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.

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