Loreta

Stand still on the square for a moment and listen. Every hour, a cascade of small bells drops from the tower above you, bright and slightly uneven, like water poured over glass. The tune is a hymn to the Virgin Mary. It drifts across the cobbles, over the quiet lawns, and toward the long grey wall of the palace opposite. This is Loreta, a Baroque pilgrimage site on the hill of Hradčany, just a short walk from Prague Castle. Before we look at any dates, let the sound settle in.

The facade in front of you is pale and richly carved, crowded with saints, cherubs and stone vases. It looks like the front of a grand church. In fact, it is more like a stage curtain. Behind it lies a courtyard, a ring of cloisters, a church, and at the very centre a small, strange building. That small building is the reason everything else exists here. The splendid front was added only later, in the early eighteenth century, by the Dientzenhofers, a father and son who shaped much of Baroque Prague.

To understand the heart of Loreta, we need an Italian legend. In the town of Loreto, on the Adriatic coast of Italy, Catholics venerate a modest stone house. Tradition says it is the house in Nazareth where the Virgin Mary lived. According to the legend, angels lifted it and carried it across the sea to keep it safe. That house is called the Santa Casa, which simply means the Holy House. It became one of the most important pilgrim destinations in Europe.

In the seventeenth century, copies of the Santa Casa began to appear across Central Europe. Prague's copy was founded in 1626 by a noblewoman, Benigna Kateřina of Lobkowicz. The timing matters. Bohemia had just passed through a violent religious conflict, and the Catholic Habsburgs were working hard to win the population back to their faith. A shrine to Mary, full of emotion and colour, was a powerful tool. Pilgrims came in great numbers, and the site grew around them.

Walk through the entrance and into the courtyard. Here it is, the Santa Casa, standing alone in the open air. It is surprisingly small, a simple rectangle. Yet its outer walls are covered in white stucco reliefs. You can see prophets, sibyls, and scenes from the life of Mary. A sibyl, by the way, was a prophetess from the ancient world, and Baroque artists liked to show them alongside biblical figures. The effect is a plain house dressed in elaborate stone clothing.

Now step inside the Holy House. The mood changes at once. The walls are rough and darker, painted to look like old, weathered brick. This is deliberate. The builders wanted pilgrims to feel they had entered the real house in Nazareth, worn by time. Look for the statue of the Virgin with the Child, with a dark face, in the style of the original at Loreto. In the dim light, many visitors lower their voices without being told.

Around the courtyard runs a two-storey cloister. Walk slowly along it and look up. The ceilings carry painted scenes, and the arches frame the Santa Casa from changing angles. Small chapels open off the corridors. In the past, pilgrims would walk these passages in prayer, sometimes on their knees. Today the space is quiet, and the stone floor stays cool even in summer. Notice how the light falls differently on each side as the sun moves.

In one corner chapel waits a surprise that many visitors walk straight past. On a cross hangs a figure in a long dress, with a full beard. This is a bearded female saint, known in Czech as Saint Starosta and elsewhere as Wilgefortis. Her story is a legend, not history. It is said she prayed to escape a forced marriage, and she grew a beard so that no man would want her. Her angry father then had her crucified.

At the far side of the cloister stands the Church of the Nativity of Our Lord. Compared with the rough Holy House, this interior is all gold, pink and theatrical light. Look at the altars and the painted ceiling. Look also for the skeletons of two female saints, dressed in fine fabrics and laid out for display. To modern eyes this can feel unsettling. For Baroque believers, relics like these brought the holy dead close.

Now for the treasure. Upstairs is the Loreta treasury, and its most famous object is a monstrance called the Prague Sun. A monstrance is a vessel used to display the consecrated host during Catholic worship. This one shines with gold and diamonds arranged as rays of light. The count usually given is 6,222 diamonds. It was made in Vienna at the very end of the seventeenth century. Stand in front of it and watch how the stones catch even weak light.

Let us come back to the bells. The carillon in the tower was made in Amsterdam and installed in the late seventeenth century. It has twenty-seven bells. Locals tell a sad tale about them. According to this legend, a wealthy widow lost twenty-seven children to plague, one by one, and paid for a bell in memory of each child. There is no proof the story is true. But many people still pause on the hour and think of it.

When you leave, look across the square. The enormous, plain facade facing Loreta belongs to Černín Palace, one of the largest palaces in Prague. Today it houses the Czech Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Its long, repeating columns make a strong contrast with Loreta's carved, playful front. Just around the corner is a Capuchin monastery, simple and quiet. In one small square you can see two sides of Baroque Prague: power and display, and humble devotion.

Before you go, walk a few steps back and look at the whole front of Loreta again. Find the clock and the tower. Picture pilgrims arriving here centuries ago, tired, dusty, hoping for comfort. Then look around at today's visitors with cameras and phones. The cobbles under your feet are the same stones. If you wait for the hour, the bells will play once more, and the little hymn will follow you down the hill toward the castle.