St. Nicholas Church, Lesser Town

Stand still on the cobbles of the Lesser Town Square for a moment. Listen to the trams rattle and grind as they curve past. Then raise your eyes. A great green dome rises above the rooftops, and beside it stands a slender bell tower. Pigeons circle the copper. The stone façade in front of you seems to bend and swell, almost as if it were breathing. This is the Church of Saint Nicholas, and it is one of the purest expressions of Baroque architecture in Central Europe.

First, a quick word so you know exactly where you are. Prague has two churches named for Saint Nicholas. One stands on the Old Town Square, across the river. This guide is about the larger one here, in the Lesser Town, the district below Prague Castle that locals call Malá Strana. If you crossed the Charles Bridge and climbed the gentle slope toward the castle, you have found the right one.

The church was built for the Jesuits, the Catholic religious order that played a powerful role in Bohemia after the Thirty Years' War. That war ended in the mid seventeenth century. In its aftermath, the Catholic Church worked hard to win back a population that had leaned Protestant. Architecture was one of its tools. A church like this one was meant to overwhelm the senses. It was designed to make faith feel dramatic, emotional and close.

The building took most of the eighteenth century to complete. The work passed through two generations of one family. Christoph Dientzenhofer, a Bavarian-born master builder, designed the façade and the nave. His son, Kilian Ignaz Dientzenhofer, added the choir and the great dome. The bell tower was finished later, under the Italian architect Anselmo Lurago. An older Gothic parish church, also dedicated to Saint Nicholas, once stood on this spot before the Jesuits rebuilt it.

Look again at the façade before you go in. Notice that almost nothing is flat. The walls curve in and out. Columns step forward, then fall back. This was the style of the late Baroque, sometimes called dynamic Baroque. Its builders wanted stone to feel like movement. On a bright afternoon the sun catches each projecting edge and throws deep shadows into each recess, so the whole front seems to ripple.

Now step inside. The first thing most people feel is height. Then comes colour. Pinks, greens, creams and golds cover almost every surface. Here is a surprise many visitors miss: much of that marble is not really marble. It is stucco marble, a skilled plaster technique that imitates polished stone. Touch is not allowed, but look closely at the pillars. The veins and swirls were painted and polished by hand to fool the eye.

Now tilt your head back and look along the nave toward the ceiling. Above you spreads an enormous fresco by the painter Johann Lukas Kracker. It shows scenes from the life of Saint Nicholas, the bishop of Myra, who is remembered for his generosity to the poor. The painting is often described as one of the largest ceiling frescoes in Europe. Painted architecture blends into real architecture, so it is hard to tell where the walls end and the sky begins.

Walk toward the crossing and look straight up into the dome. Its fresco, by Franz Xaver Palko, shows the Holy Trinity surrounded by figures in a swirl of light. Around the church stand large white and gold statues, many by the sculptor Ignaz Franz Platzer. Notice their poses. Arms reach out, robes fly, faces turn upward. Nothing in this interior stands calmly still. Every figure seems caught in the middle of a strong emotion.

Next, turn around and find the organ above the entrance. It is a grand instrument with thousands of pipes, framed by carved and gilded woodwork. Music history touches this spot. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who loved Prague and was warmly received here, is said to have played this organ during his visit in 1787. After his death in 1791, a memorial mass for him was held in this church. It is a moving thought while you stand beneath those pipes.

The church still uses that musical tradition. In the evenings it often hosts concerts of classical and sacred music. The acoustics under the dome are generous. A single voice or violin fills the space without strain. If you have time during your stay, an evening concert offers a very different experience from a daytime visit. The crowds are gone, the candles glow and the frescoes soften in the lower light.

Now for the strangest story in this building's long life. Look back outside at that slender bell tower. During the Communist era in Czechoslovakia, the tower was reportedly used by the state security police as an observation post. From the top, agents could watch the streets of the Lesser Town and several foreign embassies nearby. A tower built to call people to prayer became, for a time, a place for watching them.

Today the tower is open to visitors, with a separate entry from the church itself. A long climb of narrow stairs leads to a gallery high above the square. From there you can see red tiled roofs tumbling down toward the Vltava River. Across the water, the spires of the Old Town rise in a crowded line. Behind you, the castle stretches along its ridge. It is one of the best ways to understand how this city fits together.

When you leave, pause again in the square. Notice how the church sits at the very heart of the Lesser Town, with grand palaces and old houses gathered around it. For centuries people have crossed these cobbles on their way to the castle, the bridge and the markets. The dome has watched all of them pass. Listen once more for the trams, the footsteps and the bells. Then look up one last time, and let that green dome follow you down the hill.