Showing how Prague grew and added beautiful buildings to its glory under
the rule of Charles, the Father of his Country. Tells also of Charles's
troubles, and introduces his son Wenceslaus. Shows why this son should
be considered as the "Good King Wenceslaus" of our Christmas carol.
Makes mention also of Sister Anne and her husband, Richard II of
England. Tells about Susanna and the King. Introduces well-known names
of those who pass in filmy pageant across the old historic Charles
Bridge--John Nepomuk, John Hus, and others. Gives a fleeting vision of
another native King, a great man, and of other rulers who had their day
and passed on. Talks at some length of the river of Prague, the Vltava,
and gives some of its reflections. Leads up from earliest aquatic habits
of the Slavonic inhabitants to those of the present day, and is, though
a long chapter, by no means a dull one.
Prague, as you may imagine, had grown, despite the troubles it had
passed through, both in importance and in extent. When Charles IV came
to the throne, the city still consisted of three parts as before; during
his reign a new town was added, and this was made necessary by the rise
of the University which Charles had founded. Charles must have been
considering the idea of creating a seat of learning in Prague before he
accompanied his father to Crecy, for we find him writing to the Pope on
the subject while he was yet recovering from his wounds and before he
returned to Bohemia. It was at a Diet held at Prague in 1348 that
Charles announced his intention of founding a University, and he set
about it with his customary energy. The King himself took in hand the
organization of this his new foundation, ably assisted by the
Archbishop, Ernest of Pardubic, as Chancellor. Students of many
countries, many nations, flocked to Prague, evidence of the fact of the
city's central position in Europe, and soon the new University ranked
with those older institutions--the only ones of the kind in
Europe--Bologna, Paris and Oxford. The number of students increased
rapidly: by the end of Charles's reign there were some six or seven
thousand of them. The trouble was to accommodate them all. The
professors held lectures in their own apartments, in monasteries if they
happened to belong to one or other of the many congregations in Prague,
and theology courses were held in the Cathedral. This was well enough at
first, but even then there was no provision for the students' lodgings.
They could not live in colleges, as there were none; in fact, the only
university buildings in existence, which probably served various
ceremonial occasions, was a congeries of buildings called the Carolinum,
after its founder. These buildings stood in the Old Town, and there were
probably others used for university purposes dotted about the town, as
is the case to-day. Still, the students remain unhoused. There must have
been a good many houses without the walls of the Old Town and
Vy[vs]ehrad, the ancient borough, and I take it that Charles collected
all these houses under one administration of its own, walled the place
in securely and called it Nove M[ve]sto, New Town, quite simply. Charles
laid the foundation-stone of the New Town in the same year as that in
which he started the University, fitted the former out with various
necessaries, a town-hall, a church or two, perhaps St. Stephen's, and so
provided more housing room for the good people of Prague and their
guests the students.
[Illustration: VENICE IN PRAGUE.]
All went very well, no doubt, for several years, when a calamity befell
the city of Prague: the old bridge, built at her own expense by Queen
Judith, the only link between Prague on the right bank and the Mala
Strana, was damaged beyond repair by winter's floods. Charles, as usual,
rose to the occasion: he built a new one, again laying a foundation with
his own royal hand, and this happened in 1358--on July 9th, to be
strictly accurate. I do not propose to describe the Charles Bridge to
you, as I am supplying an illustration showing it, but I wish to remark
here that Charles is not guilty of the groups of statuary which
distinguish this bridge from others in the world. The only bit of
statuary anywhere near the Charles Bridge which dates from his period
stands near the Mala Strana end of it on the upstream side. This is the
sculptured figure of a knight in armour, bearing the coat of arms of the
Old Town and holding aloft his drawn sword. Dr. Je[vr]abek calls this
figure "Bruncvik," others call it "Roland"; it was probably put up to
inform passers-by that they had better pay their toll quietly or there
would be trouble.
The piles of the Charles Bridge nearest to the left bank of the river
stand on a little island called Kampa. You cannot see much of this
island from the bridge: I recommend you to go down the steps, under the
bridge, and then look under the second arch, and you will see the view
which I have sketched for you. It is not the view which you will find on
the postcards illustrating this particular spot and calling it "Venice
on the Vltava." In this the Pragers fall into the snobbish habit of
going outside their own country for the sake of finding some inept
comparison. I grant that they are not the only sinners in this respect;
we may even have a "Venice in London," according to those who label the
views on postcards, for all I know. I have, on postcards, met "Venice in
Whatsisname" and elsewhere, wherever there was sufficient sluggish water
reflecting tall houses that have seen better days and conceal their
dilapidations behind motley garments drying in a lazy breeze. But Prague
need not descend to this; here is no "Venice in Prague," but simply a
charming bit of an old town, a fascinating backwater where quaint old
houses exchange reminiscences with their broken reflections in the
water. This ought to be good enough for Prague, anyway.
So Charles threw this bridge across the water, a lasting, glorious
monument to a father ever careful of his children's welfare, and its
stout pillars and graceful arches bid fair to call up reflections for
yet further centuries on the face of Bohemia's own river, the Vltava.
The River Vltava rises away down in the south among the mountains of the
Bohemian Forest. It has its happy infancy in "green days in forest,"
leaping over rocks, playing with pebbles, and generally disporting
itself until it comes out into the world and moves among men. Not empty
handed either, for it carries the sound of the forest and the rhythm of
running water to those that have their being on its banks; if you doubt
it, come and hear Smetana's work at the National Theatre reflected in
the waters of Prague. The Vltava arrives at Prague reinforced by its
tributary, the Berounka, and flows almost due north until it meets the
Castle Hill. Then it makes a bold sweep due east, turns north and west
again, and so makes a peninsula of Castle Hill; then it resumes, with
many windings, its northward course. Nothing could have been better
arranged than this bold sweep encircling the Hrad[vs]any and the wooded
slopes of Letna; it is this feature that adds so much interest to the
attractive composition of Prague. This must also have impressed that
far-seeing lady, Libu[vs]a--it inspired her as it has inspired many
people since.
* * * * *
The psychology of rivers has not been sufficiently studied. Most people
just call a river blue, or golden or muddy, and pass on to other
subjects. In reality every river of importance has a definite character
all its own; so, for that matter, has every stream of running water,
however insignificant it may seem. Our ancestors recognized the fact,
but preferred to endow brooks and streams with a definite personality in
the form of nymphs, pixies, or whatever they were called. The Cross has
driven these harmless and pathetic little beings out of the world they
lived in; only a few were allowed to linger, such as Isa, who till quite
recently came ashore from the Danube between Passau and Vienna because
she felt so lonely, poor dear! Then there is Undine, but she only
appears on the operatic stage, and that but rarely. Under our present
strenuous existence, where all is bent towards material success, there
is no place for the sprites whose voices the ancients heard in the
twilight silence. How could any properly constituted nymph play
hide-and-seek with the moonbeams, or cast an eye upon a handsome
boatman, from under the well-regulated bank of a river of to-day? As far
as present-day mortals are concerned, any stream means water-power, any
river means a waterway for commerce, and those thus engaged after the
day's work turn away from river and stream without waiting to hear what
they have to say when the din of industry dies down and the voice of the
running water can be heard again.
There must be a certain and strong connection between a river and the
people that live on its banks; one surely reacts upon the other, and in
the process the character of both develops. Not only the sky, but the
works of man, are reflected in rivers, have been so reflected since man
began to work at all; so the character of a people must be influenced by
rivers: witness the lazy reflections of the "Ponte Vecchio" in the
golden Arno, the comfortable parks and lawns and country houses mirrored
by the Thames until it gradually becomes busy, and very dirty, on its
way to join the sea, with a sigh of relief after such a very strenuous
"last lap."
The river at Prague is worthy of careful study, but whatever I may
suggest as to its influence on the people of Prague, I still advise you
to come here and judge for yourself. Remember, its name is "Vltava," out
of which the Germans had made "Moldau," by which you have probably known
it till now; but the map of Europe has been readjusted lately, names
have changed back to their original version, and so the river at Prague
has resumed definitely its Slavonic designation, which, though not given
on any map, yet lived in the memory of the people.
* * * * *
An atmosphere of serenity seems to me to cling to the memory of
Charles's reign, a sort of "world went very well then" feeling.
Certainly Charles was doing his best, and his serenity and singleness of
purpose were reflected in the soul of his people, as were the works of
his hands reflected in the waters of the Vltava. Some historians credit
Charles with deep and sinister designs, such as raising a vast Slav
Empire to counter the growing ascendancy of Germany. This seems rather
nonsensical. Charles was a good King of Bohemia, albeit German by race
and French by upbringing, and was doing his best for his country. He saw
distinctly, as very few people only have seen before or since, that
Bohemia and its capital, Prague, was admirably suited to form the centre
of a large Empire; he therefore developed the resources of his country
in order to fit it for the part it should play. Charles is also accused
of Pan-Slavism, a wide and generally misinterpreted term; indeed, he
spoke Czech well, unlike his father John, and encouraged literary effort
in that language--it was his duty to do this, and not to force French or
German on his people as he might have tried to do. Again, the fact of
his having founded the Benedictine monastery at Emaus for the purpose of
reviving the traditions of the former monastery of St. Prokop! To this
end came monks from Dalmatia, Croatia, Bosnia, all Slavs who brought
back to Bohemia the Cyrillac alphabet and the Slavonic liturgy. The Pope
had granted express permission at the request of Charles, who had
pointed out that it was of little use preaching to his people in Latin.
The Pope had, indeed, stipulated that Emaus should be the only
congregation to use Slavonic rites within the frontiers of Bohemia.
[Illustration: TOWER OF NEW TOWN HALL.]
Charles was probably the sort of man who would walk about on foot among
his people, and I like to think of him crossing the bridge he built when
going about his business, and there was plenty of that. First of all,
the Royal Castle, where he seems to have resided, was badly in need of
repair; at the same time there were several churches building on the
right bank, and Charles would surely go to see how they were getting on.
Then again, the New Town was growing up and being walled in, and the
New Town Hall was in course of construction. This latter building is
another pleasant monument to "the Father of his Country," as it rears
its graceful saddle-roofed tower, with the characteristic pointed
turrets, over the trees and flowering shrubs that make of the Charles
Square such a delectable resting-place. Vy[vs]ehrad was also having its
ancient defences repaired and strengthened, and the sides of the hill
rising up out of the Old Town, Vinohrad, were being turned into
vineyards and gardens by order of the King. Charles was also in the
habit of attending learned discourses at the University, or of dropping
in at lectures. Then there were many grave affairs of the State to keep
him anxiously busy. I can almost see him, a stoutish, sturdy man of
round and kindly countenance, passing across the bridge, reflecting
deeply on many difficult questions. There were, for instance, the
zealous preachers Conrad Waldhauser and Mili[vc] of Krom[ve][vr]i[vz]e,
who were causing such a stir. These two worthies were holding forth in
the churches against the luxury and immorality of the time, with such
effect that well-known, great and gaudy sinners were moved to acts of
public repentance and women to cast off their jewellery and to dress
themselves in sober fashion. All this was very beautiful and edifying,
but it was not likely to last, and what with the ill-will of the Pope
and the opposition of the monastic orders it took Charles all his tact
and ability to steer a course among the rocks and rapids of imperial and
Bohemian affairs. For all Charles's efforts the outlook was losing its
air of serenity--was, in fact, becoming ominously cloudy towards the end
of his reign. The papal conflict had brought about the Great Schism in
the Western Church; this led to an aggravation of the Church Reform
movement in Bohemia. In fact, the storm was rising which was to sweep
over Bohemia, thence over all Central Europe, leaving it eventually
broken and desolate, under the hand of Habsburg. At this moment, when a
strong and steady hand was wanted more than ever, Charles died. He was
only sixty-two, and might have been good for a few more years. However,
he had prepared to meet events that might follow on his death, and had
secured the succession to his son Wenceslaus, fourth and last Bohemian
King of that name. Wenceslaus was the son of Anne of Schweidnitz, third
wife of Charles; he had been crowned King of Bohemia at the age of two,
his succession to the throne of Germany had been secured, so Wenceslaus,
though only seventeen years old, started with the odds in his favour.
There were plenty of troubles about which must have puzzled the young
King considerably: rival Popes were hurling bans, bulls,
excommunications, anathemas and such-like Church property at each other,
and all the little dogs were barking at the heels of those precious
pontiffs. Luckily young Wenceslaus could count upon a number of his
father's old friends and councillors, and he started out trying to carry
on his father's policy. He also took a line, a private one of his own,
which was harmless enough at the outset, but became inconvenient as time
went on. Wenceslaus was all out for popularity among his people,
especially among his Pragers. He would go about the city looking into
minor matters of his people's welfare, so he would measure the mercer's
cloth-yard and if it were not up to standard would crack the saucy
knave's head therewith. He went among his people performing acts of
charity; in fact, he generally disported himself right royally, if with
an occasional lapse from discretion. Now this Wenceslaus drew the
relations between England and Bohemia closer together. Wenceslaus had a
sister Anne, who married our Richard II. Anne was surely a very dear
lady--an expensive one, in fact--for Richard had to pay eighty thousand
golden guldens to Wenceslaus within a fortnight of Anne's landing in
England, and had also lent the genial Bohemian King a further sum of
twenty thousand golden guldens, which went away to the _Ewigkeit_--at
least England never saw them again.
Costly as was the bride of Richard II of England, I like to linger on
her memory, feeling convinced that we all have benefited by the outlay.
It is my firm opinion that we owe our grand old Christmas carol about
"Good King Wenceslaus" to Anne of Bohemia directly. I have consulted
various living Bohemian authorities on this subject. They had not even
heard of our carol: I hummed the tune to them--it told them nothing.
They tried to palm me off with St. Wenceslaus, but I declined him; he is
not quite suitable as "theme" of a rollicking carol; besides, he gets
plenty of attention in his own country. I grant that St. Wenceslaus was
full of good works, all of the kind that looks well in frescoes, and in
which everybody moves with feet in the first position, it was _de
rigueur_. King Wenceslaus IV, also performed acts of kindness among his
people, so the reference in the carol to "flesh and wine" suits this
merry monarch thoroughly: he would certainly have called for both these
forms of sustenance. St. Wenceslaus might have forgotten the wine; King
Wenceslaus would have thought of that at once; in fact, he was a firm
believer in the French adage, "_l'alcool conserve_." Then we learn from
the carol that the page found warmth in the footsteps of the King, and
Wenceslaus was certainly "hot stuff," as you will agree when I have told
you more about him. Moreover, what is more likely than that Anne should
have told her new English friends all about that jolly, popular brother
of hers? The tune and its quaint harmonization is surely from some time
in the joyous fifteenth century; if it had to deal with St. Wenceslaus
it would have to grunt about in Gregorian phrasing. No doubt Anne's
ladies who accompanied her from Bohemia would invoke the patron saint
from time to time, and English people, hearing a strange and difficult
name, and thinking it impossible that several well-known men had borne
it, would be likely enough to get saintly prince and jovial monarch
thoroughly mixed up. Anyway, I am firmly convinced that the "Good King
Wenceslaus" we sing about at Christmas is no other than the brother of
Anne, German King, King of Bohemia, fourth of that name, and Emperor of
the Holy Roman Empire.
Meanwhile the River Vltava continued to reflect indifferently the doings
of small and great, and among others those of Wenceslaus.
The laudable habit of bathing met with every encouragement from "Good
King Wenceslaus," who was generally to be found ready to take part in
any popular diversion. It was he who raised those humble but useful
citizens, the keepers of bathing establishments, to prominent rank among
their fellows. And hereby hangs a tale.
King Wenceslaus did not always see eye to eye with the leaders among the
people; there were misunderstandings and bickerings, and despite his
popularity among the more jovial elements, he had enemies even in his
own capital. On the occasion of one such unpleasantness his enemies had
detained him at the Old Town Hall. The King, finding this very irksome,
deliberated on some method of escaping, and had the happy thought of
insisting on a bath. It was in the autumn of the year 1394; the weather
was warm and the river close by. A few turns down the narrow winding
street named after his father would bring Wenceslaus to the river,
where, somewhat above the old town mill, was a bathing establishment.
The name of the owner of these baths seems to have been lost to history.
Not so that of his daughter Susanna. Now the name Susanna has appeared
before in recorded history also in connection with bathing--a most
irreproachable Susanna. We draw no parallel; we make no comparisons,
especially as no elders enter immediately into this story; we merely
state historic facts. Moreover, it was not Susanna who was taking the
bath this time, it was the King, and Susanna seems merely to have been
hovering about in a punt. Here was the monarch's opportunity. He
persuaded Susanna to take him across the river. Thus he escaped from his
enemies. Now there is no hint of an assignation, no suggestion that
Susanna was an accessory before the fact, merely the chronicler's
statement that the lady happened to be there and that she helped the
King to escape.
As was only right, King Wenceslaus proved his gratitude right royally.
He began by breaking up the lady's bathing establishment as a
preliminary to building a new and much more sumptuous one. Susanna's
father seems to have been left out of the deal altogether by this time.
The King then sent for Susanna, who appears to have been close at hand,
namely, in the Royal Castle of [vZ]ebrac, where the solemn rite now to
be related took place. After all, if you must break up a lady's home,
the least you can do is to offer her suitable accommodation elsewhere.
Susanna therefore appeared before the King, who solemnly invested her
with a charter by virtue of which all those who followed the pursuit of
keeping a bathing establishment should by their occupation be placed on
a social level with the masters of other arts and crafts. They might,
indeed, hold high their head among their fellows. It was expressly
stated that no Jews, infidels, heretics, or lewd persons should be
allowed to patronize bathing establishments; nor might they even enter
into the dwelling-places of those who came under the new charter. Severe
penalties were to be imposed on those who ventured to speak ill of the
keeper of a bathing establishment; he might even lose his head for such
temerity; anyway, his property would go to the senior member of the new
guild.
* * * * *
Thus spake the King. Furthermore, he ordained that this worshipful guild
which did so much towards encouraging cleanly habits should hold as its
crest or cognizance within a garland argent and azure, a kingfisher
proper. Some chroniclers suggest that the bird was a parrot, but this
seems unlikely--parrots can be so indiscreet. Moreover, you may see for
yourself on the Old Town side of the tower of the Charles Bridge the
bird within the garland, and will recognize it at once for a kingfisher.
Let us watch the pageant that crosses the bridge that Charles built.
They pass in the serene atmosphere which, to my thinking, enveloped the
city in the Golden Age of Charles "the Father of his Country." They
hurry to and fro under the lurid light of civil war waged in the name of
religion; they linger on the bridge looking to the sky and its
reflections in the water, under the false light which precedes disaster,
or move mournfully cast down by the lowering clouds of oppression, to
revive when Prague came into her own again one crisp October morning in
1918.
Charles, it seems, lived in the Royal Castle a good deal. We may see him
crossing the bridge he built, to look to the progress of the work he was
engaged upon. Perchance he was deep in thought on high matters of State,
on his Golden Bull which reaffirmed all the privileges granted to
Bohemia. This Bull caused a coolness between him and the Pope, whose
indefinite claims to interfere in German elections were certainly
restricted by that engine. Around him the populace would be talking of
the great preachers, Conrad Waldhauser and Mili[vc] of
Krom[ve][vr]i[vz]e, whom the King protected in their fiery onslaught on
the abuses in the Church and immorality of the children of their time.
Charles may have thought all this very beautiful but unlikely to last.
He saw clouds arising, and they closed over Bohemia when he died.
Of the works that Charles constructed for the beautifying of his
capital, several are reflected in the waters of Vltava. There is, for
instance, the bridgehead tower on the Mala Strana side, a graceful
monument to Charles's gracious days. You may notice on passing under the
gateway from the bridge the figure of a witch carved in stone, complete
with broom and general air of nocturnal enterprise. I often wonder as I
pass by here whether this figure inspired Marion Crawford when he was
casting about for a title to his novel which you may have read, _The
Witch of Prague_. There lingers a strong, a powerfully attractive
_allure_ of old Prague, just about this quarter, at the left bank end of
the Charles Bridge. There is a quaint old tower that dates from Queen
Judith's time. I have already pointed it out to you, and told you that
it was until fairly recently used as a lock-up. The battlement across
the gateway used to bear indications of rough justice as executed in
those days; it was frequently adorned with the heads of rebels, traitors
or others who had become unpopular, as, for instance, one Bohemicky. It
appears that Bohemicky was quite unable to get along with his
fellow-citizens, so they had his head off and added to the collection
over the gateway. This happened in 1517, when the nations had emerged
out of the darkness of the Middle Age and were struggling along by the
yet uncertain light of civil progress and religious reform.
The tower on the right bank end of the Charles Bridge bears every
indication of dating from King Wenceslaus IV, as his device, the
kingfisher, is found to figure in its decorative scheme. Between these
two bridgeheads passes a good deal of the historic pageant of Old
Prague. Wenceslaus IV played about here a good deal, it would appear.
First of all we have that little affair with Susanna of the
bathing-place. Then there was a story about one John Nepomuk which
seems to have made less stir at the time of the event narrated than its
echo did some centuries later. John Nepomuk was a pious soul, as a
priest should be, modest and seemly in his ways. He just comes in, as it
were, in the background, of the squabbles that Wenceslaus and his
Archbishop, John of Jenstein, constantly indulged in. Wenceslaus was all
for reforming the Church before reforming himself. As to John Nepomuk, I
am rather puzzled about him. The people of Bohemia, on the whole, seem
to reverence him as a saint, one of the patrons of their country.
Some saints are a long time in coming to their own. The powers that
decide such matters are very deliberate; they are "left at the post"
even by such august institutions as Royal Commissions, Parish Councils
and Leagues of Nations. We all know how long it took before Joan of Arc
was duly canonized, yet her case was perfectly clear; she had her
visions, she acted upon them, she also gave advice freely, and was
eventually burnt at the stake; in fact, there can have been no doubt,
from the very beginning of her career, but that she was the stuff that
saints are made of. Another saint whose recognition was very tardy is
St. John Nepomuk. He is probably quite unknown to England even to this
day, notwithstanding the fact that he stood in close if somewhat
uncomfortable relations to one who figures in an English carol, namely,
this Good King Wenceslaus.
Now there is relativity in goodness, and this feature was strongly
marked in the King of Bohemia of whom we sing at Christmas time. One
absolute departure from goodness is reported of him, namely, that he
caused his wife's father-confessor to be thrown into the river at
Prague; and this man was John Nepomuk.
The trouble arose out of curiosity, and perhaps jealousy. Wine had also
a good deal to do with the business; the wine of M[ve]lnik, both white
and red, was probably as pleasant to the taste then as it is to-day, and
Wenceslaus thought so too. His Queen Sophie was a very good wife
indeed, so Wenceslaus, wondering what such a very dear and gentle lady
could have to confess, inquired of John Nepomuk about this. I fear John
was one of those exasperating persons who give the soft answer that
makes one very wild. It had that effect on Wenceslaus; he went off into
an ungovernable rage and had John dragged down to the river and thrown
in. I believe John's tongue was torn out first. Anyway, this is the sort
of picturesque addition that you expect. There is a statue to John
Nepomuk on the Charles Bridge, there is a tablet to mark the spot where
he was thrown in, and there is his shrine in the cathedral which Luetzow,
by the way, describes as of "barbaric splendour."
Now shortly after John Nepomuk's demise came yet another John, surnamed
Hus, and as he likewise met with a violent death, and that under yet
more picturesque conditions highly coloured by national sentiment, his
memory survived, whereas John Nepomuk's was lost in oblivion. After all,
John Nepomuk's trouble was more a personal one, a quarrel about a
domestic affair, whereas John Hus went all the way to Constance to bear
testimony to the faith held by his people, and was burnt there with all
the pomp and ceremony which Church and State of those days could put up.
As sequel to the martyrdom of John Hus came the wars waged by his
Bohemian followers against all the might of the Church of Rome and the
Holy Roman Empire. It is, therefore, no wonder that his memory held
popular sentiment for centuries, holds it still, though there are signs
that John Nepomuk is creeping up again; and in this lie endless
possibilities.
In the first place it is maintained by ardent nationalists, and
therefore followers of John Hus, that John Nepomuk never existed at all,
that he was simply invented by the Jesuits in their successful efforts
to bring back to Rome the Protestant people of Bohemia whose army had
been defeated in the battle of the White Mountain in 1620. John Nepomuk
was raised, they maintain, in opposition to the real national hero and
martyr John Hus; therefore the whole story of the former John's death is
all invention, and the tablet on the bridge over which he went to
martyrdom is a brazen misstatement of fact. The tablet is of bronze,
anyway, and shows the saint floating serenely on the surface, his head
surrounded by a halo of stars which flew upwards as his body struck the
water. Although this serious event is said to have happened in 1383, it
was not till nearly three centuries later that it was recalled to the
memory of the Bohemian people, who were then encouraged to celebrate the
16th of May as the day set apart for St. John Nepomuk. So they
celebrated--it takes little inducement to make a Bohemian celebrate
anything. The festival included several attractive features, such as a
religious service on the bridge itself, and also a display of fireworks
in memory of the afore-mentioned bunch of stars. Such observances must
have given great satisfaction to the saint, less so the habit of
invoking his aid in times of drought. This surely is rather a delicate
matter. Remember, John Nepomuk had been drowned; therefore to ask him to
see to a further supply of water seems hardly tactful--it is enough to
send any ordinary saint off into a fit of hydrophobia. Anyway, John
Nepomuk was duly canonized some three hundred and fifty years after his
supposed immersion in the waters of Prague. Since then many churches
have been dedicated to his saintly memory; many statues, depicting him
with all the truthfulness inherent in the narrative of "the oldest
inhabitant," adorn shrines by the wayside: he was apparently popular all
over the country--in any case he brought the people at least one
holiday. But the war affected the pleasant relations between a kindly
saint and the people to whom he had been appointed for special duties by
the far distant authorities of Holy Church. The spirit of nationalism
tarnished the starry halo of one John, and sought illumination in the
fierce glow that destroyed the other. John Nepomuk was relegated to the
background where live the quiet souls whose beliefs are not affected by
nationalism. John Hus was brought forward by national sentiment which
had fiercely resented the suppression of this martyr's memorial
celebrations, and for a time it seemed that John Hus would hold the
field, that the spirit of the nation would return to his tenets and away
from an alien spiritual authority.
Even a year ago John Nepomuk's day was observed only by those who
perform their devotions in secret; this year we had vigil and feast kept
at top form, pilgrimages from all parts of the country, processions
through the streets headed by high dignitaries of the Church, and
outward and visible signs of a sincere regard for a patron saint. There
was some stimulating opposition too: a band of followers of the other
John also demonstrated in favour of their man, whose day was not due for
about a month or so. The police were out in force, but the opposition
amounted to little more than noise; there were plenty of bands and beer,
and no one particularly wanted a row.
There is some significance in this revival of reverence for St. John
Nepomuk. Owing to centuries of oppression the mind of the people of
Bohemia has developed a strong "spirit of negation," "_der Geist der
stets verneint_," as Goethe would say, to the detriment of constructive
ability, so it may be that this spirit having failed to reconstruct a
church of some sort, at least on national lines, is going under before
the mightiest organization the world has ever known, the Church of Rome.
The Government's attitude was interesting, if not amusing, in the matter
of keeping the feast. Officially there was no feast (except the daily
socialistic feast of reason), unofficially anyone who wanted to drop a
tear for John Nepomuk over the bridge was at liberty to leave his office
for that purpose.
Swarms of country folk flocked into the city of Prague to give John
Nepomuk his due--but there was also an agricultural exhibition going on
at the time. The Government was keenly interested in this exhibition;
the crowds who came in out of reverence for John Nepomuk went to the
exhibition out of curiosity.
To the Government the late patron saint of Bohemia was of some economic
value; what his spiritual value is time will tell. Holy Church can
always afford to wait.
John Hus has just been mentioned. He passes before us in the pageant of
the Charles Bridge. Wenceslaus IV knew this fervent soul who came up to
Prague from his humble home in Southern Bohemia, and arrived at his M.A.
degree in 1396, eventually to become Rector of the University. It is
possibly indirectly through Wenceslaus that Hus became acquainted with
the writings and teachings of Wycliffe. Wenceslaus frequently
corresponded on the subject of Church Reform, on the recognition of
Urban VI as Pope, and other cognate matters, with his brother-in-law,
Richard II of England, and no doubt sister Anne added a line to her
husband's letters. Now Anne, we know, had already been deeply impressed
by Wycliffe's teaching; his writings had been known and treasured in
Prague for some time. John Hus had certainly studied them, and he was an
ardent advocate of Church Reform. We also find that he had a friend in
that long-suffering Queen Sophie, wife of Wenceslaus; he was even for a
time her father-confessor. We see John Hus pass on his way through the
storms of controversy to the pyre at which he perished by the
faithlessness of an Emperor, Sigismund, younger brother of Wenceslaus,
and also some time King of Bohemia. Then again we see the fire that
destroyed John Hus's body at Constance reflected time and again,
angrily, in the waters of the Vltava; the Hussites were out and, as we
have seen, were destroying by fire. So we see the Bishop's palace in
flames, the Church of "St. Mary under the Chain," and many of the old
houses on the Mala Strana. The same fate, but not by the same agents,
befell the old Gothic tower you see standing up above that quaint
congerie of buildings below you as you look upstream at the Old Town end
of the bridge. Here is the old water tower dating back through many
vicissitudes to 1489, and below it are the buildings of the Old Town
mill, which are also of venerable age.
Religious dissensions, strife and turmoil, marked the days when
Sigismund reigned over Bohemia and also the Holy Roman Empire; there
were at one time three rival Emperors, also three Popes, a state of
affairs not conducive to the world's welfare; and Prague suffered
accordingly. Strange scenes must have been reflected in the Vltava in
those stormy times, as the pageant of the history of Prague crossed the
Charles Bridge. One day, to the beating of drums, a bevy of priests came
from afar; they made for the market-place and there sold indulgences.
The Pragers, distracted by the dissensions that rent the country, took
to arms repeatedly. Now and then a rift in the clouds would hold out
promise of a serener atmosphere; after two Habsburgs, Albert and his
posthumous son, Ladislaus, came a King of their own choosing, of their
own race and faith, George Podiebrad. But much as the Pragers venerated
this native King of theirs, he was able to bring them little lasting
good, with all his grand efforts and laudable intentions. George
Podiebrad, it appears, was fond of the river, like a good Bohemian, and
would come down to bathe occasionally. To make a clean job of it, he
used to get shaved at the same time, possibly hair-cut. One day as the
barber held the King's chin and flourished his razor, the knight of the
tongs asked his sovereign: "Who is now the most mighty man in this
Kingdom of Bohemia?" "Surely thou art," quoth the King. When the shave
was over the King demanded: "Who is now the mightiest man in this
Kingdom of Bohemia?" "Surely thou art," quoth the barber, who was
thereupon given striking evidence of his monarch's might, a couple of
blows on the jaw, a kick or two in the ribs, and other marks of royal
favour. No doubt a few halidoms, gramercies and other bits of furniture
were set flying about at the time. The barber was so overcome by these
marks of royal favour that he died a few days after taking them. This
was George Podiebrad in lighter mood; he had a serious side to him as
well, as I may try to show you by and by.
There followed Vladislav, a Pole, and various Habsburgs as Kings of
Bohemia, but I see little that the river cares to reflect, of their work
or doings. Instead of reflections in the waters, I see them troubled,
and anxiety on the face of Prague. There seems to have been a
brightening up after the Bohemians had cleared the atmosphere by letting
loose the War of Thirty Years. They had invited a foreign Protestant to
be their King, and they hoped much from his wife. We have met these two
before, Frederick of the Palatinate and Elizabeth, whom the Bohemians
still insist on calling an Englishwoman, whereas everyone should know
that anyone who has even a remote Scottish relative expects to be
considered a Scot "for a' that." The river gives me just a glint of a
reflection concerning Frederick and Elizabeth.
The good people of Prague live by the river, on the river, and in warm
weather in the river. This has been the pleasant custom of the Pragers
from time immemorial; it has not been appreciated by some of the
visitors to Prague. So, for instance, this so-called English lady,
Elizabeth, wife of him whom history nicknames the "Winter King," was
shocked at the very liberal display of pink flesh one day when crossing
the Charles Bridge. It was probably a sunny day, and many people of
Prague were disporting themselves in the Vltava, as they do to-day. You
may see them swimming about or in boatloads pulled by some enthusiastic
if perspiring male member of the family; indeed, the results of
Bohemia's excellent cuisine are much in evidence. It must be admitted
that the same cuisine tends to develop a certain redundancy among those
no longer in their first youth. Perhaps the sight of exuberant ladies,
scantily clad and bulging over the gunwale of a frail craft, provoked
the English Princess to a shocked utterance, the account of which,
purposely garbled by the Jesuits, spread abroad like wildfire, and
caused much unfavourable comment. The lady herself was subject to remark
by the Pragers on account of her very _decollete_ dresses after the
fashion set by the Court of her father, King James I of England, of whom
it is said, by the way, that he was not over addicted to washing--the
tips of his fingers were about the extent of his ablutions; so
stone-throwing was out of place in this instance, as in all others.
However, as we know, Elizabeth did not make a prolonged stay in Prague;
her husband Frederick, by no means endowed with the physical courage of
his son Rupert, the Prince Palatine, did a memorable "sprint" when he
heard how the people of his adoption had been defeated. The people of
Prague then had much more serious matters to concern themselves with
than an English Princess's dresses. The troops of the Empire marched
into Prague, adventurers of many nations swarmed into the city and
settled there while Jesuits set about bringing back the citizens into
the fold of the Roman Church by lighting bonfires with the works of the
earnest divines who followed in the footsteps of John Hus and the
reformers. They endeavoured by these means to stamp out any tendency to
freedom of thought, religious and political, in the people of Bohemia.
In this they failed.
[Illustration]
While talking of the aquatic habits of the people of Prague, of Bohemia
generally, I am reminded of accounts by Byzantine chroniclers, reporters
and travellers who described Slavs they had met or heard of. This would
be some time ago, say sixth or seventh century. These Slavs had a
wonderful idea of lying in ambush--I cannot call it a military
stratagem, it is so amphibious. They lay down in shallow pools, showing
only the end of a blow-pipe to breathe through, and so waylaid the
enemy. The Byzantines must have been up against the Czechs, who seem to
me distinctly amphibious in summer-time. True, the stratagem described
is no longer in use; it is too simple for modern times and methods;
besides, I do not know many Bohemians of whom I could say that they are
built for that man[oe]uvre, that they would ever be able effectively to
conceal their manly proportions in shallow pools. No, I do not think it
could be done to-day. One _buirdly_ body, whose proportions were not
easy to conceal, caught my eye one day as I was paddling about among a
swarm of merry swimmers. He stood out among the crowd, a majestic
figure. It was not his costume--simplicity itself--which attracted my
attention, not his fiercely upturned moustache nor the red and white
jockey cap that crowned his square-cut head. It was his massive
stateliness as a whole. Surely he had taken guidance from Marcus
Aurelius: "Be thou like a promontory"!
[Illustration: BE THOU LIKE A PROMONTORY.]
On sunny summer days all Prague seems to be on or in the river, and a
very sensible and healthy way it is to spend the hot hours of the
day--and it can be appreciably hot in Prague. As a rule you may reckon
on long spells of fine weather throughout Bohemia, as the country is
sheltered on the weather side by the high mountains which hold up the
rain. So all Prague turns out to enjoy the river and the sunshine.
During the summer months the inhabitants of Prague, a very white-skinned
race, turn ripe brown in the parts exposed to the sun; and, as I
suggested before, a considerable aggregate surface is thus exposed. In
contrast to low-cut white frocks, brown necks recall sights familiar to
Eastern travellers. I do not suggest that this detracts from the charm
of the ladies of Prague, to which I pay ready tribute. And in winter
the normal fairness of skin of the Aryan reasserts itself, while the
charm remains--in fact, intensifies. It is singularly pleasant to watch
the younger generation at play on or in the river. They are all good,
strong swimmers, but their chief delight seems to lie in each one
"paddling his, or her, own canoe." The river canoe is not quite the same
as those which we derived from the Red Indians, though that kind of
craft is also seen about. The popular canoe is a very small
flat-bottomed concern with pointed stem and stern, is generally gaily
painted and named appropriately "Water Bubble," "Fairy," or something
equally ingenious. It looks easy when you see a lass gracefully paddling
herself along with a double oar; it is anything but as easy as it looks.
This class of canoe is a very unstable craft. I have tried to navigate
one, and spent the whole time in the water--simply could not keep inside
the tub. This I much regretted, for it must be thoroughly enjoyable to
laze about under the trees that overhang the river from one or other of
the islands and listen to the band. You do not get half the enjoyment
you should out of music when swimming around all the time, and it would
not be appreciated if you appeared like Venus or Undine, from out of the
foam as it were, among the customers of the "Restauration" on one or
other of the islands--besides, you would not have your pocket-book,
stuffed with notes, on your person just then.
[Illustration]