OLD PRAGUE
LEGENDS

Based on legends handed down through the ages and retold by Magdalena Wagnerová

Copyright © Magdalena Wagnerová, 2007

Translation © Ivan Gutierrez, 2008

© Nakladatelství Plot, 2008

ISBN 978‒80‒7428‒225‒6 (EPUB)

ISBN 978‒80‒7428‒226‒3 (MOBI)

ISBN 978‒80‒86523‒87‒3 (print)

Choosing to found a city in the heart of the Bohemian basin on the banks of the Vltava River was providential; nonetheless, the city has not always been favoured by fortune. From time immemorial, it has been an important cultural, commercial and political crossroads of Europe. It was here that the eastern Slavic stock came into contact with Western civilisation; for centuries, the most momentous ideas and interests have converged at this spot. As early as the 14th century, Prague – then the seat of Charles IV, Bohemian King and Roman Emperor – was already among the leading cities of Europe…

Josef Kroutvor: Prague, a City of Sharp Edges

1.
THE FOUNDATION OF PRAGUE

Long, long ago, when the Vltava wove through an untamed land, making its way past rocky crags, its banks were only rarely glimpsed by human eyes. And then one day the envoys of the mythical Duke Krok camped at the foot of a steep rocky promontory that overlooked the river, climbed to the top and – because the spot appealed to them from the very first – returned later with the duke, his entourage and the rest of their people. The duke had the wood at the summit cleared and built a castle there. That was how Vyšehrad was born.

Time passed and Duke Krok had three daughters. Kazi settled near Osek, Teta had a castle built by the river Mže and named it Tetín and Vyšehrad was passed on to Libuše. It is said that the woman was not only very wise, but endowed with prophetic powers as well, so she was familiar with both the present and the future. As a result, her rule was temperate and just. When the time was ripe, she brought Přemysl the Ploughman to the castle to be her husband.

Once, while Duchess Libuše looked down from her lofty citadel towards the Vltava – perhaps she was watching the sunset reflected in the river’s surface, or perhaps she was simply wondering about the fate that awaited her people – her eyes suddenly wandered off into the distance and she said, ‘Behold, I see a great city whose glory will one day reach the stars!’ Without delay, her attendants struck off in the direction she had indicated. They forded the river and went on through a deep wood. They knew, for Libuše had prophesied it, that they would encounter a man who would be hard at work.

Libuše’s words came true as predicted. The party came to the open land at the foot of a hill called Petřín, where a man was fashioning a wooden threshold for his house. They halted there and that is where people later built a castle and an extensive town underneath it, which they surrounded with high walls and a deep moat so the site would be safe and impervious to enemy forays for ages to come. The city was named Praha – ‘threshold’ – and just as long ago people would bow before the threshold when they entered a house, they bow today before the beauty and splendour of the city, whose foundation, it is said, was prophesied by Duchess Libuše.

Who knows whether the name really derives from the threshold being made by the man at the foot of Petřín Hill? Some say it does, others disagree. Some people maintain that the city got its name from the prahy – ‘rapids’ or ‘shoals’ – that form in the Vltava, or because it was necessary to vyprahnout – ‘scorch’ – the woods to be able to build in the area. Yet other legends recount that the name Praha comes from the vyprahlý – ‘scorched’ or ‘parched’ – slate of the Hradčany ridge where the original fort was constructed. Whatever the truth may be, Prague is a lively city to this day and people really do bow before its beauty, no matter where they come from or which version of the old legend about the way Prague was born they might favour.

Vyšehrad, period engraving

2.
THE CHURCH OF OUR LADY BEFORE TÝN

Today we can no longer say with certainty which church was really the first one in Prague, but clues in some legends point to the site of the Church of Our Lady before Týn – that is, to today’s Old Town Square. This also tallies with the fact that numerous historical sources refer to the right bank of the Vltava as the place where old Prague sprang up.

Many sources indicate – and archaeological research confirms – that the site was originally occupied by a small Romanesque church and replaced in time with a Gothic building.

Long ago, in pagan times, the sanctuary was situated next to a building where the princess Ludmila used to live. They were hard times; during the reign of the princess Drahomíra Christian church services were forbidden, so before daybreak the devout Ludmila and her grandson, the future King Wenceslas, would access a chapel underneath the church, where a priest would say morning mass in complete secrecy, by means of a concealed underground passageway.

Even today, it is obvious at first glance that the Týn Church has been associated with Old Town Square – and vice-versa – since time immemorial. The stories of these two important city landmarks are interwoven and the fateful events that touched one in all likelihood touched the other. The site where the Týn Church stands today was originally occupied by a hospital chapel. The town had built the hospital mainly for people from out of town who had come to market. As early as the 11th century, there was probably a fortified merchants’ courtyard – a týn – there, a space secured with a wooden closure in the cellars of which various goods were stored. Later, the Týn hospital chapel became a three-nave town church. Týn Church as such was founded by Charles IV. Eventually, an adjoining building was purchased in addition to the church and construction work was initiated. The historical sources indicate that in 1437 wood was brought for the construction of a new roof frame, but – such things sometimes happen – the wood was ultimately used for completely different purposes: for the construction of a three-storey gallows to hang a group of Bohemian noblemen led by Roháč of Dubé. In the end, the Týn Church’s roof frame was built about twelve years later, using wood originally earmarked for the construction of scaffolding for the dancing and knightly entertainment accompanying the wedding of Ladislav Posthumous and the daughter of the French king.

However, the king died and the event was cancelled, so the wood was used to build the Týn Church instead.

There is a charming story about one of the bells in the towers of Týn Church:

Long ago, a rich noblewoman lived in the Týn parish. However, as her wealth grew, her heart grew ever harder. She held the poor in contempt, mistreated her servants and did not know the meaning of compassion. It came as no surprise that her attendants came and went like the clouds in the sky. Once, the lady took a very good and devout country girl into her service. No matter how hard the girl tried, the lady was never satisfied with her work. One evening, the girl was dressing her mistress for a social event when the bell at Týn Church tolled, bidding the faithful to pray. The girl put down everything and put her hands together for the evening prayer. The lady was so incensed that she started strangling the poor maid and did not stop until she was dead. The lifeless body slipped to the floor and at last the lady realised the horror of her deed. But it was too late; she was unable to bring the girl back to life. The rich noblewoman was brought before the law, but since she had hired a shrewd lawyer, she was set free. Nonetheless, in time the murderer’s conscience awoke. Whenever she heard the church bells ring, her terrible deed would materialise before her eyes. She began to languish and literally wither before people’s eyes. When she could no longer bear the weight of her conscience, she decided to enter a convent to cut herself off from worldly pleasures and atone for her sins. Before doing so, however, she had a bell cast to remind her of the girl’s woeful voice and donated it to Týn Church so it might call the faithful to pray in eternal memory of the poor girl.

The earliest seal of the Old Town

3.
UNGELT

Whoever walks along the winding, narrow Týn Street will feel the breath of bygone times, because he has – for a moment at least – found himself in the authentic old Prague which was alive there many hundreds of years ago. Even though the buildings have undergone numerous reconstructions, have been repainted and re-roofed, their walls, arches and portals are the clear proof that the houses there go far back into the distant past.

There used to be a market there, which was inaugurated sometime in the 10th century. Most likely it corresponded to the desire of the Bohemian dukes that merchants arriving in the city from faraway lands have a place to lay not only their goods, but their bodies as well. The site’s old Slavonic name – Týn (a fenced in space with cellars for storing goods) – comes from this fact. The area had other names as well: Fronholf (Merry Court) and Ungelt.

The last one – Ungelt – points to the fact that it used to be, among other things, a place where people could exchange foreign currencies. The explanation for the original term ‘Merry Court’ suggests itself: if a great number of merchants gathered there, there would surely be no lack of entertainment. It is said that traders would converge there from all corners of the world, from Genoa and Venice to Germany, Poland and France. They brought clothes from Venice, figs and almonds from Greece, spices from faraway lands, cloth from Flanders and velvet or furs from Poland. Foreign merchants were given a five-day deadline: if they did not start selling their goods within five days of unloading them, they had to leave. For all types of edibles a limit of three days was fixed. Only Bohemians and Moravians were allowed to shop at Ungelt. For this purpose, the aldermen of Prague appointed agents who had to provide guarantees backed with their honour and a sum of money. If the agent still engaged in dishonourable behaviour – that is, if he contributed to illegal purchases or loans, he was marked as a perjurer and his tongue was nailed to a post on the square. And he would remain there until he tore himself away from the post.

An interesting story is told about Ungelt during the times Rudolf II occupied the throne:

It was so long ago that no one can say with certainty whether the events happened the way they have been handed down to us. What is certain, though, is that Rudolf II was enthroned at Prague Castle and foreigners from far and wide would gather at Týn in the Old Town. Sometimes, even though the Ungelt innkeeper had let out all his rooms, people would keep arriving, so they had to look for lodgings in the neighbouring houses. One such visitor, a merchant from faraway Padua, found a room in the house of a wheelwright whose family had lived at Ungelt for several generations. The wheelwright put the young foreigner up, introduced him to his wife and three sons, invited him to sit at his dinner table and whiled away the evening telling stories of his trade.

A few days later, the wheelwright’s wife fell ill, but no one knew what illness had befallen her. The doctors who were called in were baffled. The woman’s condition worsened. When the family had begun to lose hope, the merchant from Padua asked if he might be allowed to tend to the woman. He bought medicinal herbs and spent three days personally preparing infusions which he then used to cure the woman.

Time passed and the day came when the merchant had sold all the wares he had brought to Prague. It was time to return to Padua. The merchant wanted to pay for his room and board, but the wheelwright would not accept his money. Instead, he insisted that from then on the merchant should consider the house as if it were his own and that whenever his journeys might lead him through Prague, he should knock at his door – the Paduan would always find a place to rest at the wheelwright’s house. So, the merchant gave thanks, took his leave and gave the wheelwright’s wife three curious candles as a token of his appreciation. ‘As long as they burn with a steady, bright flame’, he said, ‘all will be well with your sons.’ And he left.

Life went on, war broke out and the eldest son went off to fight in Hungary. The wheelwright’s wife lit the first candle and sat up night after night, watching its flame anxiously. One day the candle went out and soon the news came that his son had fallen in battle.

Meanwhile, the middle son had grown up and was hungry for adventure. His parents tried to dissuade him, but their efforts were useless, for the young man would not listen to their entreaties and finally set off into the world. The wheelwright’s wife lit the second candle and sat up night after night watching its flame anxiously. On the seventh day the flame fluttered. The candle wavered for three days and three nights until – to the entire family’s horror – it finally went out. Shortly thereafter, the news came that the wheelwright’s middle son had fallen ill abroad and struggled with a high fever for three days before succumbing to the illness.

In time, the youngest son took up his father’s trade and the time came for him to set off to Vienna to sell his goods. The wheelwright’s wife lit the third candle. At first the candle burned steadily and brightly, but when a week had gone by, the flame fluttered, just as it had when the middle son had fallen ill abroad. The old wheelwright waited no longer and set off for Vienna. He found his son in hospital, gravely wounded by a skittish horse. The doctors had given him up for lost. But then the old wheelwright remembered the merchant from Padua who had saved his wife’s life. He bought herbs and spent three days personally preparing infusions with which he brought his son back to health, to the amazement of all. Then they both went back home, the son eventually got married and the old wheelwright lived to enjoy his grandchildren. He would have gladly thanked the merchant from Padua, but the Paduan was never seen at Ungelt again.

Ed. Herold: At Týn Court (western side with a view of the Church of Our Lady before Týn)

4.
THE OLD TOWN ASTRONOMICAL CLOCK

The town hall is the heart of every town, and it should come as no surprise when a town’s councillors tend to its business as they tend to their own hearts – as did the councillors of Prague during the late 15th century. Ever since the early 12th century, the political and cultural life of the city had centred around the Old Town Hall. Through the centuries, the councillors made sure their town hall was a truly dignified place, worthy of such a significant and beautiful city as Prague. The city grew slowly as more and more houses were built and the ensemble became more and more variegated – and thus all the more dear to all Bohemians. And when a clock was crafted for the Old Town Hall, the building became the unquestioned pride of the city. Its creator was mistakenly thought to be a certain Master Hanuš, also known as Jan Růže, a Bohemian clockmaker and master mathematician at Charles University, but Master Hanuš only improved upon the clock and repaired it thirty long years after its fabrication. It turns out that the real creator of the original – albeit considerably simplified – clockwork was a clockmaker named Mikuláš of Kadaň, who designed the clock around 1410.

The Old Town Clock was the envy of all Europe. It indicated not only the years, months and hours, but also the rising and setting of the sun, the waxing and waning of the moon and the signs of the zodiac. What is more, a group of moving statuettes had been placed above the dial, making the clock a wondrous spectacle. There was a skeleton that marked each hour, a Turk who shook his head, a vain man who gazed into a mirror and a miser who jingled a money pouch, as did all of the city’s misers. An angel stood between two small windows which opened every hour, allowing the twelve apostles to bow to the Old Town Square underneath them. The procession was closed by Christ giving His blessing with His right hand, after which the windows closed and the following hour was struck.

After the death of Master Hanuš sometime around 1497, the clock stopped for many years. According to legend, this did not happen by chance. The clock was the pride of the town hall and the city as a whole. People from all over Bohemia, Moravia and other faraway lands would come to admire it, so it was to be expected that sooner or later someone would express an interest in it and ask Master Hanuš to design a similar clock for their town hall in some foreign, far-off city. Prague’s town councillors became worried that they would lose their unique status and so they started wondering what they could do to prevent it. Even though Master Hanuš swore that he would never betray the city of Prague or tell anyone how to design a similar clock for any price, the councillors were not persuaded by his oaths. So, they hatched a terrible plan. One dark night two masked hired men snuck into Master Hanuš’s home and blinded the poor man. That was the only way the councillors could rest assured that the Master would not draw up plans for another clock for their competitors and thus their little wonder – as they liked to call the Old Town Clock – would remain unique to the city of Prague.

Master Hanuš was delirious with fever for many days after he was blinded and his wounds seemed not to heal, but in the end he survived the worst. He could not figure out who would want to blind and old man like him who only looked after the town’s clock. However, as usually happens, he found out the truth and began plotting his revenge. One day, he had himself taken to his beloved clock, let his fingers wander over the clockwork for the last time and pulled a lever; the clock slowly ground to a halt and grew silent. Shortly afterwards, Master Hanuš passed away and took the secret of the clock with him into his grave. For many years, the Old Town Clock was still and people started to say that the clock would remain still until the Prague councillors’ horrible deed faded away into oblivion.

L. Kohl: The Old Town Square in the early 19th century

5.
THE HORSE MARKET
AND ST WENCESLAS, PATRON
OF BOHEMIA

When Prague’s New Town was coming into being, no one would have thought to call the area occupied by presentday Wenceslas Square a square. Everyone knew it as the Horse Market. The area was primarily devoted to trading in horses and the sale of all sorts of agricultural products. Thanks to the nearby Old Town, the Horse Market soon became the New Town’s main market and the site of bustling trade activities. The original, descriptive name remained in use until the revolutionary year of 1848, when the largest boulevard in Prague was ceremonially renamed Wenceslas Square. The dominant feature of the large city thoroughfare is clearly the National Museum, which presides quietly and wisely over the events that unfold below it. The museum is inseparably associated with the statue of the patron of Bohemia, St Wenceslas. It would be difficult to estimate how many important events in the history of the country have taken place there, how many people have seen the statue as a symbol of Prague, or how many young couples have arranged to meet there.

The Horse Market with the original statue of St Wenceslas

B. Kutina: View of Hradčany from the former Horse Gate on Wenceslas Square

The stone monument to St Wenceslas by J. J. Bendl which stood there during the Baroque was replaced with a new bronze statue from the workshop of the renowned Bohemian sculptor J. V. Myslbek. The statue depicts Duke Wenceslas of the Přemyslid dynasty, who is better known as a great symbol – the symbol of the Bohemian nation.

Duke Wenceslas was an enlightened ruler. He lived in the years 907‒935, approximately, fostered the spread of Christianity, founded the St Vitus Rotunda at Prague Castle, and, throughout his entire reign, tried to consolidate the power of the Přemyslid rulers. He was murdered, probably for political reasons, by the hand of his brother Boleslav I. Afterwards, his body was transferred to St Vitus Cathedral, where he became the focus of the cult of St Wenceslas. Ever since the 10th century, Duke Wenceslas has been honoured as a saint and his life and martyr’s death have become the subject of many a legend.

The most well known among them tells that St Wenceslas is still alive, living with his brave knights inside the fabled Mount Blaník. Today, it is still possible to make out the remains of a stone fortress in the shadow of the tall trees at the mountain top. And underneath, at the mountain’s core, lies the army of St Wenceslas in deep slumber, awaiting the day of the Czech nation’s greatest trials. Then, it is said, Blaník will open up and the knights will burst out in full armour, led by St Wenceslas on his white horse, standard in hand, and come to the aid of the Czech nation.

Following a great battle, St Wenceslas and his knights will drive all invaders and enemies out of the Czech Lands. Only then will holy peace and tranquillity reign over the Czech Lands. Although many Czechs will die during the strife, those who survive will learn from their mistakes and those of their ancestors and govern their land wisely till the end of time.

The St Wenceslas seal

6.
ST VITUS CATHEDRAL

Vitus was a Christian saint and martyr venerated in most countries in Europe, who died in about 305 during Roman Emperor Diocletian’s persecution of the Christians. It was chiefly St Wenceslas who established his prominence in Bohemia. The story goes that when Wenceslas received the relics of St Vitus from King Henry I the Fowler, he decided to found a church in the martyr’s honour that would be taller and more impressive than any other of the local churches. The foundations of that sanctuary – built on a circular ground plan, as were all the other rotundas – were discovered in today’s transept by the St Wenceslas Chapel.

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