for upholding the cause and principles of the Allies.
During the Hussite wars, women fought alongside the men. In the revolution of 1848, girls fought like their men. In June there were great riots in Pilsen, organized by Czech women. Five children were killed and many women wounded. From the very first day of the war, women appealed to their husbands and sons not to shoot at the Serbians and Russians, but rather to surrender. They distributed revolutionary pamphlets, and many were sentenced to pay the extreme penalty and hundreds were jailed for years. The military prison at Terezin had in it 50 girls, from 14 to 16 years of age who were sent there for high treason. The number of interned women is beyond calculation, many of whom succumbed to the horrors of the prison.
It may be safely said that the Czechoslovak women are even more radical than the men. They take part in all political manifestations, and the last known public act was the approval of the political program of the Czech deputies, demanding full independence, which they adopted.
The All-Slavs Hymn, “Hej, Slovane”.
| Hey, Slavonians, be ye mindful that our tongue dies never, While our faithful hearts are beating for the nation ever; Live, long live the Slavic language, sounding through the ages, Thunder rolling, wrath eternal! Vain our foeman rages. |
’Tis the gift our God entrusted, God the lord of thunder, Therefore who on earth can wrest it from our lives asunder? Though our foes, like hosts of darkness, in proud ranks are swelling, God is with us: fall upon them, Perun all-dispelling. |
Rocks destroying, strong oaks cleaving, earth’s foundations rending,
Firm we stand as castle ramparts, tongue and homeland shielding;
May the earthquake seize the dastard who would dream of yielding!
Sonnet to Czechoslovak Independence Day.
Hail! Land of Hus and Žižka, dawns the day
Of thy release from bondage long and sore!
The coming Freedom break the alien sway;
No hateful tyranny shall crush thee more;
Thy age-long warfare is accomplished now!
Thy ancient zeal old records plain avow.
That tell of Podiebrad; Komensky, hoar
In grief and sorrows for his stricken land,
Yet heralding redemption still at hand!
Where Moldau rolls majestical along,
Old Prague recalls her fearful Day of Blood,
When, facing death, thy nobles valiant stood!
Or Hus’s ashes, cast upon the flood—
Such sacred, patriot mem’ries thrill thy song!
