Baroque in a Cold Climate
A whirlwind tour of Prague
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We were in Prague for just 48 hours and, aside from one interview to conduct and one meal to enjoy with friends, there were a few Baroque churches on the agenda. There was also quite a lot of cake to eat, including the irresistible Punch cake, which is not unlike a boozy version of a Battenberg (try it when you’re next there!)
Anyway, it wasn’t just the cake which packed a punch, as we found when we visited St James’s Basilica in the Old Town. The church was founded in 1232, and was rebuilt in Baroque style in the 18th century. Structural work was completed in 1702, while the interior decoration was carried out from 1736 to 1739. The dates are important because if you were expecting early Baroque (as I was), you will be surprised by the lavish, busy interior - the 1720s saw the spread of Rococo across Europe, and it had clearly reached Bohemia by this point.
Wood-carving is a real skill of the Germanic world, so you will see a lot of mahogany alog with some magnificent paintings in the long, vaulted ceiling. One of the highlights is the High Baroque tomb of Count Johann Wenzel Wratislaw von Mitrowitz, the High Chancellor of Bohemia (below left), which was designed by the Viennese architect Johann Bernhard Fischer von Erlach and completed between 1714 and 1716. It reminded me of the Duke of Marlborough’s tomb in the chapel of Blenheim, designed by William Kent and made by Rysbrack around the 1730s. (The pyramid is a symbol of eternity.)
Another aspect of the South German style is the use of spiralling (Solomonic or barley-sugar) columns, which can be seen on a shrine to the Virgin Mary (below). This looks like an echo of the legs on the Baldachin at St Peter’s in Rome, and I spotted it in other churches in Prague as well. Other items of note are the Late Gothic Pietà from around 1500 and a withered hand, hung by the entrance to the church, which was supposed to have belonged to a thief who tried to steal jewels from the altar (the Virgin wouldn’t let go of the man’s wrist, so the priests were forced to cut his hand off - not exactly the gentle Mary we usually hear about!)
The facade is the work of Ottavio Mosto, a native of Padua, and is basically smooth with areas of intense detail which erupt over doors and windows. The pilasters on the front have Corinthian capitals embellished with shells - a symbol of St James but also a favourite motif of the Rococo style.
The next day, I went off on my own and, wandering down a side-street the the Lesser Town, came across a very different incarnation of Baroque. The Church of St Joseph was built in the second half of the 17th century for the Carmelite sisters. It seems that nobody knows who the architect was although the facade statues are by the artist Matěj Václav Jäckel, who also contributed several statues to the nearby Charles Bridge. Inside, it’s relatively plain, with the exception of the gilded pulpit, which dates from the end of the 18th century. This church is more about form than decoration and has a superb, white dome with a skylight. The dome is not visible from the outside due to the Dutch-like gable on the facade. The church was finished in 1692 - not long after the Dutch Golden Age - so the Netherlander style was clearly still fashionable. Although much earlier, you can see how Protestant influences resulted in a plainer version of Baroque which is very sculptural.
From here I walked up the hill to my last Baroque pitstop: St Nicholas Church (above). It has been described as the most important Baroque building in Prague, and I can see why! It was built between 1704 and 1755 on the site of a Gothic church from the 13th century, and is basically the motherload when it comes to Baroque architecture in Prague. All the bling tells you that Rococo influences have also been at work here - there is a stupendous dome that recalls that of St Peter’s in Rome, and you also see the use of Solomonic columns in the side-chapels. I went up into the gallery so that I could appreciate the ceiling frescoes (by Viennese painter Johann Lucas Kracker) which are full of playful architectural details. Meanwhile, there are over 50 statues from Ignác František Platzer’s workshop, including lifesize sculptures of Jesuit saints.
As I walked around I wondered: is this where Baroque gets a little bit ridiculous? My eyes were enjoying the show, but was it all a bit … crazy? Idolatrous? Well, these are some of the reasons why the British ended up going in a more neoclassical direction with their architecture in the 18th century. But one thing’s for certain: you won’t find anything quite as theatrical, or as exciting, this side of the Alps.
Nice article - I visited a few churches during 'Noc Kostelů' (Night of Churches) earlier this year, which is a Czech event where churches are open to the public with special events, and so on. But I'm not really familiar with architecture. What surprised me was when I read 'it seems that nobody knows who the architect was.' Is this common with churches, even those built just a few hundred years ago (I'd assume they would be celebrities if this was in the Baroque era, religious sects and 'glory to God' aside)? For such grand constructions, I'd want to plaster my name everywhere, at least I've leave a post-it note, haha.
After recently travelling us back to a fine land in which a literary confection of breath taking Carpathian proportions is set (to Transylvania and to turning Dracula's dark pages) this morning you have sent me spouting f-words.
"Form, function, fashion, fairy-tale" are amongst the words that reading your words sprang to mind in reading your first rate report on the sense data garnering experience of being parachuted into the active front line of cultural engagement that is, forever, Prague.
"Frivolity" is the fifth f-word that's firmed up its claim as I've been finger typing this reflective response, or is the better word riposte, to you Annette. I get what that era labelled 'The Baroque Period' has, culturally and artistically, left us living our '21st Century Lives'. Most salient, the utmost top f my personal desiderata is the music, so much music, so much sublime music. Descending to the dungeon depths in the deep dark dank of the flip downside of The Baroque is - while I cannot say all, there always being exceptions - its overblown architectural bequest in the still standing, not yet eaten or sugar-decayed away, churches and cathedrals of its hey days.
They certainly impress me but not so much as such as such edifices as that most local to you. You know, I'm sure, that I'm referring to that masterpiece first founded when Chad-the-Lad was quick and not so aeons since deceased. Lichfield Cathedral, descended in its present guise down unto us today, is such a physical rock as St Peter likely had in mind when, with matters spiritual more than physical in mind (at least so I've ever inclined to think), he said, reportedly, "Upon this Rock I will build my Church!"
So, for me, it is the meaningful magnificence of the Romanesque that always has it over the grotesque grandiloquence of the Baroque.
"So saying", doffing cap to the Beak and to Benchers sat opposite and alongside me, "I, having stated my unexpected case, now beg leave to leave it rest with you more than to merely read and reflect upon, but rather in anticipation that you will not just actively ruminate on but choose to react to?"