From a Terrace in Prague

by B. Granville Baker

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 Mělnik, 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 Lützow, 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.