Then a church crowded with carvings; old women sitting on the steps, young women and matrons going in to the early mass, of which, as the doors swing to and fro, you hear the loud notes of the organ. Then a square, and tall obelisk, and arcaded houses; and turning a corner there rises the bridge tower, strikingly picturesque. As my eye caught sight of its graceful roof and slender finials, I could not repress an exclamation of surprise and pleasure. Then through the narrow arch, and we are on the ancient bridge, looking down on the broad stream of the Moldau, flowing with noisy rush through the sixteen arches built 600 years ago; at houses, palaces, and churches rising one above another in the Kleinseite through which we have just passed, and in the Altstadt on the opposite side; at the mosaic pavement; at the gigantic statues which terminate every pier, noteworthy saints from the Bohemian calendar, chiefest among them St. John Nepomuk, who with his crescentic belt of five large ruby stars might be taken for another Orion. In no city that I have yet seen have I felt so much pleasure, or such varied emotions, as during my walk into Prague.
Then we pass under the equally picturesque bridge tower of the Altstadt, and enter narrow streets lined with good shops, and full of bustle; and after many puzzling ins and outs, we emerge into the spacious area of the Ring—a lively scene, people crossing in all directions, or sauntering under the arcades; here and there sentries pacing up and down, and small parties of soldiers, in gay uniforms, marching away to beat of drum. And above the farther houses there shoot up the two towers of the Teinkirche—one of the most famous churches in Prague—which were built by George Podiebrad. The church itself is screened by the houses; but, whenever you see those graceful towers, you recognise the site of the edifice which was one of the strongholds of Hussite preachers, and where Tycho Brahe lies buried.
More narrow streets; across the end of a market-place, and passing under the arch of the ancient Powder Tower, we enter the broad streets of the Neustadt. The Bohemian professor at Würzburg had recommended me to lodge at the Blaue Stern, so to the Blue Star I went, and asked for a room.
"Quite full," said the Kellner, at the same time surveying me inquisitively from head to foot.
Two doors off was another hotel, where the answer, accompanied by a similar inquisition, was, "Nothing empty."
A third replied, "Perhaps, to-morrow."
I began to fancy that my not having been in bed all night—boots still dusty, and a few stalks of hay clinging to my coat—might have something to do with these denials. However, hotels are thickly grouped in this quarter of the city, and not many yards farther the Schwarzes Ross, in the Kolowrat-strasse, gave me quarters as comfortable as could be wished.
CHAPTER XI.
The Hausknecht—A Place to Lose Yourself—Street-Phenomena—Book-shops—Glass-wares—Cavernous Beer-houses—Signs—Czechish Names—Ugly Women—Swarms of Soldiers—A Scene on the Bridge—A Drateñik—The Ugly Passport Clerk—The Suspension-bridge—The Islands—The Slopes of the Laurenzberg—View over Prague—Schools, Palaces, and Poverty—The Rookery—The Hradschin—The Courts—The Cathedral—The Great Tomb—The Silver Shrine—Relics—A Kissed Portrait—St. Wenzel's Chapel—Big Sigmund—The Loretto Platz—The Old Towers—The Hill-top and Hill-foot.
I had not been many minutes in my room when the Hausknecht—the German boots—brought me a printed form, in which, besides the inevitable particulars, I had to state the probable duration of my stay in Prague. For three days' residence the police authorities charge nothing, but if you enter on a fourth day you must pay two florins for a permit to reside. I escaped the tax by not having more than three days to spare.