Fraternal Herald/Volume 31/Number 5/Impressions of Czechoslovakia

by Olga Folda

Impressions of Czechoslovakia.
By Olga Folda.

(EDITOR’S NOTE.—Miss Folda, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Emil Folda of Clarkson, Nebr., is spending a year in Prague with her parents, studying music. The following article was written for “The Kodak”, published by her college in Wisconsin.)

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It is such a short bright way across the sea. And it sparkles and dashes and foams between us. Once I thought I loved the sea almost as well as land. But now—let me tell you about Praha. I’d like to send you a miniature, one that would be big enough to show you all of its towers and its’ topping gates and crooked narrow streets and tumbling baroque roofs. I took a walk today along the river, the Vltava. I have taken hundreds of walks along the river—mornings, dusks, nights, glad rains and snows but today it was the most beautiful—the most supreme sight of all. When IJ leaned over the iron fence and looked down at the frosty flow of the water, looked out to the great bridge, its gates, beyond that to the rising cliffs and towers of Hradčany, I almost spoke aloud from sheer love of it all. “Are you real? Are you a picture today? Can I poke my finger out at you and touch that shadow on the bridge?” And even the blue mottled background of sky was so far away that I could look forever and never see the end of it.

This is not a sunny land, rather one of pale mists, but sometimes the sun bursts out in such brilliance that the river dances and the bridge looks down at it with silent awe and never stirs. This bridge—I could tell you stories about it. I would call it “Karlův Most and the Ancient days.” But I can’t—I must tell you about all of Praha and the bridge is only one of its noble histories. Karlův Most is the only place in Praha where one walks to the right and one must. It would never do to disturb the reveries of the tender flow of people across it. One must fall into the swing with them and go on and on and look always forward. And in the middle is a corner that juts out into which one may slip and lean over the stone side. The first time I walked across it was at night. It looked appallingly long, the black pavement shone with dampness; mammoth shadowy figures seemed to draw themselves up from the sides of the bridge and lean toward me. I had just passed under a huge towering gate and I saw another at the farther end. They are the fortification towers, built for protection against invading armies. Karlův Most was built in 1400—under the reign of Charles the Fourth, the first bridge in the city. Its construction was a monstrous undertaking and today it still stands as one of the grand old sights of Praha. In the day time. I discovered that the shadowy figures were stone statues representing saints or historical figures, chiefly baroque masterpieces, a few being substitutes of the 19th century. Each time I walk across I seem to find a new one. There is a certain point toward the far end which is called “The Venice of Praha!” I was glad when I found it. It was truly that. The river crept out of its course between the gray old buildings which stood down befow the bridge—dirty water lapping up the steps of the ancient stone houses. It is a perfect small Venetian scene.

If I can’t really dream things, I like to imagine them. This is one idea: Some of you have come to Praha and I must show it all to you. Where would I begin, I wonder? I think I must have had the reputation of being a decidedly un-orientable person while I was in college. I was always getting lost. When I came to Europe this summer you may ask Miss Rossberg, how I hung on to her coat tails. Only once in Italy did I venture out alone, but that was the last time. Praha is a most deceiving city for weeks I was bewildered—I never arrived anywhere. I kept on going and never getting near the place I was headed for. Very often the streets looked straight but when I followed one I decided that nothing could be a more perfect circle. And now now I pride myself on my improvement. First, the idea that I know how to make short cuts, that can wind in and out of cobbled alleys and rickety streets to get to a certain spot and get there, has made me love Praha all the more. And now you must not be afraid to come along with me.

After the bridge the next thing you must see is the Powder Gate. It will remind you of the two towers at the ends of Karlův Most; however, this is even grander, more imposing, more beautiful. It is only one of the eight entrance gates of the earlier fortified Old Town which has been preserved and dates back to 1475. When I walk around the base of it I feel utterly small. I pass under its broad archway and look back at its superb height. It is covered with ornamental designs, carvings, statues that reach from the bottom to the very top. And when I pass under “Prašná Brána”, I know that I have really reached what is called The Old Town, the very center of the history of the city of Praha. We, for you are with me you know, would cut immediately across the big open square to the Old Town Hall. But before entering that we would have to stop at its side to examine the remarkable old clock tower, one of the famous ones in Europe begun in 1340. It would have to be on the hour I’m sure it would be, for then we would see that when the clock strikes, the figures on both sides move, while in the upper window openings appear the forms of the twelve Apostles and Jesus Christ. Below this is the large planetary and calendar dial full of news and moons and earth, months, days, saints’ days. Is it not wonderful to think that it is still accurate, still moving, turning, responding to the sun and the winds day after day? On this same spot in the year 1621, 27 noblemen were executed. The exact spot is marked by a square and a circle on the pavement.

This old town square is an enchanting place at twilight when people scurry back and forth, pulling carts, balancing baskets on their heads, strolling leisurely, as we would do. There is the immense monument of John Hus on one side, behind in the tall spires of the Týn Church, across from that the Old Town Hall and Clock Tower, buldings of baroque architecture and drooping archades, and the little street that leads us back to the Powder Gate. From there we would walk down one of the finest boulevards of Praha, Národní Třída, which divides the Old Town on the left from the New Town; here once were ramparts and moats of the Old Town. At the end of this boulevard, close to the river’s edge stands the beautiful National Theatre. It is a work of art, a thorough work of art. Around the two sides of the theatre are built loggias. Above the entrance we see a chariot with three horses, above that circling the roof, tall statues. Inside there are sculptural decorations and paintings in the marble foyers, busts of writers, composers and actors. There is nothing to compare to “going to the theatre” in Praha—or to the opera.

If we crossed the bridge at this point, we would come to Malá Strana side of the city and, following the little winding, uphill streets we would pass church after church, until we reached the steps leading up to the “Castle of Praha.” Since 1918 it has become the seat of the president of the Republic and of different ministries. The Castle buildings inclose three castle courtyards and a few smaller interior ones. From the Castle, with its fine position overlooking the town, with the steep declivity of the Stags’ Moat, is obtained the most splendid view of Prague on the opposite side of the Vltava. I shall never forget my first view from there, when the late afternoon mists were beginning to drown the city in a deep haze. It looked as unreal and fairylike as anything I have ever seen.

Oh—we could walk forever—among new streets, along river sides, to castle, churches, museums, palaces. To describe them all would be bewildering and impossible. Better, I think, to get somewhat of an idea of the beauty of Prague as a whole, the spirit of it, its ancient magnificence which can never be lost to human understanding—to our artistic sense. It is as different a city from any I have seen in the rest of Europe this summer. To have had the chance to stay here long enough to know it better, to absorb its atmosphere and old world charm, to be able, years from now to consider it one of my life’s great adventures—that is the grandness of it all!(To be Concluded.)