Two days is not a sufficient period of time to explore even a small fraction of the wonders of Prague, but I did as well as could be expected given the circumstances. The two walking tours led by the Gate1 local guides were a good introduction; I wouldn’t have been able to do as well on my own. Prague is an enormously complicated place.
We spent the evening of our arrival in Prague on Friday the 23rd checking into our hotel, the Cosmopolitan on Zlatnická Street, and attending an orientation briefing prepared by the Gate1 guides. The orientation was necessary, I thought, because we were overwhelmed by the vastness and complexity of the city. Even with the orientation, I was intimidated. The first challenge was to find something to eat. We were on our own for dinner and the restaurant adjacent to the hotel was booked up. Sandie was in poor straits and didn’t feel able to venture outside. I found an Italian place around the corner, the Ristorante Longiano, and asked them if I could order takeout. They were more than happy to oblige and we gorged ourselves in our hotel room before the exhaustion from the day’s travels caught up with us and put us to sleep.
Next morning, Saturday the 25th, began with breakfast in the restaurant next door, imaginatively named the Next Door, which was affiliated but not integrated with the hotel. It was a popular place and if you wanted to have dinner there it was necessary to book a table well in advance. We were able to do that for our last night in Prague.
By this time Sandie was too ill to venture out of the hotel for long, so she had to miss the excursions, the first of which went to Prague Castle. I had always known it as the Hradschin Palace, and I still find that a more descriptive name than Prague Castle, but I’ll use the latter name here since it’s easier to type. Actually it is not a mere castle but an enormous palace complex, indeed it claims to be the largest in the world.
The Gate1 tour group entered the palace by way of the Prašný Most (“Powder Bridge”). This led from the Marian Walls, where we met our local guide, a genial lady named Alexandra, who led us across the bridge, past the Royal Garden and over the Jelení příkop (Deer Moat). Along the way we enjoyed stunning views of the palace ramparts, the gardens and the north side of St. Vitus Cathedral, which towered above the walls.
Shortly we arrived at a portal flanked by two rigidly motionless sentries, who reminded me of the guards at the Kremlin. The portal took us through the former Imperial Stables, now an art gallery, and opened into the Second Courtyard of Prague Castle, enclosed by the New Royal Palace (Nový královský palác). In the courtyard stands an imposing fountain, created by the sculptor Hieronymus Kohl in 1686 and named after him; it is also known by the name of the Holy Roman Emperor during whose reign it was erected, Leopold I. It consists of three basins; the large lower basin sits on a foundation with three steps, and in its center is a column which supports the middle basin and is formed by statues of Mercury, Neptune and Hercules. The column which supports the upper basin features figures of two Tritons. The topmost column, rising from the upper basin, depicts three lions supporting a globe topped by the double-headed eagle symbol of the Habsburgs.
Also in the Second Courtyard stands the Chapel of the Holy Cross, a late Baroque edifice built between 1756-1767 as part of an effort by Empress Maria Theresa to update Prague Castle. It now houses the St. Vitus Treasure, a collection of precious historical and religious art objects formerly stored in the St. Vitus Cathedral.
From the Second Courtyard we slipped through a passage in the New Royal Palace to the First Courtyard, emerging via the Matthias Gate (Matyášova brána). This is the main western gate of the palace, completed in 1614 as a free-standing triumphal arch. At that time the New Royal Palace was a collection of separate buildings; Maria Theresa’s building program of 1753-1767 combined these into a single large structure and integrated the Matthias Gate into the west façade. Aside from that, the gate is little changed from its original appearance. It is said to have been inspired by the Escorial, the Spanish monastery-palace of Philip II, which Emperor Rudolf II greatly admired; after requesting his ambassador in Madrid to obtain the blueprints (or whatever passed for blueprints in those days), which he then gave to his court architect, Giovanni Maria Filippi. The architect then designed a gate that incorporated elements of the Escorial. But it was far from a copy; whereas the Escorial is the largest Renaissance building in the world, the Matthias Gate is considered to be the first example of secular Baroque construction in Prague. It was not completed in Rudolf’s reign, which is why it isn’t named after him but rather after his brother Matthias, who replaced Rudolf in 1612, and had his name inscribed on the entablature when the gate was finished.
In its current configuration the New Palace forms a U-shaped structure to form the First Courtyard, which is completed on its west side by a wrought-iron fence built around several masonry pillars, each with a group of sculptures on top. The sculptures nearest the palace wings consist mostly of typical Baroque subjects such as vases, putti (wingless cupids), and floral constructs; on one pillar is an eagle wearing an imperial crown, and on another a crowned lion with a scepter. The two central pillars frame the famous ceremonial gate of the courtyard, sometimes known as the Gate of the Titans. On top of these two pillars are the sculptures depicting what is commonly referred to as the Clash of the Titans, though it would not be recognized as such either by ancient Romans or by 21st-century moviegoers. The figures comprising the sculptures – sometimes called the Wrestling Titans – are not the Titans of classical mythology but rather Roman gladiators. On one pillar a fighter is brutally beating his cringing opponent to death with a large club; on the other, the victor is viciously dispatching the cowering victim with a dagger. These are intensely shocking scenes of unmitigated savagery, not suitable for viewing by small children, older children, women or adult men.
The Gate of the Titans, or Gladiators if you prefer, separates the Palace grounds from Hradschin (Hradčany in Czech) Square, an open area where one may obtain wonderful views of the city of Prague, especially Petřín Hill and the Malá Strana district. I shall have plenty to say about Malá Strana in the next post. Petřín Hill, rising about 130 meters or 426 feet above the Vltava River, is almost entirely given over to parks and is a prime recreational area for the inhabitants of Prague. On top of the hill is the Eiffel Tower, a structure which the Czechs recently purchased from the French, then hauled from Paris to Prague and erected on Petřín Hill. Fortunately, that is not what actually happened – the Petřín tower was erected in 1891 and was quite shamelessly intended to be a copy of the Eiffel Tower. We did not get a chance to visit it, but it is a must-see on my next trip to Prague, and it is easy to reach because there is a funicular railway connecting it to Malá Strana.
Hradschin Square also boasts attractions of its own. On the north of the square, next to the New Royal Palace, is the Archbishop’s Palace, originally built in the 16th century in Renaissance style, but rebuilt several times since in whatever style was in fashion at the time (the same can be said of most of the palaces of Central Europe) – Baroque, Rococo, etc.
Several of the other landmarks on Hradčany Square are former palaces of rich aristocrats. The Salm Palace, the Schwarzenberg Palace and the Sternberg Palace have all been turned into art galleries, under the aegis of the National Gallery of the Czech Republic. Others are occupied by government offices. The Czernin Palace – largest of them all – and Thun-Hohenštejnský or Tuscan Palace house offices of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, while the Prime Minister uses the Hrzán Palace for his official functions. The New Royal Palace itself, on the eastern side of the square, houses the offices of the President of the Czech Republic. There are also a number of religious establishments on the square, including the Church of St. Benedict, the Carmelite Convent, and of course the already-mentioned Archbishop’s Palace.
After giving us an unconscionably short period of time to explore the wonders of Hradčany Square, Alexandra summoned us to retrace our steps back through the Matthias Gate and the Second Courtyard, all the way to the gate where we had first entered the palace. There she took us through a secret doorway which opened into the Third Courtyard of the Palace, the location of St. Vitus Cathedral. We immediately embarked upon a tour of the Cathedral.
St. Vitus is a latecomer to the European panoply of medieval European cathedrals, its construction having begun in 1344, during the reign of King Jan of Luxembourg. Jan was killed two years later in the Battle of Crécy, one of the key battles in the Hundred Years’ War between France and England, where he fought for the French. (He was blind at the time, which impaired his fighting prowess, but the French probably would not have won anyway.) His son, Charles IV, also fought at Crécy but escaped the English longbows to inherit the throne of Bohemia and become one of the most important monarchs in Bohemian history as well as a leading patron of the arts, continuing the work on the cathedral.
If anything in the rest of this post is to make much sense, it is necessary to have a smidgen of acquaintance with the history of medieval Bohemia. To begin with, what was Bohemia, and where did it come from? The name is derived from an ancient Celtic tribe, the Boii, who lived in the area of modern Bohemia and southern Germany during the 2nd century BC. In the first century BC the Boii emigrated to Gaul, along with the Helvetians (from what is now Switzerland), where they were annihilated by Julius Caesar. German tribes replaced the Boii in their original homeland, but the country continued to be known by the name of their Celtic predecessors; and the name persisted when the Germanic tribes in turn migrated south into the Roman Empire and were replaced in the sixth century by West Slavic immigrants, who later became the Czechs. East of the Czechs another Slavic tribe, the Moravians, became established, and their territory became known as Moravia. They established the first West Slavic state in central Europe, which was known as Great Moravia, and arose in the ninth century AD, after Charlemagne’s Franks had smashed the Avar kingdom which held sway in the area from 567 to around 822. Great Moravia did not last long before falling apart and having its eastern territories overrun by the Magyars, who arrived in the late ninth century. Those territories are now known as Slovakia. Its remaining territories coalesced into Bohemia and Moravia. Bohemia was the name applied by the Germans to the area occupied by the Czechs, but sometimes it was extended to apply to the Moravian areas as well.
After the collapse of Moravia, a dynasty of Czech rulers, the Přemyslids, rose to power in Bohemia as vassals of the Frankish rulers, the successors of Charlemagne. By this time the Western Slavs had become Christianized, which greatly facilitated their relations with their German neighbors. The Frankish empire of Charlemagne gradually evolved into separate polities – the western areas into France, the eastern into Germany, and the regions between into diverse domains subject to dispute. In the tenth century the Germans and Bohemians joined forces to stop the incursions of the Magyars at the Battle of Lechfeld in 955. After Otto I of Saxony became crowned as Holy Roman Emperor in 966, Bohemia was incorporated into the Holy Roman Empire, but remained an autonomous entity within the empire – for a while. The Bohemian rulers were at first known as dukes, but later acquired the title of king.
It is important to remember that whatever the status of the Bohemian domain throughout the centuries, it remained essentially an arrow of Slavdom thrust into the middle of Germany. The interaction of the West Slavs with the Germans varied widely in its tone and temper – sometimes benign and mutually beneficial, sometimes stormy and violent. In the Middle Ages, in the thirteenth century, large numbers of Germans began to migrate into Bohemia, Moravia, Slovakia and Hungary, encouraged by the kings, who hoped to repopulate areas devastated by the Mongol invasion of 1241. The Germans became established especially in the Sudeten mountains in the west of Bohemia, but they also lived in Prague as well as other cities. The result was that Bohemia became a bilingual kingdom and remained so until the aftermath of World War II.
This brings us to 1346, when Charles IV became King. He was also elected Holy Roman Emperor in 1355. During the preceding century Bohemia had become a rich and powerful domain, and Charles IV took advantage of the kingdom’s wealth to undertake a plethora of portentous projects. He founded the first university in Central Europe, named after himself. He did not complete the St. Vitus Cathedral, but that was because he burdened his master architect, Peter Parler, with so many other tasks that the cathedral was neglected. Parler was responsible for building the Charles Bridge across the Vltava and the New Town of Prague, as well as numerous tombs, shrines and sculptures in and around Prague. Although Parler did not finish the cathedral, he did make significant progress, completing the choir and the transept. His sons and successors continued his work after he died in 1399 and completed the Great South Tower as well as the gable that connects it with the south transept.
What actually put a stop to the work on the cathedral was the next great upheaval in Bohemian history. The kingdom had fared relatively well during the 14th century; the economy had flourished and the Black Plague, which decimated most of Europe, had largely left the Bohemians unscathed, for reasons that have never been fully understood. But the good times were not to last. In 1378 Charles IV died, and his possessions were divided up by his sons, Wenceslaus and Sigismund. Wenceslaus reigned in Bohemia and Sigismund in Hungary.
By the turn of the 15th century the Catholic Church was in a sorry state, riddled with corruption and schism, and the precursors of the Protestant Reformation were stalking Europe. In England John Wyclif challenged the church hierarchy and called for reform; his ideas were later adopted and elaborated by Jan Hus, a Czech priest, theologian and rector of Charles University. Like Martin Luther in the next century, Hus denounced the selling of indulgences as well as other shady practices. After years of controversy and contention with the Church hierarchy, he was finally summoned to an ecumenical council in Constance, Switzerland in 1415, where, despite a safe-conduct arranged by Sigismund, he was arrested, tried, condemned and burned at the stake.
King Wenceslaus IV, nicknamed the Idle, had vacillated from supporting Hus to standing aside while his brother, King Sigismund of Hungary, arranged for Hus to come to Constance under safe-conduct and then reneged on the safe-conduct, ensuring Hus’ execution. Wenceslaus died in 1419, and Sigismund, who was slated to be his successor, found it impossible to establish his rule in Bohemia. The Bohemians, enraged by the execution of Hus, had risen in revolt. In Prague, the Hussites had marched on the New Town Hall, and when someone threw a rock at them from the tower, they stormed the hall and threw the king’s representatives and the town councilors out of the windows. This was the First Defenestration of Prague. It would not be the last.
The Hussite Rebellion spread like wildfire in Bohemia. Five times Sigismund and the Pope organized crusades to crush the Hussite rebels, and five times they failed miserably. The Hussites used new weapons and tactics – including firearms and war wagons, the tanks of the time – to inflict shattering defeats on the Catholic forces. Eventually, however, the rebellion lost steam as the rebels split into rival factions, the extremist Taborites and the moderate Ultraquists, who fought each other. In 1434 the Ultraquists defeated the Taborites and in 1436 entered into a compromise with the Catholics, by which they were allowed to practice their own rites while accepting the overall authority of the Papacy and of King Sigismund, who shortly became Holy Roman Emperor. And Bohemia (sans Pilsen) remained largely Hussite for the next two centuries.
After the close of the Hussite Wars, several abortive attempts were made to resume construction on the St. Vitus Cathedral, but it was not until the 19th century that any real progress was made; and it was only fully completed in 1929.
After touring the interior of the Cathedral, with its stunning stained-glass windows and net-vaulted choir, we emerged back onto the Third Courtyard of Prague Castle, where more wonders awaited. The west side of the courtyard is enclosed by wings of the New Royal Palace, and on the east side by the Old Royal Palace, to which the Cathedral is connected by an archway. On the south side of the square, in a wing of the New Palace, there is a balcony from which presidential speeches are often made. Just to the southwest of the cathedral is a post office, which I would not have expected to see on a medieval square. Just south of the post office is a 16-meter (52 feet) high granite obelisk, which was erected in 1928, on the tenth anniversary of the First Czechoslovak Republic, in memory of the Czech soldiers who perished in World War I. The obelisk was donated by Tomas Masaryk, founding father of the Republic and its first president. I don’t know where Masaryk acquired the obelisk, but it was an ill-starred object; while being transported to the Castle, it broke in half, and could not be glued together again, so only the top half was used, and it is only half as high as it should have been. In the eastern part of the courtyard, which is actually a separate space named the Courtyard of St. George, stands an equestrian statue of St. George slaying a somewhat puny dragon, and a rather humdrum fountain, the Carratiho. On the eastern side of the courtyard is the striking red façade of the Church of St. George, a Romanesque structure originally built in 920.
But all of these marvels are overwhelmed by the cathedral, which completely dominates the square. Towering over everything else (because that’s what towers do) is the Great South Tower, which was begun by Peter Parler and finished by his heirs, except for the spire, which is Baroque and was added by Nicolaus Pacassi (builder of the New Palace) between 1753 and 1775. It is 102.8 meters (337 feet) high, and can be climbed to the top by anyone willing to ascend the 280 steps involved (Parler did not provide for an elevator). I did not attempt to do so myself. To the right of the South Tower is the Golden Gate, through which the kings of Bohemia entered for their coronation ceremonies. It is also the work of Peter Parler, completed in 1371. Above the three arches of the Golden Gate is the Mosaic of the Last Judgment, which is probably what gave the Golden Gate its name. Also completed in 1371, it occupies about 1000 square feet and incorporates approximately 1 million pieces of colored glass and gold leaf. The middle panel portrays Jesus at the end of time, executing the Last Judgment. On Jesus’ right, the resurrected bodies of the righteous dead are climbing from their hillside tombs, assisted by angels. On Jesus’ left, the damned are being driven into the fires of hell. The viewer immediately notes that the mosaic shines and glitters in the sun. This was by design of the artist who created it, who is not definitely known but could have been a Venetian master – Venice was known for its glassmakers. Of course the original shine faded with time, and several attempts were made to restore it, the last in 1997-2000. As far as I could tell, it was quite successful.
A few meters past the Golden Gate there is an archway connecting the Cathedral to the Old Royal Palace. This also separates the Third Court from the Court of St. George. It is close to this point that the New Palace gives way to the Old Palace; it’s hard to tell because there is no difference in the architectural styles on the façade, only a break where the roof changes color from gray (New Palace) to red (Old Palace).
I very much wanted to see the interior of the Old Palace, because of an historical event that happened there one day in 1618. To understand the significance of that event some context is necessary. Following the Compact of 1436, a rather confused period ensued. The Ultraquist Hussites maintained their sway over large areas of Bohemia and some of the neighboring principalities; they enjoyed the support of most of the Czech population, but the Germans during this period mostly continued to adhere to Catholicism. An Ultraquist Hussite, George of Poděbrady (Jiří z Poděbrad), even became King in 1458 and made great efforts to establish peace and tolerance between Hussites and Catholics. But he could make no headway against the adamant resistance of the Pope, by whom he was excommunicated in 1466, and who tried to organize another crusade against Bohemia. This effort fizzled, but in 1468 the King of Hungary, Matthias Corvinus, invaded under the pretext of returning the Kingdom of Bohemia to Catholicism. He enjoyed considerable support among the Catholic nobles and was able to seize Moravia and other territories, but the Czech core of Bohemia mostly remained loyal to George, except for a few areas such as Pilsen. Then, in 1471, George died, and was succeeded by Vladislav II Jagiellon, a Polish Catholic, whom George had appointed as his heir. Vladislav immediately undertook efforts to re-catholicize Bohemia, starting by replacing Hussite town officials with Catholics. The townspeople of Prague expressed their opposition to these measures by throwing a number of Catholic aldermen out of the windows of the town halls of the Old City, the New City and Mala Strana (which was then a separate town) and running the others out of town. This was the Second Defenestration of Prague, which occurred on September 24, 1483. Vladislav quickly backed down, and in 1485, with his blessing, an agreement called the Religious Peace of Kutna Hora was concluded which allowed both Catholics and Ultraquist Hussites to freely practice their rites; this established an equilibrium which prevailed for the following 118 years. Vladislav II went on to enjoy a long reign in Bohemia, and he became King of Hungary in 1490 after the death of Matthias Corvinus. He made some major additions to the Royal Palace, notably Vladislav Hall, on the west end of the palace near St. Vitus Cathedral. There the architect Benedikt Ried combined Late Gothic elements with the new Renaissance style. Vladislav Hall was used for state occasions such as royal coronation ceremonies, major celebrations, knightly tournaments – there was even a special staircase, the Riders’ Staircase, which enabled knights on horseback to ride into the hall for jousting competitions. Ried also added a wing extending south, perpendicular to the main palace, which runs east-west. It was a tall 3-story structure named the Ludvig Tower, after Vladislav’s son, who would perish fighting the Turks in Hungary in 1526.
In 1517 Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses on the church door in Wittenburg, Germany, and thereby launched the Protestant Reformation. It might be expected that given its prior history, Bohemia might be fertile ground for the spread of Protestantism, and that in fact is what happened; the Hussites enthusiastically welcomed it. However, by the 1550s the Protestants had split into a number of contentious variants, and the two dominant confessions, Lutheranism and Calvinism, both enjoyed adherents in Bohemia. Another significant development was that in 1526, after King Ludvig (or Louis, if you prefer the French version) of Bohemia and Hungary, successor of Vladislav II, was killed fighting the Ottoman Turks, the Austrian Habsburgs managed to acquire the crowns of both Bohemia and Hungary, which they were to retain until 1918.
At first the Habsburgs, notwithstanding their energetic efforts to reverse the Protestant Reformation in Germany and elsewhere, did not attempt to undo the Kutna Hora arrangements; indeed, as late as 1609 Emperor Rudolf II issued a Letter of Majesty to reaffirm the religious liberties of Bohemia. But this situation did not outlast Rudolf’s death in 1612. Both of his successors, his brother Matthias and especially Ferdinand II, were enthusiastic proponents of the Catholic Counter-Reformation, and as Regent of Austria Ferdinand had been ruthlessly expunging Protestantism from his provinces for years. Also, after 1612 the Hapsburgs moved the Imperial capital from Prague to Vienna, not an auspicious portent for Bohemia.
The Estates of the Bohemian Diet were acutely aware of the situation, and they accepted Matthias, and later Ferdinand, as King only after they agreed to guarantee the Estates’ existing privileges and liberties. Unfortunately, the Habsburgs’ understanding of the compact did not accord with that of their Protestant subjects, especially after the declining Matthias appointed Ferdinand his heir and had him elected King of Bohemia and Hungary in 1617.
Immediately upon Ferdinand’s accession, disputes between Ferdinand and the Bohemian Estates began over the extent of Protestant liberties and the scope of royal authority. In 1618 Ferdinand sent several senior officials, designated Lords Regent, to Prague to negotiate the issues with the Bohemian Protestant leaders, i.e. to impose his will on them. On May 23, 1618, they all met in the Royal Palace (the Old Royal Palace, that is; the new one did not yet exist), on the top floor of the three-story Ludvig tower. There, after a short discussion during which the Protestant leaders concluded that their counterparts were not negotiating in good faith, they seized the two most hard-line envoys, along with their secretary, and performed what had now become a traditional Bohemian ritual. But this time there was a new twist to the event. Unlike the victims of the First and Second, those of the Third Defenestration of Prague were not killed by the 21 meter (70 feet) fall from the tower; they were injured, but escaped death and went on to enjoy illustrious careers in Ferdinand’s service. Catholics immediately ascribed their survival to a miracle performed by the Virgin Mary, who was said to have caught them in mid-air; Protestants claimed that their good fortune was the result of landing in a dung heap, which cushioned their fall. Neither account has ever been convincingly verified.
The consequences of the Third Defenestration of Prague turned out to be disastrous, first of all for the Protestants, then for Bohemia, and finally for Europe: it started one of the most terrible conflicts in history, the Thirty Years’ War. I’ll have more to say about that in due course.
I wanted very much to see the site of the Third Defenestration of Prague, but it was not on the itinerary, time was short and I’m probably the only one on the tour who cared or who even knew about any of the Defenestrations of Prague. Nor was I able to see the location in the palace garden where the three victims landed after their involuntary descent from the tower, where today a monument called the Slavata Obelisk, named after the most seriously injured of the three, Count Vilem Slavata of Chlum, stands to commemorate the event. It was a big disappointment for me, but I soon got over it since there were so many other sights to see.
From the Third Courtyard of the palace we trekked back through the Second and crossed the Powder Bridge again to meet our bus, which was to take us next to the Old Town and the Josefov, the old Jewish quarter, where we were to gain a very different perspective on the history of Prague.