Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol3, 1919.djvu/343



Among the qualities of the Czechs and Slovaks that I learned to respect and appreciate during five months’ residence among them last winter, nothing was more striking than their bravery. I am not talking now about the gallantry of the soldier on the field of battle. That I know only by hearsay. I mean the really amazing fortitude of the civilian population, men and women, in the face of great present odds and deprivation and a future which, though hopeful, was full of uncertainty and grave difficulties.

The most immediate and pressing of the problems which faced the people of Prague at that time was the obtaining of the ordinary necessities of life: food and clothing. As I walked through the streets and squares of Prague last January and saw pinched faces and patched clothing, the lack of these essential things was painfully apparent. Some weeks ago I read an article in an American magazine which contained the judicial statement that “of all the large cities of central Europe it now appears that Prague has been this last year one of the worst sufferers from famine.” I can only say of the author of that article that he took a very long time to find it out. Yet his placid ignorance was shared by millions of Americans who were acutely sensitive to the cries of distress from France and Belgium, but knew nothing whatever of the plight of our allies in central and eastern Europe. A great deal of the blame rests with American journalists who busily wrote reports of prospective revolutions that never materialized and street rioting that never took place, but said nothing or only a little about the famine in shoes or milk.

If I refer now to the dark days of last winter, it is not because I want to revive unhappy memories. The late news from Bohemia indicates that, with reasonable economy and some imports, the coming months are going to be a comparatively safe and easy time. But the trying times so recently lived through are worth remembering, because they furnished opportunity for a rather unusual exhibition of popular courage. The visitors to Prague who lived in the big hotels or sojourned in palaces did not see very much of this quality in the people. We who lived with them in their homes and shared their fare saw it every day, and we saw, too, the philosophical humor with which they accepted their hardships.

For instance, I remember an official in the press bureau who had a family to support and an income of a very few hundred crowns a month to pay for everything. He used to get up early in order to walk to his work at the Hradčany and, before leaving home, he breakfasted cheerfully on a piece of black bread without butter and a cup of coffee-substitute. He took his lunch with him in his overcoat pocket. It consisted of more black bread and a hard-boiled egg or possibly a piece of cheese. He came home at night to dinner about half past seven and usually had a hearty but simple meal: a large dish of potatoes or dumplings, sometimes cabbage instead of potatoes, bread and tea. Twice a week perhaps he had meat. When white flour was forthcoming, he had koláče or buchtičky filled with poppy seed or marmalade. Once in a great while he would bring home candy for the children, but that was a riotous piece of extravagance. And when the dinner was over, he would frequently go to his overcoat pocket and take out the mid-day luncheon which he had not eaten, remarking to his wife with a comical affectation of astonishment: “See here, will you! I forgot all about lunch, I was so busy. Never mind; I will have this for to-morrow.”

There were certain fruits and vegetables which had not been in market so long that they had become only a memory to the people. For instance, there were no oranges. The troop train on which I traveled from Padua to Budějovice halted at almost every small station in the former Italian war zone, and at every stopping place small children came down with cakes and oranges to sell. At one village my friend Tvrzický leaned out of the window and bought a number of oranges. Later on in Prague I saw a little girl of three clutching one of these golden spheres given her by Mr. Tvrzický and eyeing it with wonder, not un-