Vaclav Havel
How do you mark the passing of a man like Vaclav Havel? The Czechs did it in the most fitting way possible: just as in the Prague spring of 1968 or the Velvet Revolution of 1989, they took to the streets, and they took to the streets in their thousands. At first it was in Wenceslas Square, that famous Prague boulevard named for another great Vaclav: here they came to leave their tribute, a candle, a picture, a single rose or lily; or they simply stood and reflected in quiet contemplation. In the days since his death this tribute has grown until the wax has flowed over the St Wenceslas (Vaclav in Czech) monument. Then today they took once again to the streets and followed his coffin across the beautiful Charles Bridge, under lowering skies, through Malostranské náměstí, and up the Royal Route to the Castle.
At the corner of Malostranské náměstí I stood and waited: I had wondered if the crowds hurrying through the streets with me could have been on the way to watch, but had thought it unlikely - surely even Havel would not command such attention? The late president's widow had invited the people to join her as she followed her husband's coffin on its journey, but I wondered just how many would bother in these busy pre-Christmas days. When I finally left, 30 minutes after the passing of the coffin, the crowds were still coming.
As the single hearse passed by, the mourners close behind, the crowd where I stood burst into spontaneous applause. There was nothing here of the hysteria currently on display in North Korea, or so bewilderingly shown at the death of Diana. Here there was silence, save for the intrusive chatter of police radios. There were no great outpourings of grief: these wonderful people, so often unfairly accused of dourness, in reality are very reserved, and today they expressed their collective grief through simply being there. In their thousands they had nearly defeated the Russians in 68 and in their thousands they had brought down the communist government in 89, their implacable collective spirit proving victorious. And today in their thousands they simply came to follow the earthly remains of the man who had led them 22 years ago as it was taken back to the castle where he had served as 10th president of Czechoslovakia, and first president of the Czech Republic.
They followed in quiet, sombre pride, that this man, 'pan (Mr) President' who had not sought power yet had exerted it in the main with integrity, that this man's funeral in this small historic nation at the very heart of Europe, would draw world leaders, past and present. It would draw them not because they needed to curry favour with it s leaders, for the current president Vaclav (memorably dismissed by my septuagenarian neighbour as nothing but 'a suit and a haircut') is a strong euro skeptic, but they will be drawn by a playwright who without question, and with quiet dignity and integrity, changed the face of his nation and of Europe.
At the corner of Malostranské náměstí I stood and waited: I had wondered if the crowds hurrying through the streets with me could have been on the way to watch, but had thought it unlikely - surely even Havel would not command such attention? The late president's widow had invited the people to join her as she followed her husband's coffin on its journey, but I wondered just how many would bother in these busy pre-Christmas days. When I finally left, 30 minutes after the passing of the coffin, the crowds were still coming.
As the single hearse passed by, the mourners close behind, the crowd where I stood burst into spontaneous applause. There was nothing here of the hysteria currently on display in North Korea, or so bewilderingly shown at the death of Diana. Here there was silence, save for the intrusive chatter of police radios. There were no great outpourings of grief: these wonderful people, so often unfairly accused of dourness, in reality are very reserved, and today they expressed their collective grief through simply being there. In their thousands they had nearly defeated the Russians in 68 and in their thousands they had brought down the communist government in 89, their implacable collective spirit proving victorious. And today in their thousands they simply came to follow the earthly remains of the man who had led them 22 years ago as it was taken back to the castle where he had served as 10th president of Czechoslovakia, and first president of the Czech Republic.
They followed in quiet, sombre pride, that this man, 'pan (Mr) President' who had not sought power yet had exerted it in the main with integrity, that this man's funeral in this small historic nation at the very heart of Europe, would draw world leaders, past and present. It would draw them not because they needed to curry favour with it s leaders, for the current president Vaclav (memorably dismissed by my septuagenarian neighbour as nothing but 'a suit and a haircut') is a strong euro skeptic, but they will be drawn by a playwright who without question, and with quiet dignity and integrity, changed the face of his nation and of Europe.
Labels: Havel
posted by Riverside School English Dept | 2:34 PM
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