Ars Memoriae

I believe we make our own luck, but in Prague, fate lent a hand.

On my second last day in the city, I tried to visit the Church of Our Lady of the Snow. Not for any particular reason, mind you, just that it was on the way back to the hotel from the Leica Gallery and the guidebook said it was lovely.

Sold.

I ran late and completely forgot the church. The next morning, I had just enough time to pop over and try again. I had impeccable directions, but found myself standing right where the map said I should be, wondering where in the world this church could be. I’d almost given up when I decided to slip through the door in the yellow building nearby just to see what I could see.

Imagine my surprise when this plain building – by Prague’s standards – revealed an even more plain church and courtyard. The interior of the church belied its simple exterior: it was like stepping into an immense and beautiful jewelry box.

I wrapped up my explorations just as a tour group disrupted the silence of the shrine. Moving to the empty chapel next door, I admired the simplicity of this space in comparison to the other. A monk approached me, and to my great surprise, he spoke Polish.

He asked if I was part of the group, and learning I was not, asked if I wanted to see something special. He was scheduled to be at confession, but no one showed up so he had a little time on his hands. I followed this strange man through the courtyard, into a locked building, up a flight of stairs, through a locked room, into a tiny closet, and then… through two sets of locked doors…

…. and into his order’s 15th century library. I was speechless. This room was nothing like the libraries I’d visited throughout my travels. The ancient books were not behind glass, untouched. This was a living library.

In the middle of the room were piles of books which were bequeathed to the order, but they lacked the time and resources to catalogue them.

Many were hymnals, but there were also books on anatomy, physics, astronomy, and the humanities as well. Some were undated, but one tome he pointed out was believed to be from the early 15th century. The book was hand illuminated … and he let me touch it. Without gloves. I was in book nerd heaven, though it felt more than a little blasphemous.

My moments in this hidden gem were all too brief, but clearly meant to be.