A Day in a Monastery

Here's where I spent my day: in a monastery perched on a hilltop overlooking Prague. Strahov Monastery belongs to the Premonstratensian Order, and has been around for several hundred years. It's official name was "Mount Zion" -- very fitting, I think.

It's come close to death several times. The first was during the time of the Hussite Wars in the 15th century, which were triggered by the Catholic decision to burn at the stake the Bohemian preacher Jan Hus. The actual doctrinal differences were pretty minor, especially when you consider the much more radical reformation movements of the 16th century (think Luther and, especially, Calvin and Zwingli). The main essential differences was that the "Hussites," as they were referred to behind their backs, wanted to take wine as well as the wafer at Communion (i.e. sub utroque, under both kinds -- hence their other name, Utraquist). Big deal.
More far-reaching concerns seem to have been related to the power of monasteries, which owned large swaths of land, and whose residents did not always behave, well, monastically.

Which brings us to Strahov. Monasteries all over Bohemia were destroyed and their inhabitants fled; Strahov clung to life, so that by 1595 or so, it had a grand total of 12 monks living within its ruined walls. Still, things must have been looking up, because in 1600, they commissioned massive new graduals for use there.

Then came the Swedes... It's not often you think of Swedes as being dangerous types, but in the 17th century they became notorious for their indiscriminate looting and the death and destruction they left in their wake as they trampled through Germany and Bohemia in the last years of the Thirty Years War. In 1648 they arrived in Prague, and carted off what they could (see my previous post about the sculptures in the Wallenstein garden). This included many music manuscripts. Hmm. I might have to go to Sweden, now that I think about it.

The monastery was greatly revived in the 17th and 18th centuries, but the 20th century was almost too much. The Communists had no great fondness for the Catholic Church, painting them as outside oppressors, instruments of Austrian imperialism, that sort of thing. Many priests and monks had already been sent to concentration camps during the occupation, and the few that remained were essentially forced to leave the monasteries when the Communists took over in 1948. Strahov languished until the fall of the Iron Curtain. The last 10 years have seen massive rebuilding and renovation of the complex, and it shows. It's one of the most photogenic places I've ever come across.

One thing I notice in Prague (and also in Vienna) is the abundance of gold on the buildings. Wrought iron fences, church spires, sculptures -- all are tipped with gold. It has an incredible way of gleaming under grey skies. Here's a sample of what I'm talking about...



The walk back down to the city was lovely, although I don't think I'll be wearing heels on cobblestone again. I notice that unlike Italian women, Czech women don't seem to like the heel+cobblestone combination. Well, when in Prague, I suppose...



I had a chance to see some lovely fall colours...


And also things that make you go, "Hmmm..." such as this fellow holding up the doorway to the Romanian Embassy....
Um, yes, that is an African man in shackles.

Back to Strahov, for a moment, though. It was a little challenging gaining access to the reading room at first, because there is this big showy Baroque Library that tourists go to, and everyone was pretty sure that was what I was looking for. But, it wasn't. The reading room is actually within the cloisters, which may have been why heels were being dragged a bit. But, I had an email from the very helpful curator of manuscripts, and once he was reached it was no trouble to get in. I was accompanied in by a snappily dressed European man with quite the upper-crust accent, who had been assiduous in his efforts to help me. Turns out he (or a friend?) had a collection of rare Bibles, 16th century onwards, I think, that he wished to offer for an exhibition of some sort.

Anyway, I spent the day looking at Old Books, as is my wont, interrupted occasionally by the odd monk wandering in and chattering away with the person in charge of observing me and the one other patron. I wish I'd been able to get a picture of the monks out and about -- they wear snow-white robes, and make quite a beautiful sight against the white walls of their monastery...