Habsburg entered Prague and laid his heavy hand
on all Bohemia, almost to the undoing of its people. But it is a
wonderful thing, that power of a strong race to survive treachery and
oppression until the time comes when it can reassert itself.

There are many accounts of this battle, most of them obviously biassed,
so, for instance, the Imperialists declare that victory was won in the
space of an hour, whereas Bohemian historians say that the fighting
continued without a break from morning till late afternoon. The
Imperialists ascribed their victory to the intervention of Our Lady.
Some fifty years after their defeat the Bohemians erected a church and
monastery to St. Mary on the White Mountain. You may see this church,
looking somewhat dilapidated--I should say ashamed of itself--as it
stands there a monument to the Bohemian nation's self-abasement.

We have witnessed the sequel to the defeat of Bohemia on the White
Mountain, the execution of Bohemian nobles and other leaders on the open
space between the Old Town Hall and the Church of Our Lady of Tyn. In
the words of Gindely the historian: "These melancholy executions mark
the end of the old and independent development of Bohemia. Members of
the most prominent families of the Bohemian nobility, eminent citizens
and learned men, in fact all the representatives of the culture of the
land, ended here, and with them their cause. The destiny of the country
was henceforth in the hands of foreigners, who had neither comprehension
of nor sympathy with its former institutions."

CHAPTER XII

Is another long one, but the last of _A Terrace in Prague_. It tells
little about Kings of Bohemia, and more about Jesuits and the work they
left behind to mark the influence they wielded. There are churches and
statues of their erection, but you are left to decide for yourself
whether you like those works or not. Several historic figures appear on
the scene: Tilly, Waldstein, Koenigsmark the Swedish General, and his
chaplain, Dr. Klee. Mention is also made of some Britons, among them one
with the homely name of Brown, an honest soldier who lies buried here in
Prague. A tale of a supernatural event. A further talk of the river and
about excursions. Finally, an attempt at an epilogue.

You will, I hope, agree with me that a man who sits upon a terrace and
writes about the things he sees and what he thinks about them is
entitled to bring his observations to a close whenever he c