of the pious
sons of Czech went up to find peace. One of the first of these was
Vladislav himself; weary of war and worn out by internal dissensions, he
abdicated and retired to Strahov to end his days.
Strahov was entirely rebuilt in the seventeenth century, and has
withstood the enemies of Bohemia from without and within, taking no
irreparable harm from the open attack of Frederick of Prussia in the
eighteenth century or the covert attack of those hostile to the faith it
has stood for down the ages. The quaintly shaped spires of St. Mary's
Church with its three aisles, its glorious organ the largest in all
Bohemia, stand out in bold relief amidst the terraced garden and
orchards tended with fond care. The belfry is silent, its bells were
sacrificed to the cause of the Habsburgs in the Great War; you may see
plaster casts of them in the library. Here you may feast your eye on
gloriously illuminated manuscripts and wonder at the ingenious
inventions of one or other good brother who sojourned here a while on
his way to the "Abiding City." There is, for instance, a model of the
first lightning-conductor. Country folk, when they first saw it, crossed
themselves, thinking this the work of the devil. The visitors' book in
the library shows signatures of men famous in history, among them our
Nelson, who, in company of Sir William and Lady Hamilton, visited
Strahov on September 29, 1800. The strict rules of the congregation of
Premonstratensians allow ladies to visit only the library, which is
approached from the outer courtyard; the picture gallery is
unfortunately closed to them, a small collection but of value, its gem
is Duerer's "Rosary Feast."
[Illustration: STRAHOV MONASTERY.]
So stands Strahov, Mount Zion, between the Castle Hill and Pet[vr]in
looking out over Prague from its terraced gardens and its bower of
fruit-trees. It is always beautiful, this haunt of old-world peace,
whether the garden and the orchard be all a mass of blossom creamy white
in the sunshine, pale purples in the shadows, in the shade of midsummer
foliage when Golden Prague below glitters in the midday heat, or in
autumn when the valley is all a blaze of gold and russet, and the
distant hills stand out in strong blue masses. Winter also brings
fascination. Strahov, its many windows severely closed and reflecting a
sullen sky, seems to stand out more austerely from among the gaunt
tree-trunks, their grey and sombre outlines broken by a fantasia of
gnarled and twisted branches glittering under snow. But within those
walls, in the high altar's mysterious depth, in the long bare corridors
and tiny cells where useful work continues as it has done for centuries,
there is the "peace that passeth understanding."
CHAPTER VI
Deals in succession with five Kings of the House of P[vr]emysl, Ottokar
I, Wenceslaus I, Ottokar II, Wenceslaus II and III, with whom the male
line of this famous dynasty became extinct. This chapter also touches on
the story of the Jews of Prague and tells about one Dalibor who provided
a hero for Smetana's opera of that name. Mentions buildings and
improvements undertaken by the Kings above named; tells of their
troubles and trials, and how for a time they overcame them. Introduces
the first Habsburg to Bohemia and makes mention of other visitors to
Prague.
On the death of Vladislav II, in fact on his retirement to the
cloistered peace of Strahov, it became evident that there were too many
P[vr]emysls about in Bohemia to make for that country's peace and
contentment. These worthies were constantly falling over each other in
the scramble for the throne, and their disunited efforts resulted in ten
changes in the person of the sovereign over a period of twenty-four
years. This filled Bohemia's German neighbours with unholy joy and
brought the distracted country more and more under Teuton domination, so
much so that Frederick Barbarossa thought fit to summon one or other
pretender and a bunch of obstreperous Bohemian nobles to appear before
him at the Imperial Court at Ratisbon, in order that he might exercise
the right he had assumed of settling the affairs of the P[vr]emysl
dynasty. By way of a picturesque touch to the proceedings, Barbarossa is
said to have arranged for a suitable display of executioners' axes at
the meeting. Nevertheless this pretty imperial conceit settled no
affairs one way or another, and it was not until P[vr]emysl Ottokar
became undisputed ruler of Bohemia, and eventually of Moravia as well,
that order of a sort was restored. Death had also been busy among
members of the P[vr]emysl family and had brought considerable relief to
the distracted country.
By the time Ottokar I had settled himself firmly on the throne he found
that the confused, almost anarchic, state which Germany had drifted into
could mean many advantages to Bohemia, if the situation were properly
handled. The House of Hohenstaufen began to go downhill after the death
of Henry VI, and we find a lusty Welf, Otto, clamouring for the imperial
diadem, assisted by a number of German Electors. This gave the ruler of
Bohemia his opportunity, and Ottokar took it. His son Wenceslaus I and
grandson Ottokar II followed the same line of policy, a purely dynastic
one. They took sides with one or other of the rivals for the crown of
the Holy Roman Empire, changing as considerations of domestic interests
required, and making skilful use of the perennial quarrel between Empire
and Papacy over the Investitures. While the Hohenstaufens were trickling
out until the luckless Conradin lost his head at Naples, while fierce
Welfs like Otto of Brunswick wrecked themselves on the rock of papal
insistence, Bohemia's rulers were profiting. Ottokar I seems to have
been particularly astute in this line of business. He supported two
rival Emperors in turn and got something useful out of both, he upheld
the cause of Pope Innocent III against one or other imperial rival and
induced that pontiff to recognize the P[vr]emysl's title to royalty.
Ottokar even found himself sufficiently strong to try a throw with the
Pope himself on the vexed subject of Investiture, simply by way of a
little private sport on his own account and not as part of the general
European brawl. It happened that Andrew, Bishop of Prague, was one of
those didactic prelates who insisted on all the little things the Papacy
was out for--immunity for his clerics from the temporal law-courts, from
taxes, and so on. Above all, Andrew was strong on the right of
conferring ecclesiatical office, albeit he had himself accepted
investiture at the hands of Ottokar. This led to quite a hearty quarrel
in which Andrew got the worst of it; he had to seek refuge in Rome,
whence he let off all the customary fulminations, declaring Bohemia to
be under interdict and so on. Nobody in Bohemia took the least notice of
Andrew's little efforts; Church and people went solidly with their King
on this occasion, and carried on their devotional exercises as before.
We have to thank Ottokar for several picturesque flashes which brighten
up the gloomy picture of this period. So for instance, he took a trip to
Maintz, where he was solemnly crowned as King. No doubt Prague would
have been a more suitable setting for this function, but Ottokar had so
timed his arrangements as to come in for a double event, for Philip of
Suabia with assistance from Bohemia's ruler, secured the German crown at
the same time. Then again this thoughtful P[vr]emysl Ottokar provided
Bohemia with yet another patron saint of the blood royal, and not by the
old-fashioned family method of killing a relative. Ottokar had married
Constance of Hungary, and it was their daughter Agnes who next joined
the distinguished and hallowed company of Ludmilla and Wenceslaus.
Agnes, educated by St. Hedwig, early distinguished herself by refusing
to marry Emperor Frederick II. She decided to become a bride of heaven
instead, founded the Order of Clarissa, entered it herself and
eventually died as abbess in the odour of sanctity. Frederick consoled
himself with one wife after another (a wife seems to have lasted no time
in those days), his third and last being Isabella, daughter of King John
of England, whose son, Richard of Cornwall, also comes into the story a
little farther on in this chapter. St. Agnes was held in great reverence
by the citizens of Bruex, is still so held, I hope, for she did them a
good turn in 1424. The Pragers had been indulging in a feud with the
Bruexers, and had taken a bad beating on one occasion. The former
prepared a surprise attack and marched on Bruex hoping to take it by a
midnight assault. St. Agnes happened to be watching while the fat
burghers slept; she roused them from slumber, drove them to the walls
and aided them in beating off the attacking Pragers, Then the Bruexers
went to sleep again. It is also pleasant to reflect that Agnes's refusal
to marry Frederick did not mar the excellent relations that sprang up
between that monarch and Ottokar whenever the latter happened to want
something out of the former. It is true that Ottokar had changed about a
good deal between one rival emperor and another, but he remained loyal
to Frederick in the end, and the latter outlived him by some thirty
years. The relations between the two must have been quite pleasant and
comfortable, as you may judge from the concessions made by the Emperor
of the Holy Roman Empire to Bohemia's King. A pretty and tactful
compliment it was on the part of Frederick to allow Ottokar's heralds,
when preceding their royal master to the Imperial Diet, to carry lighted
torches on poles before him, and this to signify that the Bohemian
excursionists were at liberty to burn down anything they had a mind to.
It is these little considerations that have ever played such an
important though unrecognized part in the diplomatic relations between
nations. The Bohemians are still quite nice about accepting little acts
of kindness and consideration from anybody.
P[vr]emysl Ottokar I had reigned for twenty-eight years when his son
Wenceslaus, first King of that name, succeeded him, and, strange to say,
practically without opposition. By this time Bohemia had risen to a
position of importance in the councils of Europe not only by the
skilful, not to say artful, policy of its rulers, but also owing to the
growing prosperity of the country which was reflected in the life of
Prague its capital.
Prague consisted of three distinct settlements each apparently under
separate administration. There was the old original settlement on
Vy[vs]ehrad which seems to have been under the sway of the abbot
presiding over the monastic institutions on that hill. Then there was
Libu[vs]a's foundation on the Hrad[vs]any and extending down to the
river, probably under the rule of the King's lieutenant or burgrave,
and finally the Old Town on the right bank with its own municipal
institutions. These three parts of Prague were separately walled in, but
little remains of any architectural work earlier in date than the Kings
of Bohemia of whom this Wenceslaus is generally counted as the first
though his father's royal rank had been recognized by the Pope and at
least two emperors.
By the time Wenceslaus I came to the throne, the changes were in full
swing which were to lead up to the golden age of Prague a century or so
later. We have already noticed a tendency of German immigrants towards
Prague and other cities of Bohemia. The Germans, mostly tradesmen and
artisans, came with the civic instinct well developed, whereas the sons
of Czech were, and still are, more of the fields and forests and the
free life without walls. The Germans, bringing with them the
appreciation of walled security, were responsible in great measure for
the fortified cities of Bohemia and Moravia. It cannot be said of the
later P[vr]emysl rulers preceding the Kings of Bohemia that they were
inspired by the founder's ardour. Then again the Bohemian nobility had
risen to a strong sense of its own importance encouraged by the
lamentable dissensions in the reigning house, and not uninfluenced by an
infusion of German blood; they also had taken to walling themselves in
on convenient hill-tops. As these nobles were become increasingly
troublesome, it is not surprising that P[vr]emysl rulers induced more
and more Germans to settle in the cities of Bohemia and Moravia, thus
starting a steady-going middle class which might be expected to pay for
peace and protection and which when walled in was conveniently in hand
for the tax-collector's operations. That this scheme was beginning to
succeed even in the early days of the twelfth century is proved by the
fact that Jews were flocking to Prague in ever increasing numbers, so
there must have been business doing in the capital and other cities of
the land, under conditions of reasonable security. It may be taken for
granted that improvements and additions to the defences of Prague, the
decoration of the town by stately churches and other monuments, however
much directed by the sovereign, were paid for by the burghers.
The story of the Jews in Prague makes very interesting reading; it is,
however, beyond the scope of this work to give more than an indication
of the part that the Children of Israel took in the development of the
city. You will remember that a travelling commercial gentleman of
Semitic origin, one Ibrahim Ibn Jacub, had visited Prague in the tenth
century and had noted the place with approval. As far as I can make out
he makes no reference to a colony of his co-religionists already in
existence here, so the story that Jews settled here before the
destruction of Jerusalem seems little likely. It was, indeed, averred by
the Jews of Prague that they had their settlement here long before
Libu[vs]a launched her prophecies, before the birth of Christ in fact,
so that they at least might be considered guiltless of the Divine
Tragedy on Golgotha. Their legend calls the place Buiarnum, which
suggests some acquaintance with the Celtic tribe that rested for a while
in Bohemia, gave its name to the country and then wandered to Bavaria,
where it repeated the performance. I find this legend of the Jews
difficult to believe despite my earnest endeavour to find something of
truth in Saga's ebullitions. How, for instance, is it possible that the
gifted lady Libu[vs]a did not discover the advantages of a Jewish colony
and that she omitted to prophesy a contribution out of the sons of
Israel towards her new foundation? No, if there had been any Jews within
signing distance of this city when it arose, Praha would have started
with a mortgage on her, and the entertainment tax would probably be
double what it is this day.
You may take it as a general principle that every country has the Jews
it deserves. If you oppress them, trample them in the mud as was
customary in pre-war Russia, they will turn and rend you when their turn
comes round; this is happening in Russia at present. If you despoil a
Jew by violence, he will do the same to you by guile, and you may or may
not be left with your full complement of cuticle. If you treat the Jew
as one entitled to equal rights with equal responsibilities, you will
find him an excellent citizen.
As elsewhere in the Europe of the Middle Ages, the Children of Israel in
Prague were confined to certain quarters of the town. We have heard how
a number of them were ordered to leave the Hrads[vs]any side of the
river and settle in the Old Town. The quarter allotted to the Jews was
in that part of the Old Town known as Josefov, and the Old Ghetto stood
approximately in that complex of narrow streets between the river at the
Rudolfinum Bridge and the broad thoroughfare Mikula[vs]ska T[vr]ida. I
could point out the place from my terrace if I were minded to give its
locality away and to depart from my principle of making every man choose
his own point of view.
The life of the Ghetto centred round the old Jewish Town Hall, with its
quaint, indeed rather unsightly, tower on which is a clock that you are
expected to treat as one of the sights of the place. On the face of this
clock the numbers are marked by Hebrew letters and the hands of this
clock move from right to left. The fact that the Jews had a Town Hall to
themselves in ancient Prague is significant; it stood for the
semi-autonomous constitution of the Jewish community which was subject
to the sovereign as a corporate body with its own municipal institutions
and responsibilities. This peculiar segregation of the Jewish community
as an _imperium in imperio_, apart in matters of local administration as
in matters of religion, from their fellow-citizens, must have done a
great deal towards forming the character of its members, and the result
has been of advantage to the city of Prague in times of stress.
Close by the Jewish Town Hall stands another yet more ancient landmark
of cultural history, the "Staronova [vS]kola", or Old New School. Close
by the side of that broad thoroughfare the Mikulas[vs]ka T[vr]ida, with
the electric trams clanging along it, stands this strange temple. Dr.
Je[vr]abek, in his excellent booklet on _Beautiful Old Prague_ likens
this ancient building to a gigantic hand of Aaron held up in blessing
over the Ghetto; I think you will agree with me that this is a very
happy simile. Built in the severe style of transition from Romanesque to
Gothic, of massive stone walls heavily buttressed, with steep red-tiled
sloping roof, blackened with age and the grime of the walled-in Ghetto,
this temple served not only as a place of worship for the sons of
Israel, but also as a casket for the remains of a yet older one said to
date back to the sixth century and probably the oldest temple on the
Continent of Europe. The present fane itself is of venerable age and
aspect; its building fell into the reign of King Wenceslaus I and
Ottokar II, and took ten years, from 1250 to 1260. Men only are allowed
to worship in the inner temple, dingy and dark; whatever light
penetrates through the narrow windows calls forth reluctant glints from
the many brass candelabra, work of long centuries ago. Women may look on
from an outer court through glazed openings that look like
gun-embrasures.
The Jews required strong defences in the dark days of the Middle Ages;
their Ghetto was shut off from the rest of the city by heavy iron gates,
but even these proved of no avail when once the mob got loose and
undertook a raid. On several occasions organized massacres took toll of
the "Children of the Ghetto," who on other occasions were banished, bag
and baggage, from Prague and driven out into the country. Though now and
again they suffered intolerably, yet were they on the whole better
treated than in many other parts of Europe, were allowed to develop
along their own lines, and produced many men of mark and learning, and
women of distinction, among the latter one who was raised to the
nobility by a Habsburg Emperor and King of Bohemia, Bas-Schevi called
"of Treunberg." Among the prominent men whose light shone out beyond the
Ghetto of Prague, I may mention the poet-Rabbi Abigdor Caro, the
bibliophile Rabbi Oppenheim whose library is now in Oxford, then the
chronicler and mathematician David Gans, a friend of Keppler and Tycho
de Brahe, and Solomon de Medigo de Candia the pupil of Galileo Galilei.
[Illustration: "A RELIC OF THE GHETTO."]
Tall modern houses look down upon the smoke-blackened temple; the Ghetto
gates have fallen long ago, and nothing remains of its former crowded
dwelling-places but a quaint ramshackle old house of Oriental aspect,
and the old cemetery, Beth-Chaim, "the House of Life," as the Jews call
it. This is no doubt the oldest existing and still preserved Jewish
cemetery in Europe. Here tombstones stand closely crowded together, or
lean one against the other under the thickets of ancient elder-bushes;
glints of sunlight flicker through the dense foliage over graven sign of
stag, of vine or flower, or the hand upraised in benediction of some son
of Aaron, light up Hebrew script in its severely decorative characters,
inscriptions half effaced but not forgotten, for careful record has been
kept. This old burial ground seems far removed from Central Europe, yet
it is intimately connected with the story of Prague. Though old
landmarks are vanishing, yet a mist of legend hangs close over this
strange, alien part of the city, legends of cabalists, reputed sorcerers
like Aaron Spira or the more famous Rabbi Jehuda ben Bezalel Loew. The
latter is supposed to have been in league with the Powers of Darkness
which bestowed on him superhuman gifts. This Rabbi is said to have
created an Homunculus which became so troublesome that it had to be
incarcerated. The spot chosen as prison for this evil being was high up
in the wall of the temple. A row of iron clamps leads up to a small door
on the outside wall facing the Mikula[vs]ska T[vr]ida, leads up to where
Homunculus is still believed to be in durance.
Prague got better Jews than it deserved, for they showed great loyalty
to the city of their adoption, and, despite persecution, even took an
active part in the defence of the town. This happened towards the end of
the Thirty Years' War, when the Swedes were making this part of Europe
unsafe. The Swedes broke into Prague by the Strahov Gate and attempted
to seize the Old Town. They had almost succeeded, for the usual
precautions against surprise had been neglected, but luckily the
students, butchers and Jews of Prague managed to rally to the defence.
After fierce fighting on the Charles Bridge, the Swedes had to abandon
their attempt on the Old Town and retired altogether. On this occasion
the Jews showed not only public spirit but commendable bravery, and were
rewarded by the Emperor with a banner, a mighty imposing affair with ten
poles, as it takes ten men to carry it; you may see this interesting
trophy in the old temple still.
The Jews of Prague have continued to do good work not only for and in
the city of their adoption, but well beyond its confines, both in public
utility work and in science. It is especially in the science of healing
that the Jews of Prague have risen to eminence, not only by reason of
their depth of learning and their unremitting labour, but also by the
generosity and impartiality which actuates them in their dealings with
sufferers. I myself have personal knowledge of such instances, and I
speak of people as I find them.
No doubt some of the Jews joined in the picturesque cry which did so
much to cheer up our Christian enemies of the Central Powers, "Gott
strafe England!" but I cannot quite imagine any responsible son of
Israel doing so with Christian fervour; the "jealous God" of the
Hebrews, having reserved to Himself the right of vengeance, would be
sure to resent any instructions from "the sheep of His pasture" as to
how a case of the kind should be dealt with. Moreover, the punishment of
England may safely be left in the hands of her politicians, who are also
in one sense or another "Chosen People."
When rewarding those who distinguished themselves in the defence of
Prague against the Swedes, the Emperor also remembered the butchers of
the town. These stout fellows brought to their guild, as tokens of
imperial gratitude and goodwill, the permission to bear as cognizance
the White Lion of Bohemia clutching an axe; a very rampant lion
reinforced by a double tail--in fact "some lion," more power to him!
* * * * *
Of Wenceslaus II there is not much to relate in regard to lasting
monuments of his reign in the capital of his kingdom. He was kept
thoroughly busy with the quarrels between Pope and Emperor, taking sides
as best suited his country's interests, making for safety as a rule. He
also found time for a private quarrel with Leopold, Duke of Austria, but
he also took that ruler's part against the Emperor Frederick II as
occasion served. While Central Europe and the Holy Roman Empire was thus
disporting itself, a diversion was caused by a particularly noxious
swarm of Tartars which had broken loose from somewhere in Asia, probably
from the region of Lake Baikal. They swept over Russia, swamping the
domains of the disunited princes of that country, defeated Poles and
Silesians at Liegnitz, and generally set up a healthy scare in
disordered Europe. Wenceslaus rose to the occasion like a good stout
P[vr]emysl. He fortified the passes leading into Bohemia from Silesia,
and there his sturdy soldiery defeated the Tartars, who turned off
towards Moravia, Hungary and Austria, and vanished again from Europe as
quickly as they had come. Thereupon Pope and Emperor, Bohemian King and
Austrian Duke, and all the smaller fry, resumed their fighting of each
other, launching bulls and banns and such-like amenities into space on
the chance of some one or other being affected thereby. The Bohemian
nobility thought fit to add to the gaiety of nations by starting an
insurrection against Wenceslaus, a movement led, according to
time-honoured custom, by the King's son Ottokar, who had been entrusted
with the government of Moravia. This Ottokar eventually ascended the
throne of Bohemia as second King of that name, and became one of the
most notable rulers of his time and race.
The early days of Ottokar II are noteworthy on account of the close
connection established between Bohemia and Austria which led to endless
complications and eventual disaster for the former country. Ottokar
thought fit to marry Adela, sister of Duke Frederick of Austria,
Frederick the Warlike, the last of the long line of Babenberg. The lady
was forty-six, Ottokar twenty-five, but that does not matter when there
is a chance of inheriting something. Ottokar was elected Duke by the
Estates of Austria, and endeavoured to incorporate Styria into his
dominions. In this he met with opposition from Bela, King of Hungary,
with whom he came to an agreement after the usual fighting. Thereupon
Ottokar turned his attention to the heathen Prussians, who were supposed
to be getting ripe for conversion to Christianity. He defeated them in
several battles, which made his task much easier, and founded a strong
city, named Koenigsberg after him, to keep the Prussians from
back-sliding.
It is interesting to note that Ottokar's policy brought him into a
certain degree of contact with England. The Holy Roman Empire was making
very heavy weather at the time, the German Electors being thoroughly at
variance amongst themselves, and so it came about that after a period of
intense anarchy euphemistically called the "Interregnum," two rivals
were put up of whom neither could be said to have occupied the throne.
These rivals were both foreigners to Germany, one being a Spaniard, the
other Richard of Cornwall, second son of King John of England. Ottokar
thought fit to support Richard, who in return did little things to
oblige Ottokar, such as investing him with other people's lands and
fiefs, and all went well for a while. Ottokar had extended his dominions
considerably, had brought a number of smaller States, some of them
German, under his sway and virtually controlled all Central Europe from
the Baltic to the Adriatic Seas. He had beaten the Hungarian King Bela
and his friends, Daniel Romanovic the King of Russia and Prince of Kiev,
a Prince of Cracow and odd assortments of Serbs, Bulgars, and
Wallachians, most handsomely at Kressenbrunn on the plains of the River
March.
Ottokar's political conception of the part which Bohemia should play in
Central Europe is particularly interesting. By conquest, alliances and
understandings with his neighbours he had acquired a preponderating
influence in the councils of Europe. The power he had concentrated round
the Slavonic nucleus of his native country lay almost entirely in
German-speaking districts, so that a situation arose in which Count
Luetzov finds some analogy between the policy of this P[vr]emysl Ottokar
and that pursued by the Austrian Government from 1815, when the
Habsburgs finally abandoned the notion of a Holy Roman Empire, to 1864
and 1866, when Prussia took the first decisive step towards reviving the
same idea under the title _Deutsches Reich_. There is a good deal in
Count Luetzov's contention, and this subject might well be taken up by
some leisured student of history. It seems to me that the history of
Central Europe shows several instances of attempted breaks from
tradition and striving after a more lasting political re-grouping such
as Ottokar seemed to have aimed at; I hope to return to this subject
later, though I may only touch the fringe of it.
Ottokar's plans were completely upset, first by the death of his
obliging friend Richard of Cornwall, next by events attending and
arising out of the choice of a new Emperor by the German Electors.
Ottokar being a Slav, and a very powerful one at that, was heartily
hated by all German Princes, so they, being in a majority, disallowed
Ottokar's right to vote at all, and elected as Emperor one Rudolph
Count of Habsburg. History of this time was recorded by Germans chiefly,
and they have spared no trouble to blacken Ottokar's character, by which
process Rudolph of Habsburg is made to stand out as a light shining in
the darkness. In Germanic eyes Ottokar's fault was that of being a Slav,
successful and of great ability. I cannot agree with the German
chronicler's estimate of Rudolph. We are expected to accept him as a
modest sort of backwoods peer, the kind that wears flannel next its skin
and keeps its small estates unencumbered. We have also a pretty picture
in verse of this Rudolph. He is described as meeting a priest carrying
the Host, on the bank of a foaming mountain torrent somewhere among the
Alps where the ruins of the Habsburg still show against the sky like an
abandoned hawk's nest; the name probably derives from Habichts Burg,
Hawk's Castle. Rudolph dismounted, placed the priest on his horse and
humbly, cap in hand, led it across the stream. Years after this
picturesque event the priest, carefully disguised, attended the Council
of Electors and at the psychological moment, produced his harp, burst
into song on the subject of Rudolph, and so swayed the Electors that
they offered the German crown to that modest and retiring Habsburg. I
cannot believe this story of the priest among the Electors, and my
disbelief is based on experience of elective bodies. Can you imagine the
Parish Council, in the throes of electing a suitable person to keep the
village pump in order, being confronted by a mysterious stranger who
suddenly interrupts the proceedings by singing the praises of "good old
Jarge" to the accompaniment of an accordion? No, there is something
wrong about that election story; I believe Rudolph was a schemer, and
the whole affair cut and dried before he stood for election at all.
Certain it is that Rudolph, supported by all Germany, attacked Ottokar;
this was the first rencontre between Bohemia and the House of Habsburg,
and it ended in disaster for the former. Ottokar was deprived of all the
lands he had acquired, betrayed by his own nobles, and finally killed
in battle near the scene of his victory over the Hungarians.
Despite the troublous times of the two Ottokars and of Wenceslaus I, the
city of Prague, or rather the communities composing it, had expanded
into a place of considerable extent and importance, and was already
spoken of as the City of many Towers. The three above-mentioned
sovereigns, as also Wenceslaus II, son and successor of Ottokar II, had
found time and means to do a considerable amount of building of which
some traces are still evident. We have already noted that Wenceslaus I
girt the Old Town around with walls, likewise the hill of Vy[vs]ehrad,
and he took the strengthening of the Hrad[vs]any in hand. This latter
job was completed for the time being by Ottokar II, who caused those
imposing-looking towers on the north front of the castle to be built.
These towers are named respectively Black Tower, White Tower, and
Daliborka, by which latter hangs a tale which I will relate to you by
and by. Some of the authorities I have consulted differ as to the actual
date of these towers, and are inclined to place the building of
Daliborka in the fourteenth century, probably into the period when
Charles IV found the royal castle to be badly in need of repair and set
about the work forthwith. It is certain, however, that both the
Wenceslaus and Ottokars interested themselves in strengthening the
fortifications of Prague, and are not likely to have neglected the
Hrad[vs]any, which stronghold was furnished with a permanent garrison of
ten knights and three hundred men-at-arms. The north side of the castle
has preserved the mediaeval appearance which has been improved away on
the other sides, chiefly by fatuous Habsburger in the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries; the north side overhanging the deep-cut Stags'
Moat shows you the formidable nature of this fortress with its stout
towers rising up over the tops of tall trees that struggle up out of the
valley mentioned by Libu[vs]a, for a glimpse of the sun.
The towers of the Hrad[vs]any were suitably fitted out as dungeons, with
the latest thing in trap-doors warranted to give the visitor a sudden
and complete change of air. One of these towers soon found a lodger, one
Dalibor after whom the tower was named for ever after. There is an opera
all about Dalibor composed by Smetana; the music is very beautiful, but
as the singing is all in Czech, I have not quite got the hang of the
story, so will give as nearly as I can and by the aid of my own
imagination, what happened to Dalibor.
Dalibor, it appears, was a Bohemian knight with views in advance of his
time: he was a socialist. One day he assembled his friends, relatives
and retainers in the castle yard and appeared among them armed and on
horseback. He dismounted and commenced proceedings by scraping off his
shield the heraldic emblems with which it was charged. Lions and bears,
rampant, couchant, gardant, and other fauna in becoming attitudes,
bends, bars, engrailed, dancetty, raguly, gules, azure, argent or
otherwise--all these things of beauty vanished from Dalibor's scutcheon
while the assembled multitude wondered "What next?" Thereupon Dalibor
held forth, in impressive manner and impassioned tones, on the iniquity
of the system, the inequality of condition, under which they were all
forced to exist. Having made his assembled fellow-men his equals by
removing the aforesaid heraldic devices, he would further show his sense
of equality by leading them in person and on foot to real freedom; so
said Dalibor. Thereupon the multitude, at Dalibor's heels, set off down
the hill and started spreading equality all around them. Their method
was quite simple, indeed it lacked originality: they just helped
themselves to the goods of those who happened to live by the way. Those
who failed to rise to this lofty conception of Dalibor and his comrades
were knocked on the head--also quite a simple and homely method of
appeal; and so this happy band of pilgrims left behind them a dead-level
of equality. These their efforts at social regeneration, their
illustration of economic principles, were not appreciated. Dalibor was
captured and invited to take up his residence beneath the trap-door of
the tower that was henceforth to be known by his name.
As soon as he was safely housed, Rumour, the mother of Legend, got busy
about him. Folk began to whisper to each other the news that wonderful
music was heard proceeding from out of the stern walls of Dalibor's
prison; the sound of a violin was heard by the many who were attracted
to the spot by Rumour. No doubt Dalibor learnt to play the violin: the
Czech is so intensely musical that he will master any instrument before
he has got the hang of the grammar of his own language, the fiddle is so
much easier. The strange thing is that the musical performance continued
long after Dalibor's death--here Legend steps in with the assertion that
an angel, a fairy, or at least some sort of supernatural being, is
continuing Dalibor's programme.
[Illustration: A TOWER OF THE HRAD[vC]ANY.]
There were many other visitors to Daliborka, and in course of time the
lower stratum of the tower filled up with human relics. As the defunct
visitors were mostly Czechs, and therefore full of music, I should think
that they could form at least a string quartette--it only requires a
little enterprise and a good strong medium. I make a present of this
suggestion to the Prague Society for Psychical Research, if there be
one.
Prague must have been a fair city in those days when Ottokar II rode out
of the gate to meet Rudolph of Habsburg. Although the ban of the Empire
and the interdict of the Church were upon their King, the people of
Prague, clergy and laymen, accompanied him to the city gate with prayers
and tears. When news of his death came to Prague the bells of one
hundred churches tolled out on that 26th of August, the Feast of St.
Rufus, a day destined to be of ill-omen to Bohemia's Kings.
* * * * *
The shadow of the hand of Habsburg hung darkly over the southern
frontiers of Bohemia. Rudolph, the first Habsburg Emperor, began the
famous tactics of his house, gaining power by matrimonial alliances. His
son Rudolph was to marry Agnes, daughter of Ottokar II, whose son
Wenceslaus II was to marry Gutta, the Emperor's daughter.
Wenceslaus II was a minor when he succeeded his father, and suffered
considerably under his guardian and cousin Otto of Brandenburg, who, in
pursuit of an all-German policy, even imprisoned the young King. Anarchy
reigned in Bohemia when young Wenceslaus, at the age of twelve,
nominally assumed the reins of government. The actual ruler of the
country, however, was Zavis of Falckenstein, an able man but of doubtful
morality; there was some unsavoury story concerning him and Ottokar's
widow Kunhuta, whom Zavis eventually married. Then again the young King
had Zavis done to death in treacherous manner, while the condition of
Bohemia as an ordered State went from bad to worse. Strange to relate,
the country flourished economically--became, indeed, very
prosperous--the increase of wealth being largely due to the fact that
workings on the silver mines at Kutna Hora had been resumed. Towards the
end of the reign of this Wenceslaus, whose rule was mild, matters
improved somewhat. Bohemia became a sort of city of refuge, and
neighbouring States, Hungary and Poland, being in a worse state of
anarchy than any others, invited King Wenceslaus to reign over them.
Bohemia and Poland thus became united for a while under one ruler,
Wenceslaus, who had himself crowned King of the latter country at
Gnesen. Hungary was given in charge of the King's son Wenceslaus, who
was crowned as King of that country and resided some time at Ofen.
Wenceslaus had taken a Polish Princess to wife after the death of Gutta,
and had thus reinforced his connection with a Slavonic neighbour, but
Germanism was in the ascendant in Bohemia and the hand of Habsburg was
stretched out over it. It was yet some centuries before the power of the
Habsburg should become absolute in the lands of the P[vr]emysl dynasty,
but that family's light was nearing extinction. Whether good or bad, the
rulers who sprang from the soil, from the peasant stock of Libu[vs]a's
choosing, had been of the people and had on the whole served their
people's interests. With Wenceslaus III murdered by an unknown assassin
while on his way to Poland, the male line of the P[vr]emysl dynasty died
out. It continued in the indirect line by the marriage of Elizabeth,
daughter of Wenceslaus II, with Rudolph, a grandson of the Habsburg who
dealt the death-blow to Bohemia's native rulers.
Whether for good or evil, alien influence was working strongly in
Bohemia, and notably in Prague. Ottokar II had encouraged it as part of
his policy towards keeping in check his turbulent nobles and towards
raising up a reliable middle class. His nobles aided towards his
downfall by their treachery, and the middle class of Prague, though
loyal to the Crown, was alive chiefly to its own interests. Perhaps that
foreign influence was weaving its spell over the burghers of Prague, a
spell to which the Slav is somewhat susceptible.
During the reign of the last P[vr]emysl sovereigns Prague offered the
spectacle of a rich and prosperous city, but its brightness was rather
that of lights round the bier of some illustrious dead. Many foreigners
found themselves attracted to the capital of Bohemia during this
period, among them some ardent souls who were to be found doing good,
according to their lights, in other cities of Europe, namely, Irish
monks. It is of interest to us to note that these monks were frequently
called Scots: you will find traces of them under that designation in the
Schotten Kirche at Ratisbon and the Schotten Ring in Vienna. In Prague
they were recognized as Irish, and their name lives on in the Hybernska
Ulice in the Old Town. A church, with an altar dedicated to St. Patrick,
arose at the corner of that street by the cross-roads, under the hands
of Irish monks; a church now used for secular purposes, and built over
the original edifice, stands there still. Amidst all the turmoil of this
busy centre of the city you may still in those small hours of the
morning when the traffic dies down for a while pick up an echo or two of
the voices of those zealous Irishmen, but you must listen with all your
soul, for those sounds are very elusive. Again, looking out over the
city from my terrace I notice a copper dome just across the Charles
Bridge, a dome flanked by high towers, and all bearing the unmistakable
mark of Jesuit architecture. Yet that building, now used as part of the
University, recalls memories of pious souls who came to Prague at the
invitation of P[vr]emysl Ottokar II. These were the Knights Crucifer, or
the Cruciferous Knights as the guide-book prefers to call them. Their
Order, the members of which always carried a cross in the left hand, was
founded by St. Cletus; their work was to tend the sick and offer
hospitality to pilgrims. The Order went down on the death of the founder
and sought refuge in Palestine, where St. Cyriak discovered it, reformed
it, and eventually brought it to Rome. This is said to have happened in
the latter half of the fourth century, but I should think the date
extremely uncertain; nor does it matter much. The Order received new
rules in the twelfth century from Pope Alexander III, who, being on good
terms with Ottakar II at the time, allowed the Order to be transplanted
to Prague. I do not in the least know what the good knights did all
those years between their installation at Prague in 1256 and the
dissolution of their Order in 1783. Anyone who wants to know may no
doubt find records of their doings, which were probably concerned with
adding up quarterings and deciding questions of etiquette. Still their
name, Knights Crucifex, lingers round one of the most picturesque
corners of Prague, under the shadow of a stately Gothic tower which
silently but insistently claims reverence above the _baroque_ structures
of a later non-Bohemian age. It is just at this spot, with its lingering
memories of Queen Judith, of P[vr]emysl Ottokar and a yet greater King
of Bohemia of whom I shall tell you shortly, that you realize how Prague
is that Golden City of the days of glorious Gothic and the Renaissance,
and not of the _baroque_ superimposed by the Jesuits after Bohemia's
glory had departed on the gentle slopes of the White Mountain.
CHAPTER VII
Introduces a picturesque character, King John of Bohemia, Count of
Luxemburg, whose final exploit and end should be familiarly known by
every Englishman. This chapter tells of the many chivalrous adventures
undertaken by this monarch, of how little good and how much harm he did
to his country. There is also mention of an English King, of the Black
Prince, and of many other more or less famous persons, who have gone to
swell the gorgeous pageant of those who all down the ages have worked
weal or woe to Bohemia and its capital, Prague. Of John Henry of
Carinthia and his interesting spouse, Margaret Maultasche, of the usual
German machinations against any peace or contentment in Bohemia, of
Popes and anti-Popes, you will hear in this chapter; and finally you
will make the acquaintance of one of Bohemia's greatest rulers, Charles,
first Bohemian King and fourth Roman Emperor of that name. You may gain
some idea of the difficulties Charles had to overcome, and will begin to
realize what he, the great founder, did for his country and its
capital.
Prague was in holiday vein, happy and optimistic, its prevailing mood,
on that day in 1311 when John, Count of Luxemburg, and Elizabeth,
daughter of Wenceslaus II, were crowned. No doubt the ceremony took
place on the Hrad[vs]any, and the steep approaches to the Castle Hill
would be thronged with cheerful merrymakers; I wonder whether the
Bohemians of those days said "_Na zdar_!" as frequently as they do
to-day!
The Pragers had every reason to be happy and hopeful, for no change
could bring about a worse state of affairs than that which had
characterized the five years between the death of the last male
P[vr]emysl and the elevation of the first Luxemburg to the throne of
Bohemia. That period was a sort of interregnum which was filled up with
civil war, with murders among relatives, and was bringing Bohemia to the
verge of anarchy.
The troubles of the time were largely caused by the newly arrived House
of Habsburg, and the state of the Empire at that period reflects German
mentality. The seven German Electors had been careful to go outside
their own charmed circle for a King, and one who would carry out their
wishes. They therefore picked out what we may call a second-class
magnate as likely to be amenable. They met with disappointment. Rudolph
was out for himself. His victory over P[vr]emysl Ottokar II was welcomed
by the Germans, who could never see a neighbour, especially a Slav,
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