Strahov Monastery

The air changes the moment you reach the old library hall. It smells of paper, wood, and time. Tall shelves climb toward a painted ceiling. Old leather books fill every row. Globes and curious objects stand among the cases. Light falls softly through the windows. This is the heart of Strahov Monastery, high above the rooftops of Prague. A staff member sits quietly near the door.

The monastery sits on a hill called Strahov. It lies just west of the castle, near the green slopes of Petrin. As you walk up to it, the noise of the city fades behind you. White walls and a church with twin towers come into view. A wide gate leads into a quiet courtyard. Monks have lived and prayed here for a very long time. The path up is steep but short.

The story begins in 1143. A bishop named Jindrich Zdik and Duke Vladislav the Second brought monks to this spot. The monks belonged to the Premonstratensian order. They came from a place called Steinfeld, in the Rhineland. This is the oldest monastery of its kind in the region. Its life has continued, with breaks, ever since.

For centuries the monks worked, prayed, and studied here. They copied texts by hand and gathered books. The monastery grew into a center of learning. Fires and wars struck it more than once. Armies passed through and took what they wanted. Each time, the community rebuilt and carried on. They also kept gardens and worked the land nearby.

The library is what most visitors come to see. It is held in two great halls. The first is the Theological Hall. It was completed in 1679. White plasterwork curls across its arched ceiling. The shelves hold thousands of religious books. Among them are many old printed editions of the Bible, in several languages. Tall windows light the long, narrow room.

Among the cases stand old globes of the earth and the sky. There are wooden reading wheels and other tools for study. Look for the low, decorated cabinets along the sides. Long ago, they held books that were once kept from most readers. Only those with special permission could open their doors and read inside.

The second hall is grander still. It is called the Philosophical Hall. It was finished in 1797. Its ceiling rises high above the floor. The room measures about thirty meters in length. Dark wooden shelves climb from the floor toward the painted vault. Tall ladders reach the highest rows of books.

Look up at the ceiling of this hall. A single great painted scene covers the whole surface. The artist was Anton Maulbertsch. He worked the fresco in a matter of months, with one helper. The painting shows the long growth of human knowledge. Figures from history and faith fill the curved surface above your head.

The whole library holds a remarkable number of books. There are more than two hundred thousand volumes in the collection. Around three thousand of them are handwritten manuscripts. The oldest among these dates from the ninth century. It is a book of the Gospels, written and decorated on parchment by hand. Some volumes are so large they need two hands to lift.

To protect the old books, visitors usually view the halls from the doorways. You may not walk among the shelves themselves. Stand at the threshold and look in. Use the time to study the ceilings and the long rows of bindings. The light inside is kept low on purpose, to guard the fragile pages.

The monastery offers more than its library. There is a church with old organs that are still played. There is a gallery filled with paintings. There is even a working brewery with a long past. Beer has been brewed on this hill since old times, and it is still made here today. The smell of malt sometimes drifts across the courtyard.

Step outside to the terraces near the walls. From here you can look out over the whole city. Towers and red rooftops spread below you. The river shines in the distance. It is a fine place to rest for a while after the quiet of the halls. Many visitors stop here to take it in.

Strahov has gathered knowledge for nearly nine hundred years. One generation after another added to its shelves. The books wait quietly in the dim light. They have outlasted fires, wars, and many lifetimes. As you turn to leave, the smell of old paper follows you to the door. It lingers a little, even outside.