astronomers of all times. There were, no doubt, any number of
lesser lights in that line during those quaint old days when men turned
to the starry heavens to learn the fate in store for them. Astronomy and
alchemy were often mixed up together in those days, or rather astronomy
seemed to get mixed up with one's daily life to such an extent that no
princely household was complete without its pet astronomer. If things
had gone a bit wrong of a morning, perhaps that "tired feeling" mixed
with a touch of gout, and the evening had brought a domestic worry or
two, you just walked round to your astronomer's for some indication
concerning the future. After bumping about in dim religious gloom among
stuffed crocodiles and such-like accessories to science of those days,
you discovered your astronomer deeply engaged in describing cabalistic
figures on parchment; he would raise his eyes with a far-away look, as
if no henchman had hurried round a few minutes earlier to say that "the
old man was carrying on something awful," your astronomer would descend
to earth for a space and then at his master's command reascend to get
thoroughly mixed up with the stars.

To those days of the later sixteenth century we may trace all manner of
quaint customs, beliefs and observances. People were getting thoroughly
into the way of thinking for themselves instead of believing what they
were told, and they started many ingenious conceits whereon to pin their
faith or perhaps strengthen it. I do not know that those quaint conceits
were particularly helpful; personally I could not derive comfort from a
belief popular in Bohemia, that King David sits in the moon playing on
the harp. My sympathy would go out too strongly for my own comfort,
towards David evoking melody in such a lonely spot, far from all his
lady friends; I might even imagine him sighing for Saul's hurtling
javelin to break the monotony. To these days belongs also the
institution of the rosary by Pope Gregory XII, in memory of the victory
of Christendom at Lepanto in 1571. The rosary was indeed known as early
as the eleventh century, but not in universal use.

While Rudolph was busy with his alchemy, astronomy, and, I am happy to
say, with literature as well, he resided in the Hrad[vs]any most of his
time, and so the Mala Strana enjoyed all the amenities of a Court, the
"certain liveliness" that pertains thereto having shifted from the Old
Town to the left bank of the river. I have sough