A Talk with the Landlord -- A Jew's Offer -- A Ride in a
Wagen -- Talk with the Jew -- The Stars -- A Mysterious
Gun-barrel -- An Alarm -- Stony Ammunition -- The Man with
the Gun -- The Jew's opinion of him -- Sunrise -- A Walk --
The White Hill -- A Fatal Field -- Waking up in the Suburbs
-- Early Breakfasts -- Imperial and Royal Tobacco --
Milk-folk -- The Gate of Prague -- A Snappish Sentry -- The
Soldiers -- Into the City -- Picturesque Features and
crowding Associations -- The Kleinseite -- The Bridge --
Palaces -- The Altstadt -- Remarkable Streets -- The
Teinkirche -- The Neustadt -- The Three Hotels.
The landlord came in a few minutes afterwards, and, to encourage me to
tell him all he wished to know about myself, declared himself a
German. That he should ever have been so stupid as to tempt fortune at
Neu Straschitz was a mistake haunting and vexing him continually. A
living was not to be got in such a miserable village, and among such
miserable people, and he meant to migrate as soon as he could find
some one more stupid than himself to take the inn off his hands.
I had seen two or three German names in the street, and asked him if
they were of long standing. "Not very." And he went on to say that the
Stock-Bohemians, as the Czechs are called, are perpetually encroached
on, pressed within narrower limits by the German element. Though a
good deal was said about Czechish vigour and intellectuality, some
folk thought that the language would at no distant day cease to be
spoken. As for the character of the Czechs, there was scarcely a
German who did not believe them to be sly, false, double-faced. And
what says the proverb?--Dirt is the offspring of Lying and Idleness.
For his part, he knew the Czechs were dirty, but he didn't quite know
whether, in other respects, they were worse than their neighbours. Any
way, he rather liked the thought of removing from among them.
After all this, mine host thought he had a fair claim on me for a
sight of an English gold coin, and answers to all his questions
concerning England. I was doing my best to satisfy him, when the
_Kellnerinn_ called my attention to a _Herr_ who was going to start
with his _Wagen_ in the course of the evening for Prague; and she
suggested, very disinterestedly as it seemed to me, that the
opportunity was too good to be lost.
_Wagen_ is as comprehensive a word as our "conveyance:" the _Herr_
looked like a man who might be going to Prague in a carriage, so, as
he promised plenty of room, and asked no more than a florin for the
twenty miles, I accepted his offer. Having yet business to settle, he
went out, and promised to call for me at nine o'clock. He had no
sooner left the room, than the landlord said, "He is a Jew; but you
need not be afraid of him. He is a very honest fellow, and comes here
often."
I saw no reason to be afraid, and when the Jew came back at the
appointed hour was ready to accompany him. He led the way to a back
street, where we waited in front of one of the low, undemonstrative
houses. Presently the big gate swung back, and out came the
_Wagen_--one of the four-wheeled basket wagons, drawn by a single
horse pulling awkwardly at one side of the heavy pole. I had imagined
something a little better than that; however, as the wagon was half
full of new hay, with a comfortable back-cushion of clover, I
scrambled in on one side while the Jew did the same on the other, and
the driver, a Czech, perched himself uncomfortably on a bar in front.
The wagon was just wide enough for two; and, what with the elastic
sides and soft hay, there was no painful jolting. The west shone
gloriously with the golden arch of sunset as we drove out of the
village and entered on a bad road winding across the open fields; and
Twilight came on so softly that you might have fancied Day was
lingering to lend her his palest rays. The Jew was disposed to talk,
and betrayed no little curiosity on the subject of travelling. Was it
not very irksome to be away from home? was it not very expensive? and
how much money did one need to carry? was there no danger? and so
forth. But what interested him most was the question as to the money:
he returned to it again and again.
Next, he had much to ask concerning London--the sort of business
transacted in the great city--the rate of profit--in short, he put me
through a whole social and commercial catechism, from which he drew a
conclusion that London would not be an undesirable place of residence.
So it went on, interrupted only by his saying a few words now and then
to the driver in Czechish, until my turn came, and I opened my
questioning about Prague. The Jew, however, was readier in asking
questions than in answering; indeed, he was stingy in reply, as if
words were worth a florin the dozen.
As the stars brightened the night became cold, and set me shivering.
The Jew brought two cloaks out of a bag, and, wrapped in one of these,
I lay on my back looking up at the sky, thinking of home-scenes and
home-friends as my eye wandered from one bright spot to another; and
solemn was the impression made on me by the sight of the glorious
handiwork.
"For the bright firmament
Shoots forth no flame
So silent, but is eloquent
In speaking the Creator's name."
I could not fail to note that astronomers have reason for telling us
that meteoric phenomena are more common on any night than would be
believed by those not accustomed to observe the heavens, for I saw
twelve shooting-stars within two hours.
As we went on, the lights in the public-houses became fewer, and ere
long disappeared, and the silence was only disturbed by the fitful
barking of dogs in the distance, and the slow noise of the wheels. Our
horse dropped into a walk, and the driver off to sleep, and I was
still gazing at the stars when I heard footsteps near the side of the
wagon. Turning my eyes, without rising, I saw the top of a gun-barrel
about two yards off, apparently resting on some one's shoulder. The
sound of the footsteps woke the driver, who immediately began to
quicken the horse's pace, but very cautiously, as if to avoid
suspicion. The Jew seemed uneasy, and muttered a word or two in a low
tone; the whip was used, the horse broke into a trot, but the
gun-barrel was not left behind; I could still see it in the same
place, keeping pace with the wagon.
What did it mean? One time I fancied that perhaps the hay on which I
lay so innocently was but a disguise for something contraband, whereof
a cunning gendarme had gotten scent. Then I remembered the landlord's
desire to see a gold coin, and the Jew's curiosity as to the amount
and quality of a traveller's money, and a faint suspicion of having
fallen into a trap did occur to me. Meanwhile the horse trotted in
earnest; the gun-barrel was left in the rear; then the whip was plied
vigorously; the Jew spoke energetically; the driver jumped from his
perch, picked up two big stones, threw them into the wagon, and drove
quickly on again.
"There is one for you, and one for me," said the Jew to me, in a loud
whisper.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"The stones," he replied; "one for you, and one for me, if we are
attacked."
"Attacked or not, we are three to one, and one of the three is an
Englishman."
The Jew did not answer, for the footsteps were again heard approaching
at a run, and soon the gun-barrel appeared once more abreast of the
wagon. The driver kept the horse up to his speed, the Jew fumbled
about with his feet for the big stones, and the chase--if such it
could be called--continued for about ten minutes.
All at once the gun-barrel darted from the road-side towards the
wagon. I immediately sat up, and found myself face to face, and but a
few inches apart, with the bearer of the weapon--a wild-looking
fellow, wearing a slouched cap and hunting-jacket. A faint exclamation
of surprise escaped him, and, whether it was that he saw two persons
in the wagon, besides the driver, or that we did not look worth his
trouble, I know not, but he gradually dropped behind, and we lost
sight of the gun-barrel.
A minute passed. "Now," said the Jew, "we are rid of him."
But scarcely had he spoken, than a shrill whistle sounded afar through
the silence of the night, followed after a short interval by a whistle
at a distance from the road.
"Quick! quick!" was now the word to the driver. "He is calling his
comrades: they will be down upon us. Quick! quick!"
The Czech seemed well inclined to obey; the pace was quickened into a
gallop, and, in about a quarter-hour, we came to a village, where,
stopping in front of the inn, he filled the rack with clover from the
wagon, and gave the horse to feed.
The place with its littery appendages looked unked, lying half in deep
shadow; the door was fast, and not a light shone from the windows,
cheating my hope of a cup of coffee. The Jew now sat up, talked for
awhile vehemently with the driver, then said, turning to me, "We have
had an escape. That fellow meant nothing good--nothing good--nothing
good. A real bad fellow!"
"Was he a robber?"
"Perhaps worse. He meant nothing good. We are well out of it. I hope
we shall not see him again."
We did not; and by-and-by, as we went on again, and I lay looking up
at the stars, they seemed to grow dim, then twinkle strangely, and at
last they disappeared. It may be that I slept, for when next I looked
at the sky it was flecked by streams of rosy tints, the fields were
covered with dew as a veil, and, by the timid chirping of birds, and
other signs, the eye might note the preparations for lifting the veil
at the approach of the sun. My sheltering cloak, my hair and eyebrows,
were thickly covered with dew, cold as the brightening dawn. The Jew,
similarly bepearled, lay sleeping soundly, the Czech nodded on his
perch, and the horse, taking advantage of the slumber, was moving only
at a sober walk.
It was not yet five when I alighted about three miles from Prague, to
get warm by walking the remaining distance. The Jew took his florin
with much demonstration of thanks, horse and driver roused up, and the
wagon was soon out of sight.
A few minutes brought me to the _Weissenberg_--White Hill--a
battle-field not less fatal than famous. The road is bordered by ample
rows of trees; woods thick with foliage clothe the neighbouring
hollows and acclivities, and on the left, sloping gently upwards, with
here and there a break, rises the hill. Here, then, was the scene of
which I had often read, where Frederick of the Palatinate, who had
married a princess of England, daughter of James I., lost the crown of
Bohemia. Not long had he worn it--indeed, some of his contemporaries
called him the Winter King--when he was forced to flee, with his wife
and children, among them the infant Rupert, who afterwards won renown
as chief of the Cavaliers in England. Treachery, as late researches
show, aided the combined forces of Ferdinand of Austria and Maximilian
of Bavaria, and from that day Bohemia ceased to be an independent
monarchy, and became a province of the Austrian Empire, a loss yet
mourned by many, who join in the poet's lament:
"Ach Gott! die Weissenberger Schlacht
Erreicht wohl Ostrolenka's Trauer,
Und die darauf erfolgt die Racht,
Hat trübere als Sibiriens Schauer."
Terrible, indeed, was the _night_ that followed! And when one reads of
Ferdinand's faithlessness and cruelty, his murderous vengeance on the
chiefest of the conquered people, the wonder is not that Bohemia
should have revolted, but that she did not reconquer her birthright.
Thoughts of the past came crowding through my mind as I paced across
the ground, and presently pursued my walk. I was approaching a city
remarkable in itself, and in its historical associations, but for the
moment my attention was drawn to immediate objects. As I went on down
the now continuous descent, the tops of towers and spires came into
view in the distance below, and on either hand appeared indications
that a metropolis was not far off. Early folk were opening the booths,
shops, and public-houses, which, scattered among the trees, presented
ere long an unbroken line on both sides of the road. Cooling drinks
were set out on tables, and many a shutter invited the passer-by to
_Beer_ and _Brandy_, in various phrase. Now stalls covered with
cherries and currants alternate with piles of bread, hard-boiled eggs,
cheese, and smoked sausages; and working people stop to eat their
earliest breakfast. Every few yards sits a woman with a basket of
fresh, tempting _Semmel_--fancy bread, as we should call it--most of
the little loaves thickly sprinkled with poppy-seeds, dear to the
native palate. And here and there stands what looks like a roomy
sentry-box, painted yellow, and adorned with the Austrian blazon--an
_Imperial and Royal Booth for the sale of Tobacco_.
Already the road is alive with vehicles, for from every lane and
byepath speed dog-carts, or little wagons on two wheels, or large
wagons on four wheels, all laden with tin cans of milk for the city.
How the dogs pant, and the horses snort! for the driver, and his or
her two or three companions, keep the animals at full speed, sparing
neither lash nor voice. Long before they come into sight you can hear
their shrill chatter, mingled with merry laughter, and, as they burst
into view, a shout from all the others adds excitement to the race,
and away they go, each trying to be first.
Half a mile farther, and I overtake many of them at the turn of the
road, where the women are sitting on the bank, putting on stockings
and shoes. Some remount the wagons; others walk quietly onwards,
showing a neat ankle and clean white leg to the morning sun. Now the
city wall frowns towards you, and, once round the turn, there is the
gate--_Reichsthor_--a few soldiers hanging about, and many persons
passing to and fro, while the curious towers of the Strahow monastery,
where Rupert was born, peer above trees and vine-slopes on the right.
I passed through the gloomy arch unchallenged by any of the guards,
and had got some distance down the steep street, when a man made me
aware that shouts in the rear were intended for me. I turned: a
soldier, who had come a few yards from the cavern-like gate, was
making very peremptory use of his voice, and, as soon as I saw him,
he beckoned with angry gestures. I retraced my steps, but at too slow
a pace to satisfy the Imperial functionary, for he turned again and
again, each time with the same impatient gesture. No sooner did I come
within earshot, than he cried, snappishly, "Why did you not give me
your passport?"
"For two reasons," I answered, with a laugh; "this is my first visit
to Prague, and I have not yet learnt your regulations; and secondly,
why did you let me go by without asking me for it?"
The lounging group of soldiers laughed as this was spoken, and my
questioner having led the way to his darksome den, built at the elbow
of the arch so as to command both approaches, took my passport and
gave me the official receipt without further parley.
As I emerged again into the sunshine, one of the soldiers said, "Do
you know what? When any one goes away into the city without stopping
at the guard-house, he must always come back to the gate where he
entered, and give up his passport."
I thanked him for his information, and took my way once more down the
street. It was just six o'clock: all the shops were open; working
people thronged the footways; heavy teams toiled slowly up the hill
towards the gate; the milk-folk hurried down with noisy clatter, while
men wearing glazed hats and a canvas uniform swept the streets. Signs
of early rising everywhere.
The peculiar features of the city multiply as you advance. High on the
left, its cathedral tower springing above the rest, appears the
Hradschin--an imposing mass of building in the factory style of
architecture, stretching, as one might guess, for half a mile along
the bold eminence, commanding the country for miles around. You can
count four hundred windows. There, as every one knows, the Thirty
Years' War began, by certain angry Bohemian nobles pitching two
Imperial commissioners and their secretary out of one of the windows.
Little did the haughty ejectors think of the consequences of their
exploit--that before thirty years were over, 30,000 villages and more
than a million men would be destroyed by war!
Being very hungry, I was fain to drink a draught of milk and eat one
of the poppy-seeded loaves at the door of one of the little shops,
looking round all the while on curious gables, panelled fronts,
ancient gateways, more numerous as we descend. Lower down, we are in
the oldest part of the city, among the palaces of the great nobles
whose names figure in history--Kollowrat, Lobkowitz, Wallenstein, and
others. Massive edifices, whereby your eye and steps are alike
arrested. And on every side are narrow lanes and courts, some nothing
but a steep stair, and these, winding in and out, increase the charm
of the ornamented architecture, and produce wonderful bits of
perspective. Such effects of light and shade, and glorious touches of
colour!
Then a church crowded with carvings; old women sitting on the steps,
young women and matrons going in to the early mass, of which, as the
doors swing to and fro, you hear the loud notes of the organ. Then a
square, and tall obelisk, and arcaded houses; and turning a corner
there rises the bridge tower, strikingly picturesque. As my eye caught
sight of its graceful roof and slender finials, I could not repress an
exclamation of surprise and pleasure. Then through the narrow arch,
and we are on the ancient bridge, looking down on the broad stream of
the Moldau, flowing with noisy rush through the sixteen arches built
600 years ago; at houses, palaces, and churches rising one above
another in the _Kleinseite_ through which we have just passed, and in
the _Altstadt_ on the opposite side; at the mosaic pavement; at the
gigantic statues which terminate every pier, noteworthy saints from
the Bohemian calendar, chiefest among them St. John Nepomuk, who with
his crescentic belt of five large ruby stars might be taken for
another Orion. In no city that I have yet seen have I felt so much
pleasure, or such varied emotions, as during my walk into Prague.
Then we pass under the equally picturesque bridge tower of the
_Altstadt_, and enter narrow streets lined with good shops, and full
of bustle; and after many puzzling ins and outs, we emerge into the
spacious area of the Ring--a lively scene, people crossing in all
directions, or sauntering under the arcades; here and there sentries
pacing up and down, and small parties of soldiers, in gay uniforms,
marching away to beat of drum. And above the farther houses there
shoot up the two towers of the _Teinkirche_--one of the most famous
churches in Prague--which were built by George Podiebrad. The church
itself is screened by the houses; but, whenever you see those graceful
towers, you recognise the site of the edifice which was one of the
strongholds of Hussite preachers, and where Tycho Brahe lies buried.
More narrow streets; across the end of a market-place, and passing
under the arch of the ancient Powder Tower, we enter the broad streets
of the _Neustadt_. The Bohemian professor at Würzburg had recommended
me to lodge at the _Blaue Stern_, so to the _Blue Star_ I went, and
asked for a room.
"Quite full," said the _Kellner_, at the same time surveying me
inquisitively from head to foot.
Two doors off was another hotel, where the answer, accompanied by a
similar inquisition, was, "Nothing empty."
A third replied, "Perhaps, to-morrow."
I began to fancy that my not having been in bed all night--boots still
dusty, and a few stalks of hay clinging to my coat--might have
something to do with these denials. However, hotels are thickly
grouped in this quarter of the city, and not many yards farther the
_Schwarzes Ross_, in the _Kolowrat-strasse_, gave me quarters as
comfortable as could be wished.