The Jewish Sabbath—The Old Synagogue—Traditions concerning it—The Gloomy Interior—The Priests—The Worshippers and the Worship—The Talkers—The Book of the Law—The Rabbi—The Startling Gun—A Birth at Vienna—Departed Glory.

My second day in Prague being a Saturday, I went to see the Jews at worship in their synagogue. The Josefstadt was comparatively quiet; but few persons in the streets, and those dressed in their best; the boys carrying prayer-books, and the men with what looked like an apron rolled up under their arm. On entering the synagogue, I found that the apron was a white scarf (talis), with blue striped ends, which each man put on across his shoulders before taking his seat.

But first, a few words about the building itself. On approaching it along the narrow Beleles-gasse, you are struck at once by its appearance of great antiquity—visibly the most ancient among buildings decrepit with age. It is sunk low in the ground, down a flight of some ten or twelve steps, as if the first builders, worshipping in fear, had sought concealment. Of architectural display there is none. Walls blackened by the dust and storms of centuries, with two or three narrow-pointed windows, looking so much more like a bride-well than a temple of the living God, that not till I had seen the steady procession of men and boys to the door could I believe it to be really the synagogue.

No wonder that its foundation is referred back to days ere Europe had a history. One tradition says, that no sooner was the Temple at Jerusalem destroyed, than angels immediately set about building this synagogue on the bank of the Moldau. According to another, certain people digging in a hill which once covered the spot, came upon a portion of a wall, and, continuing their excavation, cleared away the hill, and found a synagogue built already to their hands. And, as before mentioned, there is the tradition which dates it seventy-two years earlier than the arrival of the Czechs.

It was a remarkable sight that met my eyes as I descended into the building. If the outside conveys an impression of extreme age, much more does the inside. The deep-sunk floor, the dim light, the walls and ceiling as black as age and smoke can make them, are the features of a dungeon rather than of a place of thanksgiving. The height, owing to the low level of the floor, appears to be greater than the length, and, looking up, you can easily believe that cleansing has never been attempted since the first prayer was offered. Old-fashioned brass chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and here and there a brazen shield on the wall. The almemmar, or rostrum, occupies the centre of the floor, and in the narrow space on either side and at one end are the seats and stools for the congregation, with numerous reading-stands crowded between. These stands have a shabby, makeshift look, no two being alike in height or pattern, as if each man had constructed his own. Hence a general look of disorder as well as of dinginess.

The doorkeeper requested me to keep my cap on; and I saw that all present sat covered. Even the officiating priests wore their hats, and in dress and appearance were in no way different from the hearers. Every man had his talis on, and was continually fidgetting and shrugging to keep it on his shoulders, and his Hebrew prayer-book from slipping off the stand. The priests walked restlessly up and down the almemmar, but whether they were praying or exhorting I could not tell, for all sounded alike to me—a glib and noisy gabble. And all the while the men on the darksome seats under the gallery kept up a murmur of talk in twos and threes, in a way that sounded very much like a discussion of questions left unfinished on the Tandelmarkt. Now and then a "Hush! Hush!" was impatiently ejaculated by one of the devout who sat near with eyes fixed on his book; but the back seats took no heed, and, though in the temple, ceased not to talk of merchandise. Very few were they who maintained a fixed attention; a ceaseless rocking of the body to and fro, as, with half-closed eyes, they went through their recitations, distinguished them from the rest.

Now and then the priests paused in their uneasy walk, drew together, and had a little bit of quiet talk among themselves, seasoned by a pinch of snuff all round. Then they separated, and one, pacing from side to side, gave repeated utterance to a short phrase, in a wailing, sing-song tone, while the others went behind the veil, and presently came forth again, one bearing what at first sight looked like a thick double roll surmounted by two silver candlesticks. It was the Book of the Law; and no sooner did the bearers appear than a cry of joy was set up by the whole assembly. A shabby wrapper and the silver ornaments were taken off, and then the sacred parchment was seen wound on two cylinders, so that as a portion was read from one it might be rolled up on the other.

The scroll was laid on the table with some formal ceremony, and the priests, unrolling a part, began to read, but in such a snuffling tone and careless manner as indicated but little reverence. After each one had snuffled in turn, the old rabbi, wearing a long gown and fur cap, was assisted on to the almemmar, and, bending low over the scroll, he read a few passages solemnly and impressively, though in a voice weak and tremulous with age: audible to all, for the talkers under the gallery held their peace. His task finished, he was led back to his seat: the roll was wound up, and, with the wrapper and ornaments replaced, was returned to its place behind the veil.

The monotonous murmur was renewed: one of the priests commenced a recitation, but he had scarcely opened his lips than the report of a cannon boomed loudly from the Hradschin, startling all within hearing, and making the streets echo again.

"Ah!" cried the talkers, "that's for the empress. Is it prince or princess this time?"

The priest halted in his recitation as the thunderous shocks succeeded—one, two, three, and so on, up to twenty-five—when, after another pause of listening expectation, "Ah!" cried the talkers again, "'tis only a princess;" and they took up once more the thread of their murmur.

Then followed more gabbling and snuffling from the rostrum; and, as I listened and looked round from face to face, noting the expression, something like sadness came over me; for were not those slovenly utterances a hopeless lamentation over the glory that had departed? Was it clean gone for ever? Did no trace remain of that solemn and gorgeous ceremonial, instituted when the glory came down and filled the house in the presence of the king, and of the Levites and singers "arrayed in white linen, having cymbals, and psalteries, and harps;" and of the people? When the king prayed, "Now therefore arise, O Lord God, into Thy resting-place, Thou, and the ark of Thy strength: let Thy priests, O Lord God, be clothed with salvation, and let Thy saints rejoice in goodness."

An hour passed, and still the recitations and murmur went on. I had seen enough, and thought, as I stepped forth into the daylight, that the cry, "His blood be on us, and on our children!" had been fearfully avenged.