The hapless monk Uhlrich, for example, is a cautionary tale about a minor official who misused his power for personal gain, a familiar issue for citizens who endured forty years of abuse by corrupt communist functionaries of all types.

Similarly, the Turk of Ungelt resonates with a deep-seated public anxiety about immigrants. (Some Czech politicians currently argue that the Czech Republic is inundated by them.) The whore of Celetná Street reminds citizens of their painfully learned lessons about the need for tolerance. Recall that the Thirty-Years’ War was precipitated by the Defenstration of Prague in 1618, when the corrupt governors of Bohemia, following a brief trial, were defenestrated, thrown out the windows of Hradcany Castle. It is also clear that Czechoslovakia’s forty-year experience with Soviet-style communism has left a legacy of distrust for authority in general.

All of which overlooks what may be the real reason for these enduring stories. Anyone who has seen the mist rising from the Vltava River onto the cobblestoned sidewalks, alleys, and narrow streets that wind and twist in all directions can grasp why. Prague exists in the twentieth century but, in some respects, it is not of it. And the wraiths and phantoms of bygone days and unquiet imaginations are still there.

Douglas Burton is an associate editor of Insight magazine.