P. Jindřich Zdeněk Charouz, O.Praem.
Last year we commemorated the 300th anniversary of the death of the barefoot Carmelite who was at the origin of the pilgrimage site in Kostelní Vydří, P. Karl Felix Slavata. One of the events we organized on this occasion was a ceremonial mass in the Church of the Name of Jesus in Telč, followed by a historical lecture given by the premonstratensian Father Jindřich. We now present you the content in a transcript, which P. Jindřich has made corrections and additions to.
If we are to speak of the last male descendant of the Slavata family from Chlum and Košumberk, it is significant to delve deeper into who the Slavatové were and what their lineage meant for P. Karl Felix in his decision, which will be discussed further.
The Slavatové were one of the oldest and most prominent Czech noble families. As their most distant ancestor, historians have traced in sources to the turn of the 11th and 12th centuries a certain lord named Bleh, who resided somewhere in the Litoměřice area. His family was even related to bl. Hroznata, who before departing on a crusade, from which he eventually returned prematurely, bequeathed to this Bleh some property in Litoměřice. During the 13th century, Bleh’s descendants moved from Litoměřice to the Čáslav area, hence they called themselves from Chlum and Košumberk. This Chlum is located near Číhošť, and Košumberk is a well-known pilgrimage site near Vysoké Mýto.
I will not list all the Slavatové whose names we could encounter in history, just to remind you that one of the Slavatové named Jan accompanied Master Jan Hus to Constance.
Perhaps the most significant and well-known member of this family was Lord Vilém Slavata, who was born in 1572 and died in 1652. He was not born a Catholic, but converted to Catholicism and surpassed all his peers, who came from old Catholic families, in his zeal and religious intolerance. This is not surprising; it often happens that a “convert is worse than a Turk.” Under Emperors Rudolf II and Ferdinand II, Vilém Slavata rose in the land offices until he eventually became the highest judge and was appointed one of the vicegerents of the Czech kingdom. He was indeed more cautious in his office than the emperor's advisors, who remained in Vienna, yet it did not benefit him. On May 23, 1618, he was thrown out of the window of Prague Castle along with Martinic. He hit his head while doing so. With such an injury to the head, a person may not suffer much, but there is usually a lot of blood around it, which gave rise to the belief that he was a great martyr. It was also discussed that surviving the fall from the window without injury was a great miracle.
It is certain that after the Battle of White Mountain, he was the only Czech who advised cruel punishments, including the abolition of the old estate constitution. These penalties did not target individuals but the entire country, against the Czech kingdom. He realized too late that he had contributed to the end of Czech lords’ rule in the land. An irony of fate was fulfilled here, as he sincerely loved his homeland and the Czech language. It is quite understandable that when Lord Vilém Slavata was already progressing through land offices before the Battle of White Mountain, after this battle—with his martyr's halo—he progressed even further. He even received the Order of the Golden Fleece. In his old age, he wrote fourteen volumes of memoirs, which have survived. In them, he recalls his entire life and political activities. Although his memoirs are naturally entirely personal, it is an excellent source of information about that era.
In 1602, long before the Battle of White Mountain, Vilém Slavata married Lucia Otilia of Hradec and after thirty-one years of marriage, he became a widower in 1633. In historical books, we find quite contradictory evaluations of this man; all, however, agree that he was just and selfless. He was fanatic, and so it was not easy to deal with him. But unlike other fanatics, he was at least fair and selfless.
Vilém Slavata had two sons: Adam Pavel, who had no children and could hardly have any, since his wife left him shortly after their wedding. This Adam Pavel died in 1657. The second son was named Jáchym Oldřich and in 1629 he married Mrs. Františka of Meggau. He died in 1645 and had four sons with Františka: Ferdinand Wilhelm, Jan Jiří Jáchym, František Leopold Wilhelm, and Jan Karel Jáchym. The eldest son Ferdinand Wilhelm died in 1673 and left four daughters behind. Jan Jiří Jáchym died in 1689 and had three daughters. Thus the Slavata family found itself on the brink of extinction, for only two men remained, both of whom were clergymen. Leopold Wilhelm was a canon in Passau and Jan Karel Jáchym was a barefoot Carmelite. And what now? With special permission (dispensation) from the Pope himself, Passau canon Leopold Wilhelm married in 1690 and on January 26, 1691, barely a year later, he died at the age of 52. During his short marriage, he did not manage to father an offspring. And so the entire family had only one man left—Jan Karel Jáchym. He, however, decided not to renounce his Carmelite vows. And that is what we will focus on.
Before we focus more closely on Jan Karel Jáchym, we must generalize what it meant for him when at the age of 51 he suddenly had to choose what to do next. Namely: a person must often make decisions. But perhaps none of us will face the fate of an entire family in our hands. That is entirely incomparable to what we can experience today. The extinction of a noble family—especially after seven centuries of existence—was not just an ordinary matter. I mentioned at the beginning that the Slavatové were one of the most prominent Czech families.
One often hears of the aristocracy. We are used to the fact that this word is used in various nuanced meanings. But if we want to be factual, we must first understand that aristocracy is not the same as nobility. They are not synonyms. Nobility is something a little different. Aristocracy, literally translated, means: the rule of the best. And among the nobility, we can only define the aristocracy as the top tier. ducal families. Not necessarily the wealthiest, but—if you will—the most noble. It is good to really think deeply about what both terms mean: nobility and aristocracy. The term nobility derives from the fact that they were noble or honorific people who had certain qualities. And it was assumed that the qualities in that noble family would be hereditary. This consciousness was also maintained within the noble families: a consciousness of certain responsibility—responsibility before God—for what had been entrusted to them.
Let’s not see in this some foolish pride regarding a noble coat of arms or a predicate (title). They often wrote themselves down from some “village forgotten by God and men,” which had five cottages, even though later they achieved even those ducal titles. Even then, they did not deny their origins, but claimed it. The consciousness of responsibility played a great role in that. This is something that is probably very foreign to today’s person. And I fear that this is a great mistake.
Even among the nobility, only the most noble—some kind of elite—can be referred to as aristocracy. These families were often quite wealthy because they possessed large estates, which were not supposed to be divided to maintain the status or name of the family. The foremost of the family, the head of the family, had the title of “ruler,” for example, “ruler of the Rosenberg house” or “ruler of the Hradec house.” When the lords of Hradec became extinct, the title “ruler of the Hradec house” passed to the Slavatové. And now suddenly the ruler of the Hradec house stands before a decision: to become extinct or to attempt to save the family? What is more important: to remain a religious person or to save the continuity of the family and name? What is more important?
In addition to the aristocracy, the social hierarchy of that time also included various moderately wealthy nobility, then various impoverished knights, and a whole bunch of other nobles who suddenly emerged after the Battle of White Mountain. There were various soldiers who came to our lands, or impoverished nobles, failed existences from all over Europe. Moreover, there was then what is referred to as “inflation of titles.” They were awarded to various officials who distinguished themselves through their office work and—with no way around it—had money (they had to pay for the obtained title). It was a kind of vicious circle, but it could be entered at any point: a title opened the way to office, an office opened the way to property, and property opened the pathway to further offices and titles. And so it spun around and around...
Only one person could be the ruler, the head of the family. So what to do with the other sons? They had several options ahead of them. Either an official career—in land or court offices—or a military or diplomatic career. The latter was probably the least easy of all, as it required a large personal wealth. To represent the ruler and one's own land was an honor, but the individual had to finance it from their own funds. Which undoubtedly was not easy. And there was still a church career. Recently before this—at the turn of the 16th and 17th centuries—several interesting moments appeared in our country. First, there was talk of the threat posed by the Jesuits, as they significantly influenced noble sons to enter church services. However, among the most prominent families in our country at that time, there was statistically a shortage of sons. This is a statistically verifiable fact. This church career was further influenced by which group of nobles the man belonged to since ordinary knights were often common pastors even in rural parishes. They did not usually become canons or bishops. Such cases were rather the exception. Among the nobility—and it is important to say this—there is a significant role played by what is called familial memory. They were indeed aware of their roots and of what they represented, what they meant. In the best sense of the word. Not some kind of familial pride, where people are proud of something they actually rather dream up. Here it was about a consciousness of responsibility to ancestors and to the people around them as well as to the future.
All of this must be taken into account when we want to speak about the last Slavata. Jan Karel Jáchym Slavata was born in 1640. At the age of seven, he began to acquire the foundations of education at the Jesuit college in Jindřichův Hradec and then went with his mother Františka to Vienna, as she was then the highest lady-in-waiting at the court of Emperor Ferdinand III and was in charge of the emperor's son, the future Emperor Leopold I. There, Jan Karel Jáchym lived from 1654 to 1657, befriended the future emperor, and this significantly affected the entire further life of both. Then Slavata studied at Jesuit universities: in Ingolstadt in Bavaria, where he was enrolled in 1658, and then—continuing his journey westward—in 1659 in Leuven, Belgium. According to the records, he did not speak a single word of Czech. His father was a great lover of the Czech language, while he could not speak the language... But that does not mean that he was a rootless person who did not love the Czech land and had no relationship to it!
And then suddenly we discover in his life story a great turning point: at the beginning of the 60s we find the dear Slavata in the novitiate of the barefoot Carmelites in Rome and on July 11, 1663, he made his solemn (i.e., lifelong) religious vows and was ordained a priest. He received the religious name Karel Felix from St. Teresa. He worked at the convent S. Maria della Scala in Rome in Zátibeří—that is an interesting church where the barefoot Carmelites still are today. In his religious name, he bore the addition: “of St. Teresa” and in that church, they preserve as a precious relic the true foot of St. Teresa. They obtained it from Spain when the Roman convent was founded.
Two scenes from the painting on the ceiling of the chapel (image of the chapel on p. 13): peasants rescue Karel Slavata, an angel strengthens him in his decision to renounce the world and enter the order.
Later, P. Karel Felix served at the convent of St. Silvester and St. Teresa in Caprarolle near Bracciano, a short distance from Rome, and there we find him in 1668 at the ceremonial opening of the new Carmelite hermitage Monte Virginio by Bracciano. Not only did he participate in that celebration, but he also became one of the first ten members of that new community. He helped to complete the entire complex and, with money from his mother, had a chapel of St. Charles Borromeo built there. After several years starting in 1671, he became the prior of the convent of barefoot Carmelites in Prague's Lesser Town, later served in Vienna, and in 1674 he was elected at the general chapter as one of the six highest representatives of the order.
Until 1710, he held the highest offices of his order. He was elected four times as general procurator (representing the order at the papal curia), three times as one of the general definers (immediate advisors to the general superior), and from 1680 to 1683 he served as the general superior of the order. Later, between 1695 and 1698, he served as provincial of the Roman province. Finally, from 1710 until his death in 1712, he held the position of rector at the St. Pancras seminary in Rome.
It is quite understandable that due to his noble origin, his friendship with Emperor Leopold, and also because he was the general superior of the order, he inevitably played a political role. He was politically quite skillful and did not hide his opinions. He spoke so openly in favor of Habsburgs that after the usual three years of his office term expired, he was no longer elected as general superior again—precisely because he presented himself so distinctly and so one-sidedly. It is interesting that a contemplative religious person made such an impact in high politics. This was not extraordinary at that time, and we must not forget that he also applied himself in politics—according to the preserved testimonies—as a contemplative religious person. Several times he is mentioned in historical documents as a candidate for a cardinal rank; several times he is seriously spoken of as a candidate for several significant bishoprics, including in Prague—which he allegedly personally rejected.
Slavata's high position in the order raises a question to which the preserved sources do not allow us to answer: whether he worked his way up to the top of the order of his own volition, in other words, whether he wanted it and strived for it. If we connect everything that has been said so far—namely, noble origin, which somehow predetermined the nobleman to leading offices and roles, his innate dispositions, education, and everything else— we can say that his selection for this high function logically reflected his qualities as contemporaries perceived them. If he had been "pushing" for positions, he would probably not have refused bishoprics and the cardinal rank. And thus he ultimately chose God, or if you will the order, over his obligations to his family in 1691.
As the general superior of the order between 1680 and 1683, he also visited the Carmelites in Bohemia in 1682, and on that occasion, he was in Telč. A contemporary testimony of this visit states:
On February 11, His Grace, the Count Excelence (Jan Jiří Jáchym Slavata) graciously received from Vienna to Telč for the night and brought with him the highly respectable Father Karel, General of the entire Carmelite order, his beloved brother from the order of the barefoot Carmelites, along with some other gentlemen from the same order.
They were received with the greatest possible honor as commanded by His Grace. Six covered wagons rode out to meet them as far as the first village of Zvolenovice, before which a small company of domestic reiters rode with a fine banner.
In the city, the entire burgher community stood armed, the peasants formed two lines across the whole road through the suburb and the city to the castle, holding lighted torches, which were also seen in all the windows of the houses in the entire city. Closer to the castle was the renowned triumphal gate adorned with various coats of arms and other decorations; at the city gate, officials welcomed them, and in the city, the entire Jewish community with all their ceremonies stood before their homes; and on both sides of the church, nicely dressed youth stood, one side male and the other female. Then the venerable fathers of the Jesuits, to the sound of trumpets, drums, and organs, ceremoniously led them into the church, where the litanies were sung resoundingly. Afterwards, in the castle, all accompanied them, and I publicly greeted them in Latin as they arrived, after which this celebration concluded that day.1
In addition, he had to visit the Telč region again, but we do not have such detailed information about it. In 1709, during his stay in Telč, he answered Mr. Gerhard Jindřich Butz from Rolsberg for the mystery of the lights that appeared near Kostelní Vydří. He advised him to have a picture of Our Lady painted and placed on the hill above the village. Baron Butz built a small chapel for this purpose, and P. Karel Felix Slavata personally placed the new image of Our Lady in it. Since then, Kostelní Vydří has been a pilgrimage site.
Another chapel in the vicinity of Telč owes its origin to P. Karel Felix—the chapel of St. Charles Borromeo at Vanov, surrounded by legends about the young nobleman falling into a wolf pit and his rescue after promising to dedicate his life to God’s service. The problem has been to reconcile all the details presented in literature so that they do not contradict each other. By fortunate chance, Dr. Stanislava Nováková found in the archives of Jindřichův Hradec a will drawn up by P. Karel Felix upon his entrance into the order. This document from 1660 mentions a terrifying experience in the wolf pit on October 13, 1653, and obligates his mother to build a little church dedicated to St. Charles Borromeo.
Chapel of St. Charles Borromeo, built above the place where Karel Slavata was threatened with loss of life by falling into the wolf pit.
The most important thing is the date of that event—Slavata was thirteen at that time, which could explain many of his subsequent life choices. He took his vow to God seriously from the outset, but those around him took it as a childish whim and a manifestation of a disturbed mind. Therefore, he was engaged to the young noblewoman Klára of Atems, which is why he entered the Carmelites in Rome during his cavalier trip through Europe, where he went even without the knowledge of his tutor who accompanied him. Therefore, he must have chosen the monastery over marriage after thirty years of monastic life. It is also noteworthy that there might be a connection with St. Charles Borromeo, who was one of his baptismal and religious patrons and to whom the sanctuaries in Bracciano and Vanov were also dedicated: this saint, when he unexpectedly became the ruler of the house of the Borromeo family at the age of twenty-four, preferred priesthood. The name and possession went to other relatives.
One can speak without exaggeration of a heroic act—by Borromeo and by Slavata. A splendid example and encouragement to seek and discover true values in our present lives.
