ech's
statement on oath. Anyway, [vR]ip stands there still, much the same as
when Czech discovered it, but for a chapel dedicated to St. George on
its summit, the result of some one else's piety.

You can see [vR]ip for miles round, as it has chosen a fairly level
plain out of which to arise much like a mushroom on the lawn after a
rainy night. No wonder, then, that Czech made straight for [vR]ip,
climbed to the top, looked around him, approved of what he saw, and
decided to stay. He did, so did his friends and relatives and those that
came after them, and no power on earth was able to shift them. The
descendants of Czech are there still. One of these told me that the best
and sturdiest type of Czech is bred round about [vR]ip; he was born
thereabouts himself, and should know. I am prepared to believe it
anyway, as my friend is certainly of the best and sturdiest type of
Czech.

That much for Czech and his descendants; we must now skip a century or
two which even Cosmas of Prague was unable to fill out with legend, and
return to the lady whose bath I have already referred to. Not that I
believe the ruined bits of wall to have contained a lady's bathroom; I
have tried to imagine Libu[vs]a using the place for the morning tub,
and have failed to conjure up any picture that would carry conviction.
However, I do not wish to prejudice the case; come out to Prague and
judge for yourself.

Libu[vs]a was one of three sisters, daughters of Krok, Prince of
Bohemia, or at least some part of it, for frontiers in those very early
days were even more elastic than those drawn by International
Commissions. Anyway, there was Krok lording it over as much of Bohemia
as he could control, from his fastness of Vy[vs]ehrad. Of Libu[vs]a's
sisters, Kazi and Teta, nothing but their names is known even in legend;
they passed into oblivion on Krok's demise, for he ordained that
Libu[vs]a, his youngest daughter, should succeed him. Libu[vs]a,
according to legend, was a model of all the virtues, and as in those
days there was no ever-ready Press lurking to pounce on historical
inaccuracies, we may accept the statement of kindly Saga.

Libu[vs]a had a rare gift, one which proved uncomfortable to other
ladies of legend similarly endowed, uncomfortable both to themselves and
their belongings, the gift of prophecy. She foretold the future
greatness of Prague, and undoubtedly spotted a winner. This was not the
only occasion either, for she did herse