Prague Panoramas: National Memory and Sacred Space in the Twentieth Century

Prague—Panoramas of History

Prague—Panoramas of History O n a November day in 1995, I walked through Old Town Square (Staroměstké náměstí) to the City Archives, then housed in the baroque Clam-Gallas Palace. The weather was discouraging. A proverb in the morning newspaper warned that St. Martin rides into town on a white horse on November 11 and brings snow every day for the rest of the winter. St. Martin’s day was still a week away, but it had been snowing—a wet, heavy snow—for days. Not the magical dusting captured in black-and-white photographs of Prague, but thick splashes that melted into mud. The cobblestones on the square felt slippery, so I walked carefully, looking down. Had it not been for the precipitation, I might have missed the makeshift site of memory on the south side of the square. Among the cobblestones, in a heavily trafficked section of the square, was a marble plaque with writing difficult to decipher. Flowers and nubs of burnt down candles lay upon the wet circular center of the plaque, but the four triangular corner slabs remained visible. Some of the words on the small memorial had been chiseled out and cemented over, but with effort I made out the inscriptions. Each of the four corner pieces declared—in Czech, German, English, and Latin—the prophetic words, “Here did stand and will stand again the Marian Column of Old Town Square.” This site of memory embodies the main arguments of this book. A group of Czech Catholics had recently placed the plaque in Old Town Square, at the spot where in 1918 Czech nationalists and others pulled down a baroque column and statue of the Virgin Mary. Soon after the plaque appeared, an unknown group or individual scratched and cemented over the words “will stand again.” Prague Catholics then returned to the site and laid flowers and candles, once again marking the cobblestones as their own. The Prague media took up the question of whether a replica of the baroque monument should again stand in Old Town Square: a wide range of opinions emerged, revealing divisions among the population about how public places in the capital city should be 1 w  represented. This controversy echoed the debates about public spaces in Prague that resounded throughout the twentieth century. The definitions of what it meant to be part of the Czech nation or its capital city have never been fully agreed upon, and debates on this have often played out in Prague’s public spaces, through temporary commemorations, such as parades and protests, or through permanent sites of memory: statues, monuments , or buildings. Historiography has often emphasized conflicts between Czechs and outside groups or political entities: Slovaks, ethnic Germans, the Habsburg Monarchy, Nazi Germany, the Soviet Union. These conflicts have been crucial in understanding the history of the Czechs, but they have often obscured the contestations within the community of those trying to assert a strong Czech identity. Looking closely at attempts throughout the twentieth century to mark the landscape of Prague with “sacred spaces,” intended to form emotional bonds between citizens and “the nation,” reveals the impossibility of locating a single definition of the Czech nation. The complex religious history of Prague and Bohemia dominated Prague’s newly created sacred spaces during the twentieth century; in particular, a history of conflict between an early Protestant movement and the domination of Catholic Austria played out on the cobblestones, monuments, and parade routes of the capital city. Although Prague became an increasingly secular city, its leaders still turned to its religious history for the themes of national comSite of the Marian Column, 1995. Photo by author. Prague—Panoramas of History w  memorations. This choice can appear strange or ill advised. In the early part of the twentieth century, rather than search for neutral national symbols, leaders chose Protestant heroes from the national past, angering Czech Catholics; later in the century, even atheist Communists held onto the powerful national narrative of religious independence, lauding Christian figures from the medieval era. Why were these controversial choices made? One answer lies in the power of the sacred in human societies. Religion relies upon emotion and faith. Past stories of martyrdom and sacrifice fit well into a developing national narrative emphasizing independence and defiance against authority. Further, religion and nationalism both inscribe codes of moral behavior for their constituents. As Paul Hanebrink suggests, many...