Read Ebook: A July Holiday in Saxony Bohemia and Silesia by White Walter

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Ebook has 534 lines and 60338 words, and 11 pages

Stand for half an hour on the bridge and you will see, while noting that scarcely any besides boys and priests take off their hats to St. John of the five stars, how great is the proportion which the army and the church bear to the rest of the inhabitants. At times the black and the coloured uniforms appear to have the best of it. All besides may be divided into two classes--the well-dressed and the shabby--for nothing appears between the two. There are, however, but few of those very miserable objects such as haunt the streets of large towns in England.

"Make it Landeshut, if you will; or any frontier town in Silesia."

"Can't do that. We must have some town on this side the mountains."

"I don't yet know which of three routes I shall take. Say some town nearest to the mountains. Does it make any difference?"

During the outbreak of June, 1848, the floor of the bridge was taken up, and the passage across completely interrupted for some weeks by the military. And it was to Prince Windischgratz's demonstrations during the same month that the inhabitants were indebted for an extension of their handsome quay. An old water-tower, and sundry ricketty wooden mills that stood at the end of the stone bridge, were set on fire by a shell from the prince's artillery, and the space cleared by the flames was taken into the newly-formed area.

The mass of buildings here is large enough, and shelters inhabitants enough to form a town. It includes a royal fortress--the archbishop's residence--a nunnery and monastery, a penal reformatory, besides lodgings of the official functionaries.

A considerable portion of the huge pile is now used as barracks for infantry and cavalry, and things military abound within its courts. There are sentries on duty, and soldiers off duty lounging about the guard-house, while their muskets lean against a rail painted black and yellow. But you pass unchallenged, and while crossing the quadrangle may see the word SALVE in large characters in the pavement.

Frescoes bordered by gems adorn the walls of St. Wenzel's chapel; and here are preserved the saint's helmet and coat of mail, a brass ring to which he clung when he fell murdered by his brother's hand, and other relics. Here also the Bohemian regalia are kept in rigorous security under seven locks: St. Wenzel's sword is among them, and with this, after his coronation, the monarch creates knights of St. Wenzel's order.

The verger gives you his cut-and-dry description; but, as he may omit to tell you a little bit of history, it would be well to remember that in this chapel the Archduke Ferdinand was chosen King of Bohemia in 1526, whereby the kingdom has ever since belonged to the house of Hapsburg.

Further concerning statues, lamps, tombs, and paintings, and the organ, with its 2831 pipes, the treasure-chamber, where, among other things, are sixteen leaves of St. Mark's Gospel in the hand of the Evangelist--the rest said to be at Venice--the trinary chapel, and the seven bells in the tower, among which "Big Sigmund" weighs thirteen tons, and the octagon chapel, and the pulpit in the fore-court, may be read in guide-books.

As old engravings testify, the Hradschin once looked picturesque when its twenty-two high-roofed towers were all standing. Of these only four remain; and in the Black Tower you may see fearsome specimens of mediaeval dungeons. If those grim walls could speak, the fate would be known of some of Bohemia's worthiest, who, within a year after the battle of the White Hill, suddenly disappeared from among their families and friends, and were never more heard of.

The Tandelmarkt -- Old Men and Boys at Rag Fair -- Jews in Prague -- The Judenstadt -- Schools and Synagogues -- Remote Antiquity -- Ducal Victims -- Jewish Bravery -- Removal of Boundary Wires.

What a gabble! accompanied by gesticulations so violent that you would think the traders were coming to blows. Old men bent by age, of venerable aspect and beard patriarchal, stand chaffering as eagerly for cast-off garments as if they had Methuselah's years before them in which to enjoy the proceeds. "It is naught," argues the buyer; and the graybeards whine over their frippery, and turn it about, and display it to the best advantage, and reply in a tone that extorts at last the reluctant coins from the customer's pocket.

Look at the boys! How they ply nimbly hither and thither, picking up stray bargains: adepts already in the craft of their grandsires. Look at their fathers! No whining in their traffic: but hard altercation, in which patient subterfuge proves more than a match for vehemence. Here and there, however, a cunning Czech, by sharp practice with his tongue, and a timely exhibition of his money, succeeds in carrying off a blouse or hosen on his own terms; and the Hebrew, while pouching the coins, sends after him low mutterings, which forebode ill to the next customer.

As you wander among the stalls, and push between the busy groups, noting how much of the merchandise appears utterly worthless, you will find cause enough for laughter and for lamentation.

In the good old times, whenever any turbulence occurred in Prague, it was always made the excuse for plundering or persecution of the Jews; and in this particular their history accords with that of their brethren in all other cities of Europe. They did but barely escape in the memorable '48. Their town once had nine gates, which were shut at nightfall; and subsequently, wires stretched across the streets, marked the boundary between Hebrew and Christian: these were removed in the year last mentioned, and have not since been replaced.

The Jewish Sabbath -- The Old Synagogue -- Traditions concerning it -- The Gloomy Interior -- The Priests -- The Worshippers and the Worship -- The Talkers -- The Book of the Law -- The Rabbi -- The Startling Gun -- A Birth at Vienna -- Departed Glory.

No wonder that its foundation is referred back to days ere Europe had a history. One tradition says, that no sooner was the Temple at Jerusalem destroyed, than angels immediately set about building this synagogue on the bank of the Moldau. According to another, certain people digging in a hill which once covered the spot, came upon a portion of a wall, and, continuing their excavation, cleared away the hill, and found a synagogue built already to their hands. And, as before mentioned, there is the tradition which dates it seventy-two years earlier than the arrival of the Czechs.

The monotonous murmur was renewed: one of the priests commenced a recitation, but he had scarcely opened his lips than the report of a cannon boomed loudly from the Hradschin, startling all within hearing, and making the streets echo again.

"Ah!" cried the talkers, "that's for the empress. Is it prince or princess this time?"

The priest halted in his recitation as the thunderous shocks succeeded--one, two, three, and so on, up to twenty-five--when, after another pause of listening expectation, "Ah!" cried the talkers again, "'tis only a princess;" and they took up once more the thread of their murmur.

Then followed more gabbling and snuffling from the rostrum; and, as I listened and looked round from face to face, noting the expression, something like sadness came over me; for were not those slovenly utterances a hopeless lamentation over the glory that had departed? Was it clean gone for ever? Did no trace remain of that solemn and gorgeous ceremonial, instituted when the glory came down and filled the house in the presence of the king, and of the Levites and singers "arrayed in white linen, having cymbals, and psalteries, and harps;" and of the people? When the king prayed, "Now therefore arise, O Lord God, into Thy resting-place, Thou, and the ark of Thy strength: let Thy priests, O Lord God, be clothed with salvation, and let Thy saints rejoice in goodness."

An hour passed, and still the recitations and murmur went on. I had seen enough, and thought, as I stepped forth into the daylight, that the cry, "His blood be on us, and on our children!" had been fearfully avenged.

The Alte Friedhof -- A Stride into the Past -- The Old Tombs -- Vegetation and Death -- Haunted Graves -- Ancient Epitaph -- Rabbi L?w -- His Scholars -- Symbols of the Tribes -- The Infant's Coffin -- The Playground -- From Death to Life.

The old synagogue and old Jewish burial-ground are but a few yards apart. On my way from one to the other I passed sundry groups, chiefly women, talking with animation about the interesting event signalized from the Hradschin. And more than one expressed a wish that a prince and not a princess had been born to the House of Hapsburg.

The angle of a wall, overtopped within by foliage, marks the site of the burial-ground. The doorkeeper unlocked the gate, and, passing in, I felt as if, instead of merely stepping across a threshold, a long stride had been taken back into the Past. The living world is all shut out, and you are alone with the dead--the dead of long ago.

And there is something mysterious in the associations of the place. Tales are told of ghosts that haunt the tombs; unhappy spirits bringing terror and doom to the living, or goblins playing gruesome tricks. And again in its antiquity: anticipating by a hundred years the building of Prague, as proved by a date on a tombstone. No wonder that the ground is heaped high, and full of ups and downs! Thousands of Jews have turned to dust beneath the surface.

Something, however, must be deducted from its antiquity. If, as careful investigation gives reason to believe, the old synagogue was built in the thirteenth century, we may suppose the opening of the burial-ground to have taken place within the same period. The notion arose from misreading the stone, whereby one thousand was subtracted from the date. The inscriptions are in the Hebrew character, and, for the most part, deeply cut. The stone in question is inscribed:

Notwithstanding that the backs of a few old houses look down on the graves, they fit in with the scene, and your impression of deep loneliness remains undisturbed, except in one corner, where the surface is clear and level. It is used at times as a playground for the children, whose voices you hear from the open windows of the schoolroom that encloses one side. Painter and poet might alike make a picture of childhood, full of mirth and happiness, playing in the sunshine; and in the background, all too near, the haunted tombs of their forefathers.

As on entering, so on departing, are you aware of a strange impression; from the field of death, from silence and solitude, you pass at once to the noisy life of the streets, and the spell wrought upon you by the brief saunter where sits

"The Shadow cloak'd from head to foot Who keeps the keys of all the creeds,"

is broken with a shock. And by-and-by, when in the noisier thoroughfares, vague fancies will come to you of having had a sepulchral dream.

The Kolowratstrasse -- Picolomini's Palace -- The Museum -- Geological Affluence -- Early Czechish Bibles -- Rare Old Manuscripts -- Letters of Huss and Ziska -- Tabor Hill -- Portraits -- Hussite Weapons -- Antiques -- Doubtful Hussites in the Market-place -- The Gl?ckliche Entbindung -- A Te Deum -- Two Evening Visits -- Bohemian Hospitality -- The Gaslit Beer-house.

Later in the day I went to the Museum: I wished to see with what sort of carnal weapons the Hussites had gained so many victories over their fellow-countrymen. First you enter the department of geology and mineralogy, the richest and most important of the whole collection. The specimens are well arranged, and among them you may see minerals and fossils which give a special interest to the geology of Bohemia.

You will look with interest at the letters by Huss, and the challenge which he hung up on the gate of the University, declaring his religious opinions, and his readiness to maintain them by argument against all comers: Latin documents, in a stiff, formal hand. Equally stiff is a letter written by Ziska, dated from the Hussite camp at Tabor; but there is a world of suggestion in those hard characters. That rusty leaf sets your memory recalling the events of five hundred years ago: the journey of Huss to face the wicked Council, and martyrdom at Constance, under a safe-conduct granted by the Emperor Sigismund, requiring all men to let the valiant preacher go and come, and tarry freely and unharmed;--the furious outbreak of the Protestants at the accursed condemnation of their teacher to the flames;--their sanguinary battles, and fiery zeal, and avowed determination to root out their enemies, whereby for eighteen years the land was laid waste with fire and sword, and the name of Hussite became a very terror:--and their redoubtable leader, Ziska the one-eyed, standing out from among them in bold relief, a captain most resolute and skilful, the instrument of righteous vengeance upon the execrable Sigismund; who, though he lost that single flashing eye of his, yet never lost a battle, nor the confidence of his followers. We see him amidst his rough and ready fighting men in the camp, on the heights to which, in the pride of their hearts, they gave a name from Scripture; and where they quenched their thirst in the water of Jordan, exulting,

"What hill is like to Tabor hill in beauty and in fame?"

From the letter you turn to look at a portrait of the warrior. It is a miserable painting, very much in the signboard style, yet you can mark the breadth of shoulder beneath the gleaming corslet, the oval face, aquiline nose, large bright eye, and lofty forehead, shaded by thick, black, curling hair, and picture to yourself a proper hero. There is another and a better portrait in the Strahow monastery, and by noting the best points of each you will improve your idea, though perhaps not to full satisfaction. The attendant, moreover, will call your attention to a portrait of Huss, whose features express but little of the intellectual qualities and the steadfastness by which he was characterized.

A few paces farther, and there are the weapons with which the Hussites fought and won battles in the name of the Lord. Flails, shields, and firelocks of a very primitive construction. And such flails! The short swinging arm is hung by strong iron staples to the end of a stout staff, about six feet in length, and is braced up in iron bands, which bristle with projecting points, the better to make an impression on an enemy's skull. Truly a formidable weapon! Try the weight. The arm must be strong that would wield it with effect; and mighty must have been the motive that sent whole ranks armed therewith rushing to the onslaught as to a threshing-floor. Looking at these things, you realize somewhat of the shock and storm of the events in which they were employed.

Besides the stacks of weapons, the room contains in glass-cases round the walls numerous ivory carvings of singular merit and rarity, and other curiosities with which you may divert your thoughts. And in a neighbouring apartment there hangs an engraved view of Prague as it stood a few years before the fatal day of the White Hill, well worth inspection. The Hradschin and Wyssehrad, at opposite ends of the city, look really picturesque crowned with numerous towers.

Walking afterwards through the markets, and seeing the dowdies sitting by their stalls under large red umbrellas, and the number of shabby men loitering about, I wondered if they were indeed the descendants of those who, under Ziska's command, had wielded the flails. However, in 1848, the men proved that the fighting-blood still circulated in their veins.

It was while chatting over this delightful repast that I was told all the pretty women had left Prague for the watering-places. Two at least were left behind. The conversation of the Czechish servants who waited on us, heard at a short distance, sounded like a screechy quarrel; and on my remarking that I had noticed similar discords during a ramble in Wales, one of the young ladies replied, in explanation, "Our friends often think we are scolding our servants, when all the while we are speaking to them in a quiet, natural tone. Your ear is deceived. There is nothing but good-humour among them."

Sunday Morning in Prague -- Gay Dresses -- Pleasure-seeking Citizens -- Service in the Hradschin Cathedral -- Prayers and Pranks -- Fun in the Organ-loft -- Glorious Music -- A Spell broken -- Priests and their Robes -- Osculations -- A Flaunting Procession -- An Old Topographer's Raptures -- The Schwarzes Ross -- Flight from Prague -- Lobositz -- Lost in a Swamp -- A Storm -- Up the Milleschauer -- After Dark -- The Summit -- Mossy Quarters -- The Host's Story.

All this and much more did I see while on my way to hear the service in the metropolitan church on the Hradschin. The steep stair-flights which, avoiding the narrow, crooked streets, lead directly up to the palace, were all a-blaze with shining silks and satins, the wearers of which were mounting slowly upwards on dainty feet in the full glare of the hot sun. Already nearly every seat in the church was filled, and as the service went on the aisles were thronged, the women on one side, the men on the other, though with exceptions. The opportunity was favourable for seeing something of the better class of citizens, for of such the congregation appeared chiefly to be. Again I looked for pretty faces along the variegated aisle, and though there was no dearth of grace and animation, I was forced to believe that the beauties had not yet returned from the watering-places. Meanwhile the service went on; three robed priests officiated at the altar, the little bell tinkled, the host was lifted up, every head was bowed, and incense floated around the cross, while the boys set to feed the censers pulled one another's hair on the sly, and played pranks in their corner.

I crept quietly up to the organ-loft when the time for music was near, and saw seedy men take their post at the bellows, and in the front seat of the gallery a row of young men and boys tuning up their fiddles. The great height prevents the twang and scrape from being heard below, and affords, moreover, opportunity for fun, for as they screw and twang they reach across and tweak ears, or prod a cheek with the end of a bow, or bend down and tell some joke which well-nigh chokes them with suppressed laughter. At last the signal is given, and as if by one impulse they strike into a symphony, in which the organ joins at times with a sonorous note. I crept down to the aisle to listen. The harmonies, at first timid, grew gradually in volume and power, till at length they swelled into glorious music that filled the whole place, and held every ear entranced. Then the organ broke out with an exulting response, and all the echoes of the lofty roof and soaring arches repeated the sound, until there came a sudden pause, in which you presently heard the faintest of tones, like a plaintive wail, from the stringed instruments. Then strength came once more to the trembling notes, and again the strains which angels might have stayed to hearken to floated through the air.

Where could such music come from? I felt constrained to go up again to the organ-loft. There sat the same boys carrying on their sports during the rests and pauses--the same seedy men at the bellows--earthly hands producing heavenly music which held the listeners spell-bound.

For me the illusion was over, and I felt curious to see what sort of men they were who in stately robes had gone through the ceremonial at the altar. Surely they would exhibit signs of spiritual life. I placed myself close to the door by which they would have to pass to the sacristy, and observed them as they withdrew. They were men of sluggish feature, lit by no gleam of spirituality, and walked as if released from a wearisome duty. And the robes which seemed rich and costly in the distance, showed faded and shabby near at hand--unworthy attire for priests of a church that boasts a silver shrine. Here, thought I, we must not look for the Beauty of Holiness.

Many a kiss did I see imprinted on the sacred picture of Christ as the congregation departed; and then, as they streamed forth and dispersed in groups in many directions, I hastened forwards to catch the view of the many-coloured procession as it descended the great stair, flaunting in the sun between the gray old houses.

While crossing the ancient bridge for the last time, my impression was strengthened that from thence you get the best view of Prague--a view which conceals the damaging features seen from the hills. "Oh! it is a ravishing prospect!" exclaims an old topographer; "your eye knows not whether it shall repose on the mighty colossus of stone which appears to bid defiance to the broad Moldau stream, or whether it shall pasture on that romantic slope, from the summit of which the huge imperial fortress, and the highly-famed cathedral church, together with many palaces and churches, shine down upon you. Surprise, wonder, and bewilderment overcome him who for the first time turns hither and thither to look at the sight." If your raptures rise not to this lofty pitch, you will hardly fail, even at your last view, to sympathise with the antiquated narrator's enthusiasm.

I was trying back, when a fierce squall swept up from the west. The sky grew dark, the rain fell in torrents, the mountain disappeared shrouded in gloom, and from the woods that clothe its sides from base to cope, tormented by the cold wind, there came a roar as of the sea in a storm. I took shelter behind a thick-stemmed willow, and waited; but twilight crept on before the growl ceased. There were paths enough to choose from, too many, in fact, as there commonly are round the base of minor hills; however, by dint of making way upwards, through dripping copse and plashy glades, I came at last to a single track, completely hidden by the woods.

It was part of a great spiral winding round the cone--now rising, now falling, but reaching always a higher elevation. The clouds still hung overhead; the sun had set, and under the trees I could see but a few yards ahead. I stopped at times to listen for some companionable sound, but heard only the heavy drip-drip from the leaves, and melancholy sighs among the branches. A little higher, and there, in the beds of moss around the roots, gleamed the tiny lanterns of swarms of glowworms--more than ever I had seen before--and the way felt less lonely with the pale green rays in view. Moreover, holding my watch near one of the tiny lanterns, it was possible to see the hour--half-past nine. Farther on I came to a little wagon standing in a gap, and then the path became exceedingly steep and hard to climb, and scarcely discernible in the increasing darkness. Steeper and steeper grew the path, and with it the prospect of a bivouac, when the trees thinned away, and a dark barrier stopped further advance. It was a rough stone wall, along which I felt my way, and coming presently to a door, kicked upon it vigorously. A dog barked. Footsteps approached, and a man's voice asked:

"Who's there?"

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