Then follows a scene which seems at once to fix the point of change arrived at, and to make the circumstances more familiar for ordinary readers by the parallel which it suggests with a familiar transition to military kingship recorded in the Second Book of Samuel.
Libus̆a, anxious to warn her people of the full effect of the course they are taking, sets forth to them the dangers of a military monarchy. Beginning with a reference to the story of the petition of the frogs to Jupiter, she reminds them that it will be more easy to choose a chief than to remove him. “Before him your knees will tremble, and your tongue cleave to your mouth. You will with difficulty answer, ‘Yes, sir! yes, sir!’ He will condemn men by his nod without your judgment being taken; he will cut off the head of one, and throw others into prison; some of you he will make slaves, and others exactors and torturers; others, again, he will make cooks or bakers or millers. He will appoint you as tribunes or centurions or cultivators of his vines and wheat, as armourers and preparers of skins. He will reduce your sons and daughters to subjection, and will carry off the best of your horses and mares and cattle to his palace. He will take what is best from your fields and plains and meadows and vineyards, and turn them to his own use.” But though the criminal folly of the change proposed is indicated as clearly by Libus̆a as by Samuel, yet in both stories we find by a strange contradiction the same half-mystical enthusiasm for the person of the first king.
Libus̆a, unable to resist the popular demand that she should take a husband and give the Bohemians a king, tells the people to go to a certain village where they will find a man ploughing with oxen. Him they are to greet as their king, and his posterity will rule in this land for ever. The messengers plead that they do not know the way to the village. Libus̆a answers that if they will follow her horse it will guide them. They obey; and they at last arrive at the village of Stadic, where they find Pr̆emysl ploughing. They call on him to change his dress and mount the horse, as Queen Libus̆a and all the people demand him as their ruler. Pr̆emysl therefore sets free his oxen, telling them to go whence they came, and strikes his goad into the ground. The oxen vanish from sight, and the goad puts forth leaves and fruits. Then Pr̆emysl comes with the messengers; but he insists on taking with him his ploughman’s boots, that his successors may be made humble and merciful by the memory of the state from whence they sprung; “and these boots,” says Cosmas (writing in the eleventh century), “are preserved at Vys̆ehrad to this day in the Duke’s chamber.”
There is another legend which still more quaintly marks this transition from mild and readily accepted rule to the era of physical force. According to this story the maidens of Bohemia founded a city which they called Dĕvín from Devina, “a maiden.” The young men to maintain their independence set up an opposition town called Hrasten. The intercourse between these rival towns seems to have been sometimes friendly and sometimes hostile; but always apparently on equal terms as long as Libus̆a lived. After her death, however, the men won the day, and ever afterwards held the women under their control.
But the golden age of Queen Libus̆a is long past, when we catch sight of the Bohemians in even the earliest period of authentic history. First we have a dim vision of a great Slavonic Empire stretching northwards to the Spree, and eastwards to the Carpathians; of struggles with Avars and Huns, and, above all, with the Franks. Then suddenly, as the dim mist clears a little, we find that the Franks have become Christian, and the great struggle between German and Slav, hinted at already in the poem of “Libus̆a’s Judgment,” has begun in earnest. The centre of resistance to the German, however, is not in Bohemia, but in the neighbouring Slavonic dukedom of Moravia; and it gathers round a prince named Rostislav, who is encouraging both Moravians and Bohemians to stand firm against those peculiar ideas of Christianity, which Charles the Great and his descendants tried to thrust upon reluctant nations by fire and sword. Some Bohemians had indeed been compelled by Louis, the grandson of Charles the Great, to accept baptism; and Christian Bohemia owned the authority of the German Archbishop of Regensburg.[2]
But the Duke of Bohemia, encouraged by Rostislav, still held out against the Carlovingian form of Christianity; the Moravians defeated Louis in 849, and Rostislav strengthened his own position as the champion of Slavonic independence by an alliance with the Bulgarians. This alliance was to produce results very unexpected at the time by Rostislav, and powerfully affecting the future of Moravia and Bohemia. Boris, the powerful king of Bulgaria, had received at his Court a Christian monk named Methodius, the son of a patrician of Thessalonica. Apparently Methodius had originally been brought to the Bulgarian Court on account of his artistic talent; but he was also a very zealous Christian; and when Boris ordered him to paint such a picture, in the hall of his palace, as would strike terror into all who saw it, Methodius improved the occasion by painting a picture of the Last Judgment. The inquiries and explanations that followed prepared the way for the acceptance of the new faith by the king of Bulgaria and his subjects.
LIBUS̆A’S BATH JUST BELOW THE VYS̆EHRAD.
But the Greek missionaries found that the want of a written language prevented them from giving their Slavonic converts full instruction in the details of the Christian creed. Methodius, therefore, called in the help of his brother Cyril, who had been occupied in the conversion of the Chazars, a people whose country lay a little to the north of the Bulgarian kingdom.