From a Terrace in Prague

by B. Granville Baker

There was that feeling of impending relief from pain, then as of a healing touch when glorious sunshine ushered in Easter Sunday. Larks poured out their soul into a cloudless sky over the battlefield of the White Mountain, the pale green of larches showed up bravely among the riot of live purple and crimson and the flashing trunks of birches, over the wall that confines the park of the Star. The Star itself, that singular monument, a former hunting-box of Bohemian Kings and built in the shape of a six-pointed star, is undergoing renaissance: it is being arranged as a museum for the Czecho-Slovak legionaries. The little brook that makes such a long detour on its way to join the Vltava, passing through the rocky gorge and the winding valley of the Sharka, was very emphatic on the subject of spring's arrival, and its voice must have penetrated to secluded nooks and crannies, rousing sluggard forms of life from winter sleep. Spring was asserting itself with all the glorious certainty of youth, and was calling aloud to all and sundry to come out and witness a brave display in the many gardens of Prague.

I doubt whether any other town in Europe is so well equipped with gardens as is Prague for its size. Chiefest among these is the Stromovka, on the northern slope of the Letna Hill. Your best approach is from the direction of the castle by a broad and shady avenue which leads you first down, then up again to a little plateau where stands a building called Zámek. This building is said to be an old hunting-box of Bohemian royalty: it certainly tries its best to look ancient, but fails to convince you. Then by shady winding ways down the slope to a broad valley deep in verdure. A little stream, which broadens into a lake, keeps up the necessary moisture, and the grass and the weeping willows in their loveliness offer it their silent thanks. The trees on the northern slope grow high: they had to do so to meet the sunshine.

There are broad, shady drives and rides, and many seats, also two restaurants, with at least one band playing heartily of an afternoon. But the beauty spot in all this loveliness is right in the centre—a rose-garden. It is no use trying to describe this rose-garden; only a poet could do that, so all I say is, Come and see for yourself.

Other public gardens I would mention, at least the larger ones—Kinský, Nebozízek, Riegrovy—but there are a number of others, smaller ones, with shady nooks and plenty of seats. These gardens are dispersed about the town in its workaday quarters; at midday—in fact, at any time of day—you may see the workers enjoying a rest and also whatever kindly fruits of the earth happen to be in season—in July your path is paved with cherry-stones.

There are rows of trees along many of the streets; there are many private gardens of palace, hospital, monastery or convent, adding the freshness of their verdure to the beauty of Prague.

No wonder, then, that with so much loveliness about them the people of Prague should be gay and intent on enjoying life amid such surroundings. On a Sunday or feast-day you have music all round you. Look over the holiday city from your terrace, you will see happy well-dressed crowds moving to one or other place whence rise the strains of music. From one side you hear the solemn notes of the fanfarade from Libuša; a little farther away a very cheery brass band is stirring its audience with a rattling march—impossible to keep your feet still; then while the brass band pauses for breath and beer the insistent cadence of a dreamy valse floats up to meet you.

Finest of all was Stromovka. Here weeping willows trailed their weeds of daintiest green; here vigorous chestnut buds threw out their strong scent; here osier-beds were a living tangle of gold and crimson reflected brokenly in the lake where frogs made merry, the frogs being about the only wild animals left in the Stromovka. Things were very different in this park when it was known as the Thiergarten, Hortus Ferarum, as long ago as the days of King John, the knight-errant ruler of Bohemia. It appears that bison, "aurochs," were kept here, and it is recorded that the sole surviving specimen died in 1566, which fact Archduke Ferdinand, the Kaiser's lieutenant, reported to Emperor Maximilian; he was thereupon ordered to ask the Duke of Prussia to oblige with a new couple of bison.

The Stromovka was at one time described as "where the ox preaches on a sack of straw," which description was probably meant to be humorous. The connection comes about by the fact that the tailors of the town held their revels in the Thiergarten every Tuesday in Easter week, and it seems that a sack of straw was necessary to their happiness. This sack, of the finest white linen, was sewn up with great neatness and adorned with bows of ribbon, red, blue, yellow, green and white, by the apprentices. The sack was further decorated with a design representing a lass and a lad.

There seems to have been no particular object for the sack, as it was only fastened to a pole round which danced young men and maidens. As the gay Czechs of the present day are ready to dance without any such fortuitous aid, it may be presumed that there was some meaning in the idea of carrying a sack about and then dancing round it; but the chronicler does not mention this point—he probably missed it.

Not to be outdone by the tailors, the cobblers of Prague had their day on the Wednesday after Easter, and went for their diversion in an opposite direction, namely, to Nusle, which lies tucked away behind Vyšehrad. The cobblers' feast-day was called "Fidlovatchka," which has a cheery ring, and tradition gives the following origin: The cobblers' guild had built a pair of boots, a most excellent pair of boots, for Emperor Joseph, who himself had learnt their craft. Every cobbler's apprentice in Prague had contributed of his labour to this pair of boots. In token of gratitude the Emperor had given to the guild a little tree, silver-plated, on which were displayed specimens, also in silver, of all the implements used in the cobbler's handicraft. This imperial present was displayed at the cobblers' guildhall and held in high honour.