Chapter 10 Bridge across the Golden City

A group of six people finally got on the bridge.What greeted us were the opposite lampposts on both sides, and the classic glass lampshades held warm golden eyes.The river wind was blowing cold on the water, and on the other hand it was bullying my elbows and knees.Fortunately, the two rows of golden bridge lights not only warm the eyes, but also warm the heart, just to dispel the cold for night walkers.The gurgling sound of the water filled my ears, and under the bridge, there must be the Motao River.More than 30 years ago, a lone visitor to the United States often listened to Smetana's "Magic River" and Dvořák's "New World Symphony" in winter afternoons. He never imagined that one day he would step on their road. Hometown, restore their magnificent sound waves to the water waves under this bridge.Leaning on the thick stone railing, you can overlook the wooden frame next to the bridge pier, and there are rows of white gulls roosting. Although the night is cold and windy, they don't seem to be cowering.The river surface in the distance is rippling with the lights on the bank, all of which are comforting copper and gold, with mystery in the gentleness, like the illustrations of some fairy tales.

Bridges are wonderful things.It is erected on both sides of the bank, and it was originally designed for transition, but when people get on the bridge, they are not in a hurry to rush to the other bank, but enjoy the scenery instead.It turned out to be a road, but it has become a grandstand. Not only can you look up at the sky and look down at the water, looking at both sides of the river, but you can also stop and take a leisurely stroll.No one who loves bridges hates its shortcomings. It is best to never go to the end, let the heavy and burly support you on the waves, the shore behind you cannot catch you, and the shore in front cannot catch you.So you are detached from the world, not bound by things, you are literally riding on the back of a river with a bridge as a saddle.The river is a metaphor of time, day and night, and an alias for the dead.However, it is the water that passes away, not the river.Viewed from what changes, the river is time; viewed from what remains unchanged, the river seems eternal.What people on the bridge never get tired of watching may be this life that is gone but still present, everlasting and ever-changing.As for the bridge, both ends hold the bank that cannot escape, and the middle lets go of the river that cannot be grasped. The metaphysical meaning of this matter can be pondered by metaphysicians, and the metaphysical one can be sung by poets.

But at this moment, I can't calmly read a sentence on the bridge, because it is already late at night, and the climate in early November, in this inland country in Central Europe, has a large temperature difference between day and night.Under the woolen coat, I only wore a heavy suit, but no sweater.At this moment, the temperature on the bridge should only be six or seven degrees Celsius.Of course it’s not because I’m ignorant that I came to the bridge with such thin clothes, but because I just went to Fort Bragg on the opposite mountain to attend the welcome reception of the International PEN, and I’m afraid it’s too warm indoors, so I dare not wear too much.

Thinking of this, I can't help but look back to the other side.Nearly 100 feet high, the Fort at the end of the bridge is a majestic Gothic square tower with a black wedge-shaped spire, and the hazy yellow lights shine upwards, standing out like a giant in the night.Clusters of spiers behind were poking around, trying to peep at us. I only regret that the bridge tail fortress is too close and too high, blocked by the back of the neck, and no one can get out.But farther and higher, in the crystal clear sky, a corner of Fort Bragg has been revealed. "Come here and look!" Yinxi called us from the front.

Everyone turned around and rushed to the center of the bridge.Insi is waiting for us over there.Her eyes were excited, and she was looking over our heads into the distance, and even stretched out her arms to point to the sky.We rushed to her side, looked back again, and suddenly, we were all stunned. The fort at the end of the bridge just now became shorter.Behind it, no, above it, over all the roofs, tower tops, and tree tops on the West Bank, the majestic illusion of Fort Bragg rises majestically. In its thousand-window row ratio, continuous rampant and coherent layout, it is long.I don't know how many tens of thousands of candlelight footlights reflected the palace wall, and I felt that there was a layer of illusory eggshell green covering the continuous white wall, which looked extraordinarily crystal clear and dazzling, and just like that, a long dream of nearly one kilometer began.More miracles than miracles, St. Vitus Cathedral rises from the square in the castle, and a cluster of steep towers stand out, towering over all these magnificence, piercing into the cold night sky of Bohemia.

The cluster of high and low towers, with tall heads and tall horns, and hale and hearty outlines, raised the prayers of the saints and believers to the sky, and they were the focus of all eyes in Prague.Underneath is Charles IV, who hides the crown and scepter of the Bohemian king six hundred years ago.The so-called Prague Castle (Prazsky hrad) is not a simple castle, but a group of buildings that are too beautiful to see. They were completed in the sixth century, including at least six palaces, four towers, five churches, and a gallery. The reception just now was held in a luxurious Spanish Hall at the northwest end of the fort.Modern people who are accustomed to the low pressure of the ceiling on their heads are really "open and happy" looking up at the empty hall as high as the third floor.The large chandelier with multiple petals and dense cores is already dazzling, and then reflected by the wall mirrors on all sides, it is even more magnificent.It was originally scheduled to leave at eleven o'clock, but after nine o'clock, we, who were slightly drunk, could no longer tolerate such crowds and predation, so we left early.

As soon as I stepped into the second courtyard, which was as wide as a square, I felt that there was something oppressing the night amidst the darkness, which was disturbing.It turned out that there were two giant spirits behind the palace building, watching us covetously.Surprised, the six walked through the dark corridor to the third courtyard.Before we can settle down, the two towers with compelling cheekbones block the sky and block the sky, no, above; the momentum of the cliff, all the lines and sharp angles are flying upwards, bringing our eyes to the towers. But the jagged slope was too steep for toe-holding, and the angle of the upward glance was too high to stay for long, so the adventurous climbing gaze immediately slipped and fell straight down.

The St. Vitus Cathedral was built in 1344. The neo-Gothic twin towers on the west side were built at the end of the 19th century. They are 82 meters high and the eight-petal rose window on the top of the door has a diameter of At 10.4 meters, the stained glass is painted.All of this was learned later, when everyone climbed hard and saw the twin towers standing tall in the dim night sky, illuminated by footlights, as if they had seen it in sleepwalking, and of course they could recognize the theme of the rose window. Yinxi led us all the way eastward among the interlaced light and shadow of the deep palace and huge temple in Fort Bragg, groping for a way out.She was fluent in German and Russian, both of which were spoken by the conquerors of Prague.She led us to ask directions and order food, all in German.In fact, the Czech language comes from the Slavic family, which is its western branch, and is close to Russian.Taking the word "tea" as an example, all European countries use Chinese pronunciation. Czech says Caj, which is the same as Russian chay, which means learning Chinese; German says tee, but like English, means learning Hokkien.

Guided by the warm yellow street lights, we walked along the gray-purple brick ramp all the way to the back door of the castle.Prague has a population of more than 1.2 million people, but obviously none of them are here.In the cold and windless air, only the laughter and footsteps of the six people echoed faintly in the winding alley.The alley is long and sloping, neat and clean. Occasionally, a car will drive by, and the tires will make a fine and rapid sound on the brick road. Finally we walked out of the castle, looking back at the gate, there was a guard standing guard on each side.Thinking of Kafka’s K who wanted to enter a mysterious castle but couldn’t get the door, but we got out from a deep castle, which may symbolize that Prague is really free: not only got rid of the nightmare of the Nazis, but is now The enlightened president and outstanding dramatist, Vaclav Havel (Vaclav Havel, 1936— ), sits in this Fort Bragg office.

On the right side of the fort gate, the terrain protrudes into a cliff, with stands on it, and a section of remaining ancient battlements surround it.From the battlement, you can see the lights on the east bank across the undulating roofs of thousands of households and the Motao River flowing quietly to the north.The night was blurred, and it was the first time I overlooked this strange and famous city, it was naturally difficult to identify the surprise.But the golden lights all over the city are like clusters of light cores. The gentle and mysterious golden light makes people feel warm and yearning.No wonder Prague is called the Golden City.

And in this network of high and low, far and near intertwined lights, there is a row of golden yellow that is particularly prominent, echoing each other and crossing Lingshui, which is in the southeast of us.That should be—ah, the famous Charles Bridge.Yinxi nodded happily, and said with a smile that it was true. So we cheered up, lifted our tired feet, and walked down the mountain along the ancient stone steps woven into patterns outside the khaki palace wall. But now, we are actually standing in the middle of the bridge, looking back at the ancient temple and deep palace that we explored just now, it suddenly appears on the other side, turning into a castle in the air and a castle in a dream.Really, did we come out of that?This Zhuang Zhou-style question, even if you ask about the flowing water flowing northward under the bridge, the witnesses of this thousand-year-old capital may not be able to ask anything except for noncommittal murmurs. Two days later, we went to the enchanted Charles Bridge (Karluv most in Czech).There are twelve bridges on the Motao River (Moldau, Vltava in Czech). Only this Charles Bridge is not open to traffic, but only on foot. No wonder pedestrians like to cross the bridge.It is said to be a bridge, but it is actually a bridge.Because on the bridge, you can not only overlook the flowing water, but also overlook the two banks: if you stare at the flowing water for a long time, you will be a little hypnotized by it, that is, you will be in a trance. distance.If there is no car dust on the bridge, you can take a leisurely stroll.If there are people performing arts on the bridge, or if there are impressive sculptures, of course it will be more moving.Charles Bridge has all these conditions, so pedestrians linger on the bridge and are not in a hurry to cross the bridge: the means are better than the purpose. Charles Bridge, named after Charles IV (1316-1376), was built in 1357 and was not completed until the beginning of the fifteenth century.The bridge is 520 meters long and 10 meters wide, supported by 16 piers, all made of dusty sandstone.The bridge builder is Peter Parler, the architectural director of Charles IV: he is a genius of Gothic architecture, including St. Vitus Cathedral and the Old Town Bridge Tower. is his masterpiece.Since the seventeenth century, statues of saints have been continuously added to the stone railings on both sides, or they are single statues, such as St. Augustine, or group portraits, such as the Virgin Lamenting Jesus, or local patron saints, such as St. Wences Wenceslas, facing each other at equal distances, has as many as 30 groups, and even the seat of the statue is as high as two feet. It is simply an open-air exhibition of Catholic sculptures. There are no cars on the bridge, and the ten-meter stone-brick bridge deck has become a walkway, which makes it look very wide and open.There are also some vendors on both sides, most of which sell paintings or photos of the scenery on the river. .These small stalls are very loosely arranged, all display business licenses, and no music is played, let alone loudspeakers.There is also music, such as guitar, violin, or jazz band, but because the bridge deck is empty and the sound of water is gurgling, even the enthusiastic jazz saxophone quickly dissipates with the river wind.After the song was over, the applause fell. We couldn't bear it, and we always threw a few more copper coins into the upside-down felt hat.Once I saw someone juggle, very clever.Such a leisurely scene on the river reminds me of the scene in "Along the River During the Qingming Festival". Pedestrians on the bridge rarely drive seriously, most of them are looking around, or in small groups, resting when they want to walk, and most of them are young people.People come and go, and they all go their own way, including couples embracing and kissing each other, and individual privacy is not lost in the public.If you are traveling alone, this bridge should also be the best place to watch students or think about your thoughts. The river view is also impressive, and you will never tire of watching it.Prague is an ancient city with a history of thousands of years. It has long been the capital of the Kingdom of Bohemia. When Charles IV was the emperor of Rome, it was even more expensive as the imperial capital. It was also one of the largest cities in Europe in the 14th century.This lucky golden city has not been seriously damaged by war, and there are few unsightly modern buildings. Therefore, the architectural styles of the past dynasties range from elegant Romanesque to majestic Gothic, from Baroque palaces to Art Nouveau avenues. , have been preserved so far, making Prague a "concrete and huge" museum of architectural history, and the people of Prague simply live in the tradition of art. Standing on the Charles Bridge and looking at the two sides, or wandering in the old town square, you can't see the Gothic towers with blue and green, awe-inspiring, as if wearing armor, guarding the ancient city that has long fallen.But in contrast to these solemn figures, the city is full of thousands of households, bustling with orange-red roofs and neat and close rows of windows below. The lively and lively rhythm directly catches up with Mozart's Allegro.The most valuable thing is the rows of street houses and even the palaces, almost all of which are four stories high, so when you look around, the charm is smooth and the atmosphere is complete. There are many white gulls perched on the bridge piers. Whenever pedestrians feed, they will fly up and weave around the stone railings.Pedestrians only need to throw a piece of bread into the air, and before it falls, they feel a flash of white light, and the swift yellow beak has already caught it.It's just a few pieces, yet many Su Yixias were summoned to come and go, crawling through the air, showing such an astonishing lightness kung fu. A visit to Fort Bragg was not enough.The next day, Insi took us to the Golden Lane (Zlata ulicka).It is a long and nostalgic brick alley. In the northeast corner of the castle, one end leads to the Dalibo Tower, which was a prisoner in ancient times, and the other end leads to the White Tower.Go uphill from the stone steps at the end of the castle, enter the castle, and turn right two times.On the south side of the alley is the Belgrave Palace, and on the north side is the stone wall of the bunker, which was one meter thick in ancient times.The barriers are steep and the palace walls are high, and the Golden Lane is curled up in it, like a canyon. A row of small street houses with tiled roofs lean against the thick fortress wall.After the 16th century, artillerymen known as sharpshooters lived in this row of shabby houses. Later, goldsmiths, tailors and the like also came here to set up shop.According to legend, in the reign of Rudolf II, all the alchemy shops opened in this alley, so it is called Golden Alley. Today, some of these low houses are painted earthy red, some are painted light yellow or light gray, and they are huddled under the sloping red tile roofs, which are hallucinatory. How did they come into the illustrations of fairy tales?This alley is only 130 meters long, but its width is irregular, and the wide part is about three times the narrow part.Walking through the narrow place, you can almost touch the walls on both sides with your arms outstretched. In addition, the house is low and the doors are low, and the color of the walls is painted childishly, which makes people feel cute and cute, but a bit unrealistic.Entering the door, the room is even smaller, as long as there are a little more people, there will be crowds of people, and it seems to be crowded in the elevator room. The artillerymen and goldsmiths were of course gone.Excited tourists probe their brains, go in and out of miniature toy stores, crystal stores, bookstores, and coffee shops, and they will inevitably buy some small souvenirs to go back.The most attractive family nailed a slender bronze plaque on the light green wall with "Franz Kafka House" engraved on it, and on the grass green door lintel in the style of Van Gogh, "20 number two".Inside is a very small bookstore, in addition to displaying some pictures of Kafka, it is selling books.I bought a "caricature map" of Prague for seventy crowns (crown, korun in Czech, equivalent to Taiwan dollars), and I am very proud. "Cartoon map" is the nickname I gave, because the original abstract symbols of the regular map are all drawn in a vivid and vivid way with comic brushwork. The result is: the topography and orientation remain normal, but the buildings and pedestrians , The proportion of the street and the square, but free scaling, unique humor. When the Golden Lane came to an end, there was a section that became narrower, with gray stone brick ancient roads underneath, a pale cloudy sky above, and sloping walls on both sides, mottled with the vicissitudes of life.Pedestrians walk by, their footsteps are quiet, and there is a sense of seclusion in the seclusion.At this time, the time tunnel leads to an empty courtyard, surrounded by thick walls of iron gray on three sides, with only a few high windows that have been sealed.Obviously, this is the end of the castle. In the cold silence, we sat around under a summer umbrella, drinking coffee and hot tea to keep warm.There are two wooden doors embedded in the stone city wall to the south, which are gray-brown and mottled, and they are also sealed.Who knocked on the brass ring on the door last time? When asked about the loneliness in the courtyard, all the stubborn stones refused to answer.We just sat there, as if we were listening to the faint whispers of the 600-year-old castle, telling a gray story.If it was here late at night, the ghost of Charles IV coughed, and the entire empty city would echo.And through the narrow alley, you can still see the tourists coming and going at the other end, as if a lifetime has passed. Anyone who loves music knows that Prague is the city of Smetana and Dvořák.Likewise, readers of literature know that Kafka, the sad Jewish genius, was born, wrote, and spent the short years of his life here. Sad Jews have been in Prague for thousands of years.The Slavs came first and lived on the hill where Fort Bragg is today in the fifth century.Then came the descendants of Abraham in the tenth century, who first settled on the east bank of the upper reaches of the Mortao River, and in the middle of the thirteenth century, north of the old city, just as the Mortao River turned eastward, known as today's "Jewish Old Town". The Jewish Quarter developed around the "New Church" (Staronova synagoga).Although the Jews paid a lot of taxes, the authorities treated them leniently and harshly, and the citizens of Prague were not friendly, so the Jews had no citizenship rights and were sometimes even expelled.It was not until 1848 that the enlightened Habsburg emperor Joseph II granted him citizenship.In order to be grateful, the Jews renamed this area "Josefov" (Josefov), which has been used ever since. Surrounded by the Old Town of Prague, Joseph City is the smallest district in Prague, but it is a must-visit place for tourists.Yinsi really took us on a tour.We took a bus from Florence Station (Florenc) of the subway to Bridge Station (Mustek), then transferred to Old Town Station (Staromestska), and walked eastward along West Loka Street for a section, and we arrived at the Old Jewish Cemetery.Winding all the way from Siroka Street to Listobardo Street, this messy and barren cemetery is in an irregular "Z" shape.It is said that there are as many as 12,000 tombs in it, and the burials have been piled on top of each other for more than 300 years. New soil is often piled on top of the ancient tombs, and new ghosts are buried.The earliest stele was inscribed in 1439, and the deceased was the poet and jurist Abidor Kalla; the last buried here was Moses Baker in 1787.Since the tomb is already full, "there is no place to bury the dead", the deceased will be buried elsewhere after that. As usual, the day was cloudy, cold and windless, and it was already mid-afternoon when we entered the cemetery.In the dry forest with all the leaves fallen, the yellow and rusty cemetery is covered with rows and rows of stone tablets, all of which are half sunken in the soil, either upright or inclined, or tilted and about to fall, or The top of the stele has been buried deep into the soil, or the top of the stele can only be seen when it is unearthed, or it is as high as the people, or leaning on each other with shoulders and backs, and light and shadow are added to welcome or back, the shape of the stele may be square, triangular, or complex and symmetrical, all kinds of strange things, and they are different. foot.The reliefs on the stone surface are ancient and vigorous, and some patterns and patterns themselves have been dripping freely, and after a long period of erosion by wind, frost, rain and dew, half carved by people and half tempered by nature, they finally completed the sculpture exhibition full of mottled and variegated patterns. There are more than 300 sculptures on display. Years of birth, old age, sickness and death, the horrifying dreams of a whole nation wandering in other places. We walked and stopped, paying tribute to it for a long time, guessing in vain whose surname and occupation were engraved on the ancient Hebrew inscriptions on the stele, but we found that the texture of the stone is also quite different: among them, the stone pattern is rough, the blue and nearly black are It is sandstone, with a smooth texture, or white or light red, it should be marble; the sandstone tombstone is ancient, and the marble monument is relatively late. "This large group of fascinated stones," I turned my head and said to Tianen, "can be called the Forest of Steles in Prague." "It's not bad at all," Tian En approached, "but why are there only stone tablets and no tombs?" Yinxi also came over, flipped through the pamphlet, and said, "It is said that the stone was filled with soil, and a monument was erected on top of the soil, with a total depth of ten floors." "It's unbelievable," said Yindi, also holding a camera, and chased after him.I couldn't see Bangyuan, so I saved and I asked Yinxi, Yinxi smiled and replied: "She's waiting for us outside. She said don't look at the tomb at dusk." After talking about it, everyone felt a little uneasy, and felt that the gloomyness of the cemetery aggravated Qiu Shen's bleakness.For a while, everyone faced the group of steles silently, and the sky seemed to darken a little. "Trouble a lifetime, but leave a stubborn stone." Tianen sighed. "It would be nice to leave a monument," Yinsi said. "During World War II, the Nazis killed more than 70,000 Jews in this area. These ghosts are on the memorial wall of the synagogue. It's just a narrow line—" "Really?" Yin said, "Where is it?" "It's in the church next door," Insi said. "Come with me." At the entrance of the cemetery, there is a baroque chapel called Klaus Synagogue, which exhibits ancient Hebrew manuscripts and precious prints, but it is the collection upstairs that is hard to recall. children's works.Those innocent sketches and watercolors, with lively lines, simple composition and vivid tones, reveal childlike innocence, naughtiness and humor.Looking at its potential, if it is cultivated, it may not be impossible to achieve the Milo and Klee of the future.However, after reading the description next to it, you suddenly can't laugh anymore.It turns out that these children were little captives held in the Terezin concentration camp during the Nazi occupation: while other children were singing nursery rhymes and reading fairy tales, they were packed into suffocating vans and taken to a suffocating prison. The gas chamber where the cough kills, the slaughterhouse where the genocide is exterminated. With heavy steps and even more depressed mood, we went to a church in the south.It was an old Renaissance-style house built in the fifteenth century, called Pinkas Synagogue, and it was being renovated.Entering the inner hall, there is a sad and empty atmosphere facing you, and you already feel that the situation is serious.The windows are high and small, and there are only one stone wall after another below. You look up at the sky in despair, breathing hard, as if in a dungeon.The high and steep stone walls are connected one by one. From the upper end higher than the head, there is almost no room. It is difficult for the eyes to move. The red color of blood and the black color of obituaries used for death are arranged all the way to the foot of the wall.Our eyes are dazzled and our noses are sore.After examining Xu Du closely, he turned the catastrophe of extermination into family news one by one.I stood under the wall of Department F, and found that there was a family member of the psychologist Freud, which was engraved like this: FREUD Artur 17.Ⅴ 1887-1.Ⅹ 1944 Flora 24.Ⅱ 1893-1.Ⅹ 1944 Such a line of words, a very short and sad story, tells the whole life of this miserable couple.The husband, Arthur Floyd, was six years older than his wife, Flora. They both died on October 1, 1944. The husband was fifty-seven years old and the wife was fifty-one years old. However, after seven months, it was hard to escape doom.There is another family with the same surname as Sinologist Franco, engraved as follows: FRANKL Leo 28.Ⅰ 1904-26.Ⅹ 1942 Olga 16.Ⅲ 1910-26.Ⅹ 1942 Pavel 2.Ⅶ 1938-26.Ⅹ 1942 It shows that a family of three was robbed on the same day and died on October 26, 1942. Father Leo was only 38 years old, mother Ejia was only 32 years old, and the boy Bavi was only 4 years old.This one alone is crowded with people, with nearly 200 rows of horizontal engravings. Almost any family is selected to check, and they all died in the same year, the same month and the same day, with occasional exceptions, but the difference is not too bad.Near the base of the wall, I found the dates of the deaths of three generations of the Fletcher family: FLEISCHER Adolf 15.Ⅹ 1872-6.Ⅵ 1943 Hermina 20.Ⅶ 1874-18.Ⅶ 1943 Oscar 29.Ⅳ 1902-28.Ⅳ 1942 Gerda 12.Ⅳ 1913-28.Ⅳ 1942 Jiri 23.Ⅹ 1937-28.Ⅳ 1942 According to this string of ominous numbers, it can be inferred that grandfather Adolf died on June 6, 1943, at the age (near age?) of seventy-one, and that grandmother Hemina died about one and a half months later than him, at the age of sixty-one. Nineteen years old: One can imagine her grief or doubts during that one and a half months.As for the father Oscar, the mother Gerda, and the child Jerry, they all died at the same time as early as April 28, 1942. However, whether the grandparents knew it or not is hard to guess based on this row and a half of numbers. I looked all the way over, my heart was flustered and my eyes were sore, as the stone walls pressed against me, suffocating me.Seventy-seven thousand two hundred and ninety-seven naked corpses, ranging from the elderly to infants, twisted and struggled to die in the desperate and closed gas chamber tomb, thousands of limbs were thrown at me one after another Throw it over, and cover me layer by layer.So more than 70,000 names, and more than 70,000 ghosts who were unwilling to die unjustly, wept together on this densely packed wailing wall, the cries and shouts of extermination, husband calling wife, mother calling son, ancestor calling grandson , Such high-decibel grief and resentment surged towards my weakened ear nerves, and the aftermath of history rolled into a vortex that swept me into... I heard the echo of my mother calling me in the depths of the war. Nanjing massacre, Chongqing bombing, where is our Wailing Wall?On the stone wall before us, no matter how crowded it is, more than 70,000 Jewish souls have finally taken their places. Husbands rely on their dead wives, young children lean on their biological mothers, and there is still a square inch of home for them to pay their respects to.But my compatriots, the many lonely souls and wild ghosts under the incendiary bombs of the samurai swords have no names, no surnames, no clans and relatives, no monuments and graves. In the world, has there ever been a Wailing Wall for people to identify? There are not many Jews living in Prague today.In the past, they contributed to the economic and cultural development of the Golden City, but they often failed to win the friendship of the local Czechs.The worst is Hitler.His plan is to "completely solve", leaving only a "genocide museum", that is, the six synagogues and a Jewish cemetery that survive today. German and Czech are the literary languages ​​of the Czech Republic.Rilke (RM Rilke, 1875-1926), Franz Werfel (1890-1945), and Franz Kafka (Franz Kafka, 1883-1924) were both German-language writers born in Prague, but their acquaintances Not out of the circle of Jews and Germans, Kafka, who is Jewish, intends to associate with the local Czechs and openly supports socialism. However, just like the characters in his novels, Kafka could not break through his own predicament, and was destined to be unhappy all his life.Being Jewish, he became the target of anti-Semitism.Coming from a German-speaking family, he had to endure the hostility of the Czech people.His father was a wealthy businessman, and he was not tolerated by the proletariat.Another level of unhappiness stemmed from distaste for his profession: he had been a civil servant in the "Institution of Workers' Accident Insurance" for fourteen years, and it was no wonder that he was obsessed with the absurdities of the bureaucracy. In addition, there were many conflicts between Kafka and women: he was engaged twice, but nothing happened.But it was his strong and assertive father who kept oppressing him and distorting his personality.In an unsent letter, Kafka blamed his father for not understanding him, causing him to lose confidence and feel guilty.His father even called him an "insect" (einungeziefer).The tense family life and strong religious doubts tormented him constantly.In works such as , , , etc., the young protagonists are always misunderstood, misjudged, abused, and even killed by patriarchal figures or authorities. In this way, this depressed and anxious mind wandered and sleepwalked in the nightmare, and was trapped in the labyrinth of Prague all his life. It was not until the end of his life that he died of lung disease in a sanatorium in the suburbs of Vienna.During his lifetime, he published too few works to become famous, and even asked his friend Max Brod to burn his posthumous manuscripts on his deathbed.Fortunately, Brod not only refused to listen to him, but compiled and printed those masterpieces, together with 3,000 pages of diaries and letters.Unfortunately, under the circumstances at the time, none of these works could be circulated.In 1931, many of his manuscripts were confiscated by the Gestapo, and there has been no further work since.Later, his three sisters were all sent to concentration camps, where they were brutally murdered. It was not until the 1950s, thirty years after Kafka's death, that his German works were translated into Czech and into English by the Scottish poets Edwin and Willa Muir. Prague, the beautiful and sad Golden City, has a particularly sad Jewish experience.Kafka's coughing echo can be heard everywhere in this magnificent ancient cultural capital.The Old Town Square (Staromestske namesti), which is full of historical interest in the market, has an 18th-century Rococo-style Kinski Palace. Kafka studied in the German school in it, and his father was also in it. Opened a fashion accessories store.On the opposite side of the square, there is also the Kafka Gallery, at the entrance of the Jewish Quarter, there is a statue of Kafka at No. 5 Messo Street.His books are displayed in the windows of many bookstores, and his portrait is hung. In the painting, Kafka has thick eyebrows and big eyes, and his melancholy eyes are full of anxiety. The pair of pupils are just the high prison window, and the soul of the prisoner is climbing on the window to peep out.His black hair was piled up in a crew cut and fell low on his forehead.The big protruding ears protrude from the sides, vigilant as if listening for any suspicious and alarming movements.The straight bridge of the nose, the contours are sharply slashed from the center of the brows, and are held upright by the plump and sensual lips. The labyrinth of Prague trapped the wandering Kafka into a nightmare, which at last came back to crown the golden city. Prague's subway is also called Metro. It is not as large as Paris or London. It only has three lines, but it is clean, fast, convenient, and cheap.Surprisingly, the tunnel was dug very deep, and the escalator not only had a steep slope, but also moved very fast. If you didn't start properly and held the handrail firmly, you would fall easily.The stairway is long and oblique, divided into two floors, each floor is as high as the fifth floor.The slope down, although not as fast as skiing, is also shocking.When you dive, you can look down at the deep valley, which makes you worry about Yiyuhudi. Putrajaya has a population of more than 1.2 million, and the streets don't seem to be very busy, but the subway station is really crowded. Maybe it's not that crowded, but because the elevator is too fast, and one side swoops down, and the other side goes up. On the top, the trend of doubling and staggering makes people extremely nervous.During rush hour, the car is even more crowded when shoulders rub against each other. As soon as we arrived in Prague, Xie Xinping from the representative office in the Czech Republic hosted a banquet on behalf of his wife and Mrs. Huang. During the meeting, we couldn't help asking about the local security.The owner smiled and said, "I don't know how to rob, but there are a lot of pickpockets, so we have to be careful." Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, but secretly said, "It's fine not to rob. As for stealing, it's wise to—" Everyone laughed. From then on, we have the shadow of a thief in our hearts, especially when we enter the subway station, the guide Yinxi will remind everyone to be more vigilant.When I travel abroad, as long as I have the opportunity to take the subway, I seldom miss it. I feel that I am crowded with the local middle and lower class people. Same pace as the locals, always worth it. One day, on a crowded subway car in Prague, I saw a thin old man scolding several young girls in a harsh tone.At first we thought that the eloquent Slavic language was the elders admonishing the younger ones, until a girl stood up with a shy smile, and the old man immediately sat down on the empty seat, and then realized that they were not a family, but the old man scolded the young man for not being good. If you know how to give up your seat, you will lose respect for the elderly.We were quite moved, and felt that the old man could justifiably ask the young people to give up their seats in public, which shows that the ancient etiquette has not been completely lost, and the folk customs have not been weakened.Unexpectedly, the next day, on the same crowded subway car, a fifteen or sixteen-year-old boy, who looked like a middle school student, got up to surprise me.I couldn't bear to let down the kindness of this good boy, I thanked him with a smile, and sat down immediately.That child "does good deeds every day", seemed a little shy, and turned his face halfway away.This scene left a deep impression on me, and the warmth is still in my heart.This little citizen diplomat, with a single thought of benevolence, has won the heartfelt impression of tourists, which is better than a tourist brochure with a thousand words.The suffering Bohemians have experienced many tortures such as the Nazis in a row, and there are such kind-hearted children, which makes people change their views on the "communist country". On the evening of the fourth day in Prague, we took the subway back to the hotel.When the car arrived at Republic Square (Namesti Republiky), all five people got off the car. I followed behind and was about to step out of the car when I heard someone yelling "Wallet! Wallet!" loudly and urgently.When I regained my composure, Yindi rushed back to the car, followed by Yinxi.There was a moment of shock and confusion in the carriage, only to hear Yin say: "All the documents are gone!" The eyes of the whole carriage were focused on Yinji, watching him grab an old man in his sixties, and grab the hand of the old man. Brown bag, opened it - but it was empty! At this time, the door has automatically closed.Through the car window, Guoyuan, Tianen, and I came to visit us in confusion on the platform.The car moved.Yinxi yelled at them: "Go back to the hotel first!" The train got out of the station and picked up speed.The old man who was searched also seemed to be in a panic, carrying a seemingly innocent bag.Yinxi asked how serious the disaster was in Yindi, and I was in a state of confusion, only dimly realizing that "the documents are all gone" seems to be more serious than losing money.Suddenly, the final stop, Florence, arrived.Yin said: "Get out of the car!" Yinxi and I let him get out of the car.We walked all the way back to the hotel. On the way, we secretly checked our backpacks, and found that there were even US dollars and Taiwan dollars, and the stolen wallet was worth more than 500 US dollars. “还好，”他最后说，“大半的美金在背包里。台湾的身份证跟签账卡一起不见了，幸好护照没丢。不过——” “不过怎么？”我紧张地问道。 “被扒的钱包是放在后边裤袋里的，”隐地啧啧纳罕，“袋是纽扣扣好的，可是钱包扒走了，纽扣还是扣得好好的。真是奇怪！” 茵西和我也想不通。我笑说：“恐怕真有三只手—— 一手解纽，一手偷钱，第三只再把纽扣上。” 知道护照还在，余钱无损，大家都舒了一口气。我忽然大笑，指着隐地说：“都是你，听谢代表说此地只偷不抢，别人都没开口，你却抢着说，偷钱要靠智慧，也是应该。真是一语成谶！” 捷克的玻璃业颇为悠久，早在十四世纪已经制造教堂的玻璃彩窗。今日波希米亚的雕花水晶，更广受各国欢迎。在布拉格逛街，最诱惑人的是琳琅满目的水晶店，几乎每条街都有，有的街更一连开了几家。那些彩杯与花瓶，果盘与吊灯，不但造型优雅，而且色调清纯，惊艳之际，观赏在目，摩挲在手，令人不觉陷入了一座透明的迷宫，唉，七彩的梦。醒来的时候，那梦已经包装好了，提在你的袋里，相当重呢，但心头却觉得轻快。何况价钱一点也不贵：台币三两百就可以买到小巧精致，上千，就可以拥有高贵大方了。 我们一家家看过去，提袋愈来愈沉，眼睛愈来愈亮，情绪不断上升。当然，有人不免觉得贵了，或是担心行李重了，我便念出即兴的四字诀来鼓舞士气： 大家觉得有趣，就一齐念将起来，真的感到理直气壮，愈买愈顺手了。 捷克的观光局要是懂事，应该把我这《劝购曲》买去宣传，一定能教无数守财奴解其啬囊。 捷克的木器也做得不赖。纪念品店里可以买到彩绘的漆盒，玲珑鲜丽，令人抚玩不忍释手。两三千元就可以买到精品。有一盒绘的是《天方夜谭》的魔毯飞行，神奇富丽，美不胜收，可惜我一念吝啬，竟未下手，落得“明天懊恼”之讥。 还有一种俄式木偶，有点像中国的不倒翁，绘的是胖墩墩的花衣村姑，七色鲜艳若俄国画家夏高（Marc Chagall）的画面。橱窗里常见这村姑成排站着，有时多达十一二个，但依次一个比一个要小一号。仔细看时，原来这些胖妞都可以齐腰剥开，里面是空的，正好装下小一号的“妹妹”。 一天晚上，我们去看了莫扎特的歌剧《唐·乔凡尼》（Don Giovanni），不是真人而是木偶所演。莫扎特生于萨尔斯堡，死于维也纳，但他的音乐却和布拉格不可分割。他一生去过那黄金城三次，第二次去就是为了《唐·乔凡尼》的世界首演。那富丽而饱满的序曲正是在演出的前夕神速谱成，乐队简直是现看现奏。莫扎特亲自指挥，前台与后台通力合作，居然十分成功。可是《唐·乔凡尼》在维也纳却不很受欢迎，所以莫扎特对布拉格心存感激，而布拉格也引以自豪。 一九九一年，为纪念莫扎特逝世二百周年，布拉格的国家木偶剧场（National Marionette Theatre）首次演出《唐·乔凡尼》，不料极为叫座，三年下来，演了近七百场，观众已达十一万人。我们去的那夜，也是客满。那些木偶约有半个人高，造型近于漫画，幕后由人拉线操纵，与音乐密切配合，而举手投足，弯腰扭头，甚至仰天跪地，一切动作在突兀之中别有谐趣，其妙正在真幻之间。 临行的上午，别情依依。隐地、天恩、我存和我四人，“回光返照”，再去查理大桥。清冷的薄阴天，河风欺面，只有七八度的光景。桥上众艺杂陈，行人来去，仍是那么天长地久的市井闲情。想起二百年前，莫扎特排练罢《唐·乔凡尼》，沿着栗树掩映的小巷一路回家，也是从查理大桥，就是我正踏着的这座灰砖古桥，到对岸的史泰尼茨酒店喝一杯浓烈的土耳其咖啡；想起卡夫卡、里尔克的脚步也在这桥上橐橐踏过，感动之中更觉得离情渐浓。 我们提着桥头店中刚买的木偶：隐地和天恩各提着一个小卓别林，戴高帽，挥手杖，蓄黑髭，张着外八字，十分惹笑。我提的则是大眼睛翘鼻子的木偶皮诺曹，也是人见人爱。 沿着桥尾斜落的石级，我们走下桥去，来到康佩小村，进了一家叫“金剪刀”的小餐馆。店小如舟，掩映着白纱的窗景却精巧如画，菜价只有台北的一半。这一切，加上户内的温暖，对照着河上的凄冽，令我们懒而又赖，像古希腊耽食落拓枣的浪子，流连忘归。尤其是隐地，尽管遭窃，对布拉格之眷眷仍不改其深。问起他此刻的心情，他的语气恬淡而隽永： “完全是缘分，”隐地说，“钱包跟我已经多年，到此缘尽，所以分手。至于那张身份证嘛，不肯跟我回去，也只是另一个自我，潜意识里要永远留在布拉格城。” 看来隐地经此一劫，境界日高。他已经不再是苦主，而是哲学家了。偷，而能得手，是聪明。被偷，而能放手，甚至放心，就是智慧了。 于是我们随智者过桥，再过六百年的查理大桥。白鸥飞起，回头是岸。