act of imperial bad faith
following on years of a policy inspired by malevolence and tempered by
stupidity, brought matters to a climax. A heated scene in the Council
Chamber of the Castle of Prague ended in what is described as the "Act
of Defenestration." In plain English, the Emperor's lieutenants, who, by
the way, happened to be a couple of Czech gentlemen bringing evidence of
the sovereign's treachery, were thrown out of the window. A midden in
the moat broke their fall; the officials fell soft, and got safely away.
But this very distinct lack of appreciation of the Emperor's demands on
the part of the Bohemian Estates let loose all the horrors of the Thirty
Years' War, a conflict which, waged under the cloak of religion and with
the blessings of Rome, set back civilization in Central Europe for many
generations. For the Czech inhabitants of Bohemia and Moravia, as for
those of Teuton origin who sympathized with the liberal movement of the
time, the battle of the White Mountain and its tragic sequel on that
21st of June was the death-knell of their hopes.

That there were Germans among the victims shows that it was not merely
racial rivalry as between Slav and Teuton, and that there was one Roman
Catholic among the number demonstrates that their protest was not
directed solely against the power and presumption of an intolerant
creed.

[Illustration: ON THE WHITE MOUNTAIN.]

The beauty of the architectural composition grouped about the Town Hall
was spoilt by the same black note that marked the 21st of June of this
year of grace. A large tribune, draped in black, projected well out into
the square from under the slender turret of the Town Hall Chapel.
Escorted by alien mercenaries, the twenty-seven martyrs were led to
execution; the dull, continuous rolling of drums accompanied the scene
until the last victim had been disposed of. Strange to relate, the sword
which was used by the one executioner was discovered some forty-four
years ago in an Edinburgh curiosity shop. On its basket hilt are graven
the names of the Bohemian gentlemen who fell by it (three of the
twenty-seven were hanged), and under those names the remark in the Czech
language: "The last unhappy task, on 21st June 1621. G. M." The sword
has returned to the country where the effects of its fell work are felt
to this day.

This day, the anniversary, the sunlit square saw numbers of pious folk
carrying wreaths to place them where white stones serve