Movement the First
The Embankment
andante. Where Staré Město meets the water.
Where the Vltava bends beneath the spires of Staré Město, a stone promenade carries you for some four hundred metres through the music of Prague. Smetanovo nábřeží runs along the right bank of the river, between the great arches of Karlův most and the curve toward the Národní divadlo, gathering, in its modest length, more cultural weight than perhaps any other quarter-mile in Bohemia.
It is not a wide street, and it is not, in the way of European riversides, especially busy. Its trams pass; its joggers and its tourists pass; its anglers, in the warmer months, settle into the rail and pretend not to notice them. What endures is the angle of the light coming off the water at five in the afternoon, and the slow turn of the river toward Malá Strana, and the silhouette of the Castle that no Praguer ever quite stops looking at.
It is, in the literal sense, an edge — the moment at which the medieval city stops and the river begins — and like all edges it has the quality of being a stage. Smetana stands at the centre of it, in bronze, looking out at the water. The waterworks tower watches over his shoulder. The bridge spans away into Malá Strana. None of it is accidental.