The country between Töplitz and Prague, after you have passed over the heights of Wachholderberg is not, in a picturesque point of view, very interesting. The chateau of Krzemusch, with its fine garden, and the Teufelsmauer, a basaltic precipice hard by, are indeed worth the expenditure of an hour or two to visit, while the situation of Bilin, in the valley of Bila, is beautiful. But you soon escape from the mountains, and then, for many miles, the eye finds little on which it need pine to linger, more attractive, at least, than a wide extent of cultivation. The principal towns through which you pass are Laun and Schlan, neither of them large or very prosperous; the rest are mere villages. By degrees, however, as you come within what may be described as the vortex of Prague, a great change is perceptible. The country becomes much more broken and undulating, while here and there, from the summit of a hill, elevated above the rest, the view which you command is both striking and extensive. At last, the White Mountain, as it is called, lies before you, and by an easy and almost imperceptible ascent, you arrive at its crest. There it will, indeed, be worth your while to pause; for a finer scene of its kind you will rarely look down upon in any country of the world.
Along the shores of the broad Moldau, and climbing, as it were, the steep hills which girdle it in, Prague lies at your feet. The river, flowing on with a clear and gentle current, seems to have cut it in twain. Yet are the characters of these divisions more completely in unison than in almost any other instance of a city so dealt with which I remember to have seen. A thousand towers, spires, minarets, and domes, shed over the whole an air of magnificence which in some sort partakes of the oriental. There are hanging-gardens, too, and a noble bridge; there are large and exquisitely wooded islands in the Moldau; there is the Alt Stadt on the further bank, with its Thein Kirche, or Tyne Church, celebrated in story, and its venerable Town Hall; there is the Kleinseite nearer at hand, where streets and squares, crowded with the residences of the nobles, rise one above another, till they terminate in the Old Palace, and the unfinished cathedral of St. Vitus; there is the Neu Stadt, the handiwork of the Emperor Charles IV., covering a prodigious extent of ground, and enriched with the convents, hospitals, and other public buildings, which owe their existence to the liberality of the Jesuits. There are these, with a background of low, yet picturesque hills, surmounted here and there by some blackened ruin, or other monument of times gone by, which make up altogether one of the most striking inland panoramas on which I have any where had the good fortune to gaze. We stopped our carriage some minutes in order to enjoy it; and then pushed forward. At every step which we took in advance, objects of a varying but not a lessened interest, met us. Now we passed a monastery, an extensive pile, but evidently of modern construction; now a convent of English nuns was pointed out to us. By-and-by the road sank down into a sort of ravine, which shut out all view except of the fortifications that enclose the city, and block up the extremity of the defile. Then began signs of active and busy life to accumulate round us. Countrymen, with their wains, were met or overtaken; bodies of cavalry, in their stable dresses, were exercising their horses on the level; here and there an officer in uniform rode past us; and carriages, in which sat some of Bohemia's fairest and noblest daughters, swept by. Next came the barrier, the demand for passports, the drawbridge, over which our wheels rolled heavily; the exercising ground for the artillery, where a strong brigade of guns was manœuvring; a momentary glimpse of the convent of St. Lawrence, and the old towers of the oldest portion of the palace; after which we saw nothing distinctly, till our journey, properly so called, had terminated. For our course lay down a very steep street, and across the bridge into the Alt Stadt, where at a hotel, rich in all the essentials of food, and wine, and couches, though somewhat deficient in the superfluity of cleanliness, we established our head-quarters for a season.
Perhaps there is no city in the world which, by the air which attaches to all its arrangements, more completely separates you from the present, and carries you back into the past, than Prague. There is nothing in or around it; there is no separate building, nor street, nor square, within its walls, which is not more or less connected by the strong link of association with the mightiest and the most enduring struggle of principle in which the Christian world ever was engaged. Go where you will, your eye rests on something which speaks to you of a time when Prague was indeed a capital. Here in the Alt Stadt stands,—noble in its decay—the old palace of Könighof, the favourite residence of Charles IV. There is the Tyne or Thein Church, within which Huss, himself but the successor of Milicius and Stiekna, and even Janovius the Parisian, denounced the corruptions of Rome; here the same town-hall, where, by the gallant burghers, the doctrines of the Reformation were first avowed, and within which, after a long and desperate effort to maintain them, they were abjured, not I suspect for ever. But it is not by looking exclusively to what may be called the great features of the city, that these and similar reminiscences are awakened. As you traverse the streets, each edifice, be it lordly or humble, presents to your gaze some record of prouder days. "Here an armorial device, there a saint, with his golden circlet or burning lamps, or a half-obliterated fresco, an arched balcony, a fortified gateway, or an ornamented shrine[1] ] ." I heartily agree with the writer, from whose spirited Sketches the preceding extract has been taken, that this old and enduring character of the city is not without its importance. At a period when every political means is employed to efface and subdue the national character, when every act of social life, to be innocent must be Austrian, it is well that there is a power and a spirit in these unshaken walls, and perennial customs, which must needs keep the memory of their great origin and former energy fresh in the hearts of the Bohemian people.
Wherever the stranger may have taken up his abode, whether in the Alt Stadt, the Neu Stadt, the Kleinseite, or in one of the suburbs, the first objects which he is tempted to visit will naturally be the palace of the Hradschin, and the old cathedral. If, as is probable, he has established himself in the Alt Stadt, it will be necessary, in order to reach these points, that he should cross the bridge,—a magnificent structure, which like almost all the most enduring monuments of human skill in the city, owes its existence to Charles IV. It measures not less than 1780 feet in length; it is supported upon twelve noble arches; it is protected at either extremity by embattled towers,—in their day, without doubt, very efficient têtes du pont, and to adorn its parapets on either hand, it has the statues of many saints, with more than one crucifix and two chapels. Among these watchers over the temporal and spiritual prosperity of Bohemia, St. John of Nepomuc holds a conspicuous place. Being now in an especial manner the guardian of bridges, his position here is more honoured than that even of the Virgin herself: he occupies the very centre of the pile, and may be distinguished from the rest by the five stars which glitter in their gilding round him; yet is his canonization an event of little more than a century's growth. He was set up by the Jesuits in 1729, in opposition to St. John Huss, to whom the Bohemians, for many years after the suppression of the Protestant worship among them, continued to pay saintly honours; and he continues to this day, in the reverence with which he is everywhere greeted,—a sort of galling and vexatious, because constantly-recurring memorial, of the system of mental thraldom, under which Bohemia has long groaned.
From the bridge, you pass by a noble street, where churches and stately mansions woo you on either hand, up the steep ascent of the Hradschin; the summit of which will be most speedily, and therefore comfortably, attained, if you mount a flight of stone steps that faces you after you have made a slight turn to the right. They conduct at once to the sort of platform on which stand the old and new palaces, the cathedral, the lodgings of the canons, and the residences of some of the official personages to whose charge these buildings are committed. Of the cathedral, I have already said, that it never was completed. According to the traditions of the place, this is, indeed, the third pile which, consecrated to the worship of the true God, has graced the brow of the Hradschin; but the two first were entirely destroyed by fire, and this, begun by Charles IV., remains exactly as, in 1380, his architects, Matthew of Arras, and Peter Arlieri, left it. It is an extremely beautiful specimen of the sort of Gothic which preceded that of the date of our own Henry VII., and is surmounted by a lantern-crown, similar in its character, and not very different in its dimensions, from that which is to be seen on the tower of St. Giles's in Edinburgh. Yet is the pile, when spoken of as a cathedral, a very sorry edifice, for the choir is all, of his own noble plan, which Charles was permitted to complete, and there has arisen no king of Bohemia since his day, who has cared to bring the work to a conclusion. At the same time, both the choir, and the unfinished chapels that surround it, are strikingly beautiful. The former, emblazoned within with the shields of the house of Hapsburg, with the armorial bearings of Bohemia, Hungary, Styria, Moravia, Burgundy, Spain, and Brabant, more resembles the private chapel of a prince, than the metropolitical church of a nation; while the latter, crowded with memorials of other and earlier days, were, at least by us, regarded with still deeper and holier interest. One of these, the chapel of St. Wenceslas, the fourth Christian duke of Bohemia, has its walls inlaid with native jasper, agate, and other precious stones, and adorned with frescoes, inferior, in point of merit, to none which this century has produced. They are attributed, some to Nicholas Wurmser of Strasburg, some to Dietrich of Prague, two of the most renowned artists of their day, who with many others, received at the hands of Charles, the most liberal patronage and encouragement. Moreover, the exterior of the wall, which looks towards the palace, is richly ornamented with mosaics. Many of the old Slavonian saints are there, such as St. Sigismond, St. Procopius, St. Vitus, St. Wenceslas, and others finely grouped together; while above them is a St. Veronica head of Christ, which would not disgrace St. Mark's in Venice itself.
From the cathedral to the palace is but a step. Though called old in contradistinction to a modern edifice which confronts it, and which the emperor, when he visits his Bohemian capital, usually occupies, this building, in almost all its portions, is of a date not more ancient than the fourteenth century. The Hall of Ladislas, with two or three towers near the postern, belong, indeed, to the original building, but the remainder of the pile, with the cathedral beside it, uprose at the bidding of Charles IV. Nothing can exceed the splendour of the view which you obtain from the windows of its apartments. The whole of Prague is beneath you. There lies the Kleinseite, with the great cupola of St. Nicholas, a church of the Jesuits, in the foreground: there is Wallenstein's palace, gathered round the base of the rock, and testifying to the enormous wealth and princely expenditure of its founder;—here, on the right, is the Lobkowitz palace, with its gardens, rising step by step upon the side of the adjacent hill, over which, like a diadem, stands the Premonstratensian convent of Strahow,—an edifice imperfect in its proportions, yet as a whole strikingly effective. From these, the eye turns naturally to the Moldau, with its noble bridge and islands of perfect beauty; while beyond it are the Alt Stadt, and a vast circle of suburbs,—the former, venerable and striking from its multitudinous towers, its one great cupola, and its peaked roofs; the latter, contrasting finely with it in the simplicity of its large yet unadorned white buildings. Neither will the stranger fail to have pointed out to him, the two small obelisks, which, on a narrow terrace immediately below the palace, mark the spot where Martinitz and Slawata fell, when, at the commencement of the Thirty Years' War, they were thrown out of the windows of the Green Chamber. And it is worthy of remark, that this summary mode of dealing with obnoxious individuals, is by no means unfrequently alluded to in the annals of Bohemia. These two emissaries of a detested party escaped, indeed, unhurt; for they fell upon a bed of manure, and were carried off, and nursed, and aided in their subsequent flight by the Princess Penelope of Lobkowitz. But throughout the Hussite troubles, and in times anterior to them, the right of putting to death by casting from towers and over windows, was claimed and exercised by those in power; nay, and more curious still, it was justified before the world as a constitutional privilege.
As I have already stated, the remains of the Old Palace, properly so called, comprehend no more than a single hall, the Hall of Ladislas, and a few dilapidated towers, in one of which is the Green Room. There is not much therefore, apart from the glorious view, and the historical associations connected with it, to detain the traveller long, who may, or may not, just as the humour takes him, pay a visit in passing, to what is called the gallery of paintings. He will find there no remains whatever of the magnificent collection which the Emperor Rodolph brought from Italy, and very few pieces, the examination of which will repay him for the time that he wastes upon them. Yet one ludicrous representation of hell may, perhaps, provoke a smile; and the portrait of Ziska, whether like to the original or otherwise, as it is pointed out by the valet du place with honest pride, so is it sure to put in its claim to more than a passing notice. For Ziska was among the great ones of the earth. It is probable, therefore, that he will pass, as I did, rapidly into the New Palace, of which several of the apartments are very fine, and all have at least something about them which interests. Here is the audience-room, for example, where the emperor holds his levees, or receives such petitions as his loving subjects may find an opportunity of presenting. Here, likewise, is the Hall of Assembly for the States,—a plain apartment, adjoining to the audience-chamber, and communicating with it by a private door. For the States appear to go through the form of meeting at appointed seasons, and of voting,—all the privilege which they now enjoy,—such a sum as the crown may think fit to require. The concert-room, also, and the ball-room, and indeed the whole suite which royalty is assumed to occupy, may be visited with advantage; and the views from their several windows are superb. I do not, however, advise anybody to linger here; for there is much to be seen, and examined, and inquired into elsewhere, and in conducting such researches, unless time be absolutely at our own disposal, even moments are of value.
Being duly impressed with the importance of this truth, my travelling companion and I made our sojourn in the New Palace as brief as was consistent with a moderate gratification of the feeling which led us to visit it at all. We then wound round the rear of the hill; and descending into a sort of ravine, just outside the ramparts, found ourselves in an exceedingly beautiful public garden. It was full of company, who passed to and fro, or sat in groups upon benches, under the shade of the trees, and sipped their lemonade, or ate their ices, while listening to a couple of bands, which discoursed very eloquent music. Altogether the scene was extremely pleasing and gay, yet we did not venture to enjoy it. So as we turn our backs upon it, let me cease, for a while, to write in the first person, that I may the more effectively deal with the somewhat grave and important matters, which it has become necessary to discuss.
I have alluded to the three grand compartments into which Prague is divided, namely, the Kleinseite, the Alt Stadt, and the Neu Stadt. Of the first as much has been said as is necessary for my present purpose; because, though it be the residence of the bulk of the nobility, and can boast of more than one superb church, whatever there may be of historic interest about it, links itself almost exclusively with the Hradschin. In the Alt Stadt, on the contrary, we find, in addition to the Tyne Church and the Town Hall, the Carolinum, or college in which medical, legal, and scientific education is carried on; and the Clementinum, a great seminary for the diffusion of theological and philosophical lore. They are all that remain of the University of Prague, at one period the most celebrated in Europe; and having been renewed—the former, at least,—so recently as 1744, even the traces of the architectural arrangements which once belonged to them, are obliterated. Still they demand inspection, of which the labour will be compensated, as well by a survey of the magnificent halls and rich collections which adorn them, as on account of the train of thought to which insensibly they give rise. It is to the latter, as they connect themselves with the past and present history of the country, that I wish, on this occasion, to confine myself.
The establishment of an university in the capital of Bohemia, was the work of the Emperor Charles IV. It was founded in 1348, just one year after Charles ascended the throne; and consisted, when complete, of eight colleges; of which the constitution seems, in every respect, to have corresponded with that of the similar establishments in Oxford and Cambridge. Of these, the Collegium Magnum was endowed by Charles himself for a master and twelve fellows; the Collegium Reginæ Hedvigis obtained its revenues from Queen Hedwige, of Poland, the enlightened founder of the Jagellonian University at Cracow; while, in 1451, the College of the Apostles was endowed for the maintenance of students, whose exclusive business it should be to maintain the rights which the church in Bohemia had acquired by the famous Compacta Basilicana. Of these it is necessary that some notice should be taken.