Not even at Pilsen itself
(which the Bohemians call Plezen) is the emperor of malt liquors more
stupendously grateful to the palate. Write it down before you forget:
the Pilsen _Urquell_, Prague, Bohemia, 120 miles S. S. E. of Dresden, on
the river Moldau (which the natives call the Vitava). Ask for Fraeulein
Ottilie. Mention the name of Herr Huneker, the American
_Schriftsteller_.
Of all the eminent and noble cities between the Alleghenies and the
Balkans, Prague seems to be Huneker's favourite. He calls it poetic,
precious, delectable, original, dramatic--a long string of adjectives,
each argued for with eloquence that is unmistakably sincere. He stands
fascinated before the towers and pinnacles of the Hradschin, "a miracle
of tender rose and marble white with golden spots of sunshine that would
have made Claude Monet envious." He pays his devotions to the Chapel of
St. Wenceslaus, "crammed with the bones of buried kings," or, at any
rate, to the shrine of St. John Nepomucane, "composed of nearly two tons
of silver." He is charmed by the beauty of the stout, black-haired,
red-cheeked Bohemian girls, and hopes that enough of them will emigrate
to the United States to improve the fading pulchritude of our own
houris.
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