Last weekend I enjoyed a lovely long weekend in the
beautiful city of Prague in the Czech Republic. Now, the most famous medieval
monument in the city is the Charles Bridge:
BUT, I’m planning to attend a conference in June that will
discuss bridges in general and meet the author of a PhD on the bridge (Jana
Gajdošová) so I’m going to save a post on that for later.
In the meantime, I would like to whole heartedly recommend
Prague as a city break. Do take your walking shoes as there’s a lot of walking
but the food is delicious, the beer is cheap (try the Czech wines too!), and
the architecture is superb.
In lieu of the bridge, I’m going to talk about the fabulous
clock that graces the tower in the old town square (N.B. There’s a restaurant
called Café U Týna on the other side
of the square that serves brilliant schnitzel).
Fourteenth century Prague had become a cultural centre
following the reign of Emperor Charles IV and in 1347 its university was
founded. This led to an influx of intellectuals and ideas to the Czech Republic
and in 1410, this clock was created using the cutting edge science and
craftsmanship of the day by Mikuláš of Kadaň and Jan Šindel.
Now, as you may observe, this is not a normal clock. This is
because, it does not tell normal time.
The ‘clock’s’ dial, is essentially a mechanical astrolabe
(an astrological instrument). The ring with Roman numerals tells modern time
(no minute hand) and is indicated by the golden hand.
The ring with Arabic numerals tells Bohemian time, which is/was
calculated according to the hours between sunrise and sunset. Very useful back
when the working day was determined by available daylight.
The curved lines cutting across the clock (with the spaces
coloured in orange and gradiated blues) mark the unevenness of the daylight
throughout the year. The number 24 on the outer ring (the Bohemian one) indicates
sunset and moves throughout the year.
HOW COOL IS THAT.
So from the photo I took, you can see that it was around 1pm
and that sunset was going to happen after 7pm.
The dial in the centre with the zodiac signs on it tells you
the movement of the sun, stars and moon throughout the year and the relevant
zodiac sign.
I’m going to be perfectly honest and say that my maths and
astronomy isn’t up for explaining how that part of the clock is used in detail.
It was very important when you were trying to forecast fortunes however (this
was the cutting edge of science) or calculate calendars for the year ahead.
A fabulous clock I hope you’ll all agree and an interesting
object though which to glimpse medieval science. Here’s a poem written on the
clock to relax your brains now.
“The Prague Astronomical Clock”
By Jonathan
Fink
Inside,
it must resemble a great churning mouth,
the three
co-axial wheels, all with nearly 400 cogs.
Ignore
the trinkets and pawns, the puppet apostles
that march
but on the hour, the tiny skeleton
striking
the chimes. They all are additions,
centuries
late, to pacify travellers on the Royal Way.
For six
hundred years it has marshalled the stars,
the revolutions
of the sun and moon, the minuscule
placement
of zodiacal signs.
The maker's
intent, the chronicles claim, was to "publish" the paths
of celestial
bodies and meter the universe to discernible
time. According
to legend, he laboured for years,
forging
every pin and cog. So when the clock was
first unveiled
and the hands moved like conductors'
batons,
the city fathers searched out the maker
and carried
him to the centre square. At once,
he must
have thought it grand -the streets spilling
crowds.
Then the politicians closed around him
and the
leanest produced a curling blade. The legend
claims
their motivation as pride, never wanting another
clock built.
And when they were done, each departed
his way,
leaving the maker blinded behind. One version
of the
story asserts that the maker found his way
to the
clock, and throwing the switches only he knew,
swung open
the dial and inserted his hand. Like a magician
producing
a coin from the dark, he removed the smallest
discernible
part. So was a modest reciprocity served:
the clock
hands stayed, the ticking stopped. Yet a realist
would decry
the story's most obvious flaw, that after
6oo years
the clock still works, the sun and moon pass
on the
painted sky. More likely than the fable's neat turn
is that
the maker crawled his way back to his home,
or died
at once in the square from the blade. In truth,
he was
probably never blinded at all, going on
to celebrity,
honour and gain. With due respect
to the
unknowable past, only the justice of legend
remains. So hail to the clock, precision's grand shrine,
and hail
to its lies, the peddlers of fame. After 6oo years
they both
persist, a feat, in itself, deserving of praise.
Notes
Clock diagram:
Fink, J. “The Prague Astronomical Clock”, Poetry, vol. 182, No. 5 (Aug., 2003), pp. 252-253
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