Anyone who hoped, after yesterday’s thread, that we’d be avoiding the big topics today may wish to stop reading now – a vítěz / vítězka is a winner, and a vítězství is a victory.
And we’re talking 1918 here, so let’s do a quick rundown (which doesn’t start until the latter stages of the year).
Masaryk drafted the Czechoslovak Declaration of Independence, or the Washington Declaration, on the 16th. He read it in Philadelphia on the 26th.
On the 28th, the Czechoslovak National Committee announced the founding of Czechoslovakia. There were celebrations.
I would say you got a day off for this recently, but, as it fell on a Saturday this year, you quite possibly didn’t.
On 14 November, that provisional Czechoslovak government was replaced by a Real Actual Government of Real Actual Czechoslovakia, and, in the Rudolfinum, Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk was (again) declared president.
But you may struggle to get any pictures of him at that ceremony, given that he didn’t make it back from exile until 21 December.
There was also much tearing down of symbols of Austro-Hungarian rule around this time.
Vítězná – connected with the equally patriotically-named Národní by the, erm, equally patriotically-named Most Legií (both coming up soon), has had its name since 1928.
When walking I was along the street recently, I was really struck by this building. So elegant, so unused, so in need of some care which I sincerely hope it’s getting (guys, turn it into affordable housing, please).
I think the best way to start this one is to take a look at two of the plaques on the ground.
Between 1948 and 1989, 205,486 people were convicted. 248 were executed, and a further 4,500 died in prison.
327 people died trying to cross Czechoslovakia’s borders; 170,938 citizens emigrated.
A monument, erected in May 2002, commemorates these people, but also those who aren’t counted above and whose lives were ruined by the regime in this time.
Zoubek worked in partnership with architects Jan Kerel (1944-2022) and Zdeněk Hölzel (born 1947).
The memorial consists of a staircase with six figures (all male, which I do have feelings about). Going up the staircase, the figures become more mutilated. But they’re still standing despite all the terrible things happening to them.
There was some awkwardness around the unveiling – the then-mayor of Prague 1, representing ODS, didn’t invite then-President Václav Havel until two days before. He declined the invitation and visited the monument the day before instead.
One of the figures had an explosive placed it in November 2003; we still don’t know by whom.
The path at the foot of the moment was given its own name, Alej obětí totality, and a street sign, in 2018.
Interestingly, Petr Janda and Aleš Kubalík, whose proposal wasn’t chosen to be exhibited in Prague (it came third), were able to see their (slightly revised) vision made reality in 2006, when Liberec got its own Memorial to the Victims of Communism.
I don’t use this platform to get into debates, and, frankly, one of my main takeaways from xformerlyknownastwitter since I started using it regularly is that I can quite easily end up with an aversion to people whose side I’m actually on (or whose side I thought I was on).
But, whenever I see statistics about preventable deaths, anywhere, I can’t help but thinking that, for most of those people, there’s usually any number of others whose lives are turned upside down by such an event.
Loved ones, friends, co-workers, people who were financially dependent on the deceased, heck, even pets. And then there are people who didn’t know the deceased well, or at all, but liked what they had seen or heard.
And then there are people whose death is barely noticed. That’s even f**king sadder.
I don’t know where I’m going with this, except that life is short and I should spend more of it checking in with people and less of it working.
And that the only thing about writing these posts that isn’t absolute freaking joy is the gender imbalance of it all.
Time for a quick language lesson: a řeka is a river.
If you want to use ‘river’ as an adjective, though, then říční is your friend – as in říční přístav (river port), říční síť (river system) or říčníkoryto (river bed).
And that map at the start of the thread is probably a bit of a giveaway that we’re next to the Vltava here. In the days when Prague was generally lacking in bridges, the river sloped down to a ferry (approximately here, I guess).
Říční includes one of the oldest churches in Prague – The Church of John the Baptist Na Prádle, built around 1240.
It was one of many churches closed down in 1784, after which the building was used as the premises of a laundry and a carpet-cleaning service (prádlo is laundry).
In the mid-1930s, the Czechoslovak Hussite Church took over the building, and is still using it.
(Yes, some sort of balanced gender representation would have been nice too)
In the 1920s, the Association asked for permission to create a building of its own. This was granted, and, in 1925, the building was opened and the street it’s still on – Besední – was founded.
The building housed an exhibition hall and two concert halls.
Obviously, the Communists didn’t really like an artistic association that they hadn’t created themselves, and, in the 1950s, limited its activities, before closing it down in 1972 (it reopened in 1990).
He got a degree from the University of Prague in 1483, after which he started teaching there.
However, he soon left to pursue a legal career – in 1487, he became a clerk at the land registry (Zemské desky), and, in 1493, he became the registry’s deputy scribe.
Quick explanation: the Zemské desky, introduced in Bohemia in 1321, were registers where the nobility had their important legal transactions recorded, especially those concerning property ownership.
They included judgements made by the regional court, and the (many) privileges and (many) rights of individual nobles.
Kornel himself joined the nobility in 1492 (the ‘ze Všehrd’ was added to his name at this time).
In 1495, he started to write O právech, súdiech i o dskách země české knihy devatery (On the rights, judges and the boards of the Czech Land, 9 books).
This was an attempt to codify Czech law, but, as Kornel was in favour of the cities and the lower nobility, the higher nobility decided the they weren’t in favour of Kornel.
The nobies managed to get King Vladislav II (pictured) to dismiss Kornel from his post, but the latter still managed to finish his 9-volume work in 1499.
However, a nobility-favouring law (Vladislav’s Law) was adopted in 1500, and Kornel’s work would not be published until 1841.
Kornel died of plague in 1520. He’s buried in the Church of St. John the Baptist Na Prádle – which is on this street.
Kornel also owned numbers 12 and 14 on this street, so would probably have been quite happy to be buried just metres from home, if one can ever be happy about such things.
A lanová dráha is a funicular, i.e. a type of cable railway whose track goes along a steep slope. Which could mean that this street name needs no further explanation, but there’s no fun in that, so I’ll continue.
In 1891, Prague held a world’s fair, called the General Land Centennial Exhibition, or the Jubilee Exhibition. It was held to commemorate an industrial fair held in the Clementinum (coming up in… 25-35 posts’ time?) exactly one hundred years earlier.
It became a very good advert for Czech innovation and entrepreneurship, at a time when the Czechs still didn’t have independence; a boycott by Bohemia’s German population really played into the Czechs’ hands.
Several buildings and structures built for the Exhibition still survive – the most obvious one is the Výstaviště Praha Exhibition Ground in Holešovice (here it is in 2009).
Another creation was the Eiffel Tower-inspired Petřín Lookout Tower / Petřínská rozhledna (photo, again, from 2009, and looks like it).
Lookout towers are very nice and all that, but Petřín is quite high up, so something was needed to enable people to access it. Enter the funicular.
Originally, the funicular was powered by water. The 400-metre ride took six minutes and both stations were in different locations to where they are now. It closed in 1914, and didn’t get started again until 1931.
The 1930s version was considerably different – the stations were moved, the railway was retracked, and a middle station, called Nebozízek, was introduced.
There are two stories about why Nebozízek is so called. As so often, there’s a more realistic story and a more fun one.
The more realistic story is that the winding roads around Petřín look like the spirals on a gimlet (Czech: nebozez).
The more fun story is that the young son of Charles IV couldn’t say ‘ř’ properly (me neither – closest I’ll ever come to royalty), and Charles once asked him if he wanted porridge or schnitzel (kaši nebo řízek) for dinner, to which young Vašek replied ‘nebo zízek’).
Vašek would later become King Václav IV, which is definitely a last laugh of sorts.
If you don’t have a ticket, you have to buy a special one for CZK 60; your regular 30-minute or 90-minute ones won’t work. If you have a Lítačka, though, then you’re still good. Phew.
Views from the cablecar are great. I’m about 65% sure these still not very good photos from 2009 are taken from there.
The verb ujezdit means to ride on something until it’s smooth – i.e. to plough (although the more common verbs for ‘to plough’ are orat and kypřit).
An újezd is, therefore, land which can be ploughed or cultivated – and, in the 12th century, it was the name of a village around here.
A text from 1365 refers to a village church, that of John the Evangelist (who is credited with writing the Gospel of John), but we don’t know exactly where this was, and, like another eight million churches I’ve written about, it was destroyed by the Hussites in the 1420s.
It was also in the 1360s that Újezd became part of the ever-expanding Malá Strana.
Around this time, a gate was built on the border with Smíchov. It was called the Cartesian Gate after a nearby monastery.
This was replaced twice – first, by the Imperial Gate in 1693, and then in 1862 by the Újezd Gate. However, the latter only lasted for 29 years – when the city walls were destroyed in 1891, the gate was too.
Here it is in 1890.
Újezd (the street), meanwhile, used to have two names from 1800 to 1870: the northern part was called Újezdská, and the southern part was U brány Újezdské, named after the gate.
Also in the ‘not here anymore’ category are the Újezd barracks, built in 1712 and and destroyed in 1932 (replaced by a park – not every loss makes things uglier).
Here they are in 1912, and here’s the replacement looking particularly wonderful in autumn 2023.
Palacký would help Hellich (who returned to Prague in 1840) to get a job at the National Museum; Hellich worked as the custodian and documenter of the Museum’s archaeological collection.
Although Hellich worked hard to publicise the Museum and the importance of preserving Czech cultural heritage, he was also becoming a renowned painter in his own right, and left the Museum once he was earning sufficient commission to do so.
He painted about 320 paintings his lifetime, about 90% of which were altarpieces for churches.
Here, for example, is his painting of Saint Ludmila teaching her grandson, Saint Wenceslas. It’s at the church in Tetín (albeit as a copy).
Hellich died in 1880 after contracting typhoid. He’s buried in the Malá Strana Cemetery.
For anyone wondering why we haven’t got round to discussing the Malá Strana cemetery yet – that’s mainly because it’s in Smíchov, in Prague 5. So there may be a bit of a wait.
František Martin Pelcl was born in Rychnov nad Kněžnou, in Hradec Králové Region, in 1734.
In 1755, he started studying theology in Prague, soon switching to law. After escaping to Vienna for a few months in 1757, he returned, but his father died and studying was no longer an option, as his siblings needed material support.
Pelcl’s time with noble Czech families gave him access to forbidden Protestant literature that he wouldn’t have seen otherwise, and he became a fervent Czech patriot. The Nostic family would also enable him to meet key figures of the Prague Enlightenment.
He published multiple works, most famously Brief History of the Czechs (1774-1782), as well as monographs on Charles IV and Wenceslas IV. In 1790, was the first to write about the history of the Germans in Bohemia (Geschichte der Deutschen und ihrer Sprache in Böhmen).
In 1793, he became the first Professor of Czech at Charles University. As the course was brand new, Pelcl was charged with creating usable/useful textbooks for learning Czech.
However, ill health meant that Pelcl wasn’t able to devote as much time to his academic career as he wished, and he died in 1801. He’s buried in the Malá Strana Cemetery.
Pelclova is all of 10-20 metres from Nosticova 4, where Pelcl lived when working for the Nostic family (1761-9).
Malá Strana was founded as a royal town in 1257, but the surrounding area had been inhabited for centuries. And that surrounding area had several villages, including, among others, Újezd and Nebovidy, the latter of which was located around where the street is now.
A nebovid would be somebody who can see the sky.
The main building in Nebovidy was a church dedicated to St Laurence; it was first mentioned in 1298. There was also a Premonstratensian convent in the village, and another church, that of Mary Magdalene.
When the Premonstratensians moved to the Old Town in 1316, the convent was passed to the Dominicans. There was also a second Dominican convent in the village, that of St Anne – I haven’t confirmed if these both operated at the same time.
Because, let’s be fair, for a village in the 1300s, two convents for the same religious order seems like a lot.
However, this other church – that of St Laurence – still exists; it’s on Hellichova. That said, it’s not been used as a church since 1784, and, in the 1980s, was converted into a concert/exhibition hall.
Kryštof Harant z Polžice a Bezdružice was born in Klenová, now in Plzeň Region, in 1564. He grew up in North Tyrol, and worked as a courtier for Ferdinand II, Archduke of Austria.
Returning to Bohemia in 1584, he tried to get a job at the court of Rudolf II; he was unsuccessful, and ended up joining the Habsburg army instead (1593-8). This enabled him to visit Palestine, Egypt and Venice (fanciful image of his travels below).
Returning to Prague in 1599, he finally got a job at the court of Rudolph II. He became a lord in 1603, and, by 1605, was Royal Governor of Prague. His travelogue, covering his travels in the 1590s, was published in 1608.
Returning to Prague in 1618, he took part in the anti-Habsburg uprising of the Czech Estates. He was in charge of an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to besiege Vienna.
Frederick V of the Palatinate declared himself King of Bohemia in 1619, and Harant became Privy Council and President of the Czech Chamber. In 1620, though, the Estates were defeated by Habsburg forces at Bílá Hora and Frederick fled, never to return.
Harant was arrested at his castle in March 1621. On 21 June, he was beheaded on Old Town Square, along with another 26 leaders of the uprising.
Harantova includes a former Dominican monastery, which now hosts the luxury Mandarin Oriental Prague. It also has a pleasing example of one of ye olde Prague street signs.
Right across from it is Rohan Palace, which now houses the Ministry of Education, Youth and Sports of the Czech Republic.
Prokop served as the monastery’s abbott until his death in 1053. He was canonised as a saint in 1204, and later became one of the patron saints of Bohemia.
His remains were transferred to the Church of All Saints in Prague Castle in 1588.
Many churches in Bohemia are devoted to him – and, if you look at number 3 in this street, you’ll see what used to be one of them. It’s been a residential building since 1784.
For a relatively short street, Prokopská certainly packs the excellent house names in: you’ve got the Golden Griffin, the White Pelican, the Golden Ostrich and the Black Horse all within a few doors of each other.
A lázeň is a bath or a spa. You may know of Mariánské Lázně in western Bohemia, or, a bit closer to home, Karlovy Lázně, formerly a spa but now the biggest nightclub in Central Europe.
And, from 1345, there was at least one bath house here. A written document from 1503 refers to local spas in the plural.
The most popular theory on the church’s name is that there used to be a chain, stretching from Malá Strana across the Vltava in order to collect customs duties from passing ships.
The convent building is right next door.
Velkopřevorský palác – see link above – can also be accessed from Lázeňská.
While Dům V Lázních – named after the spa that was once here – used to be a hotel so prestigious that it was stayed in by Peter the Great, François René de Chateaubriand and Otto von Bismarck (not at the same time).
Lázeňská is seriously about the flashy guests, because Dům U zlatého a bílého jednorožce / The Golden-White Unicorn welcomed both Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1789) and Ludwig van Beethoven (1796).
The Knights Hospitaller arrived in Bohemia in the 12th century (when their headquarters were still in Jerusalem). The Grand Priory was created in 1626, and they moved into their palace here in 1694.
During WW2, the Order effectively stopped, not starting again until 1989. From 1948 to 1981, one Karel VI. Schwarzenberg worked from exile in Vienna to revive the Grand Priory’s activities. You will be familiar with his recently-deceased son: https://english.radio.cz/tributes-pour-death-karel-schwarzenberg-8799843
The Straků z Nedabylic Palace – also known as U sedmi čertů (The Seven Devils) or U bílého koníčka (The White Horse) – is now home to the Jan Deyl Conservatory and Secondary School, which focuses on a musical education for the visually impaired: https://jandeylconservatory.cz/index.php/cs/
There’s also the Turbů Palace, in Rococo style, which hosts the Japanese Embassy.
Next door, we have the Danish Embassy, apparently one of the very first to be opened in the Czech Republic, as Denmark was one of the first countries to recognise both the Czech and Slovak Republics in 1993. They have quite a likeable Instagram page: https://www.instagram.com/denmarkinczechia/
Finally, you might think that this is just a pair of benches, although, if you look closer, the red hearts may make you think of a certain Czech.
These are part of a series of memorials to Václav Havel, all of which have the same style (round table, two chairs, usually a tree in the middle). The project is called Václav Havel’s Place; the idea came from Havel’s long-time friend, Bořek Šípek.
Added on 1 May 2014, this was the fourth such ‘Place’ to exist, after the first three were inaugurated in Washington DC (October 2013), Dublin (December 2013) and Barcelona (February 2014).
Around 1600, the family started to make a career at the Bohemian court; their conversion to Catholicism would be useful to them, as, after the battle of Bílá Hora in 1620, they acquired a large number of formerly Protestant properties.
In 1660, Jan Hartvík of Nostic, Supreme Chancellor of Bohemia, had two houses knocked down and replaced by a Baroque palace, which was completed in 1676. The family would own the palace until 1945.
In 1918, when Czechoslovakia was formed, the building was used by the Ministry of Education and Culture. Nowadays, it’s still a Ministry, but without Slovakia and without Education.
The Dutch Embassy also used part of the property until 1996 (the land of ‘how many political parties in Parliament, exactly?’ now has its embassy in Bubeneč).
Much more easily accessible, of course, is the Nostic Garden / Nosticova zahrada, which you’ll pass through when walking from the palace to the busier parts of Kampa.
In Renaissance times, there was a miller called Václav Sova of Liboslav. The building which included the mill was built in 1589, getting a Classicist revamp in the 19th century, and then, after a fire in 1867, a Neo-Gothic one.
Turned into a steam mill by its then-owner František Odkolek, it ceased to operate after 1896, as the result of yet another fire.
It was to the City of Prague in 1920, and gradually fell into disuse, but, after major renovations, it’s hosted Museum Kampa since 2002.
Outside it, you may recognise these babies (literally) by David Černý.
U Sovových mlýnů also includes the Liechtenstein Palace (1697-8).
This is where very important guests spend the night when they’re in Prague – including Liz, Phil and Charlie, top stars of Netflix drama ‘The Crown’, Juan Carlos de España, and, as conveniently left out of all Prague’s official websites right now, Vladimir Putin.
While Werich’s villa, just across the road, has had a good few famous people living in it: historian Josef Dobrovský (1798-1803), actor Jan Werich (1945-1980), and, between 1946 and 1948, his friend and fellow actor Jiří Voskovec.
A převor is a prior – a word whose meaning differs depending on what kind of monastery they’re in.
Among Dominicans, Augustinians, Brothers of Mercy and other Catholic orders, a prior is any monastic superior.
Among Premonstratensians, Benedictines and Cistercians, however, a prior would be directly subordinate to an abbott.
In this case, we’re dealing with what is known as the Maltézský řád in Czech, and most commonly as the Knights Hospitaller in English; they’re mainly associated with Malta because they had their headquarters there from 1530 to 1798.
There’ll be more on them in a few days – the map above might have been a giveaway – but, for now, let’s just mention that the order has six Grand Priories – or Velkopřevorství – around the world, including a Czech one.
In the 12th century, King Vladislav I made a building on this square available to the Johannite Order, the Knights’ predecessor organisation.
The palace underwent major Baroque reconstruction from 1725 onwards. After becoming part of the National Museum in 1952, it was given back to the Maltese Knights in 1991.
Velkopřevorské náměstí has had its current name sine about 1750.
But – and no offence to Malta or France, I promise – if you end up on Velkopřevorské náměstí, it’ll probably be to take a look at the Lennon Wall. (And it’s the Maltese guys who own the wall and allow people to graffiti it).
Hrozny are ‘grapes’, not to be confused with hrozný, which means ‘awful’. And hroznová is the feminine adjective from hrozny, meaning that this is Grape Street.
We’re not in a vineyard here – though come to Kampa during one of its French markets and you’d be forgiven for thinking there was one nearby – but Number 2 was originally a Renaissance building called ‘U Zlatého hroznu’ / ‘The Golden Grape’.
Hroznová also includes Humlův dům (Baroque-classicist; built from 1769 to 1774), built by one Matyáš Hummel. It was later owned by Jiří Trnka (1912-1969), a puppet-maker once called ‘the Walt Disney of Eastern Europe’ (insert your rage about ‘Eastern’ here).
Going back to the start, kyselé hrozny are ‘sour grapes’, which is an excuse to post my favourite Simpsons quote of all time.
However, until the 18th century, people would merely refer to the island as ostrov, meaning, yes, ‘island’.
(I can’t judge; I’ll always refer to ‘the pub’ without thinking for a second if it has a name or not)
For such a recent name, people aren’t quite sure what its origins are. Campus is Latin for ‘field’, and, for its first 400 years or so, that is basically all that the island was.
There’s also a story that Spanish soldiers set up campamento here during the Battle of Bílá Hora in 1620 (counterargument: that’s about seven kilometres away).
Then there’s the story that the grandson of astronomer Tycho Brahe, the snappily-named Rudolf Tychon Gansneb Tegnagel z Campu, owned land here.
Continuing to clutch at straws, a kępa in Polish is a ‘meadow’, as in Saska Kępa, a well-to-do suburb of Warsaw, and there may have been a similar word in other Slavic languages.
It also kind of stopped being an island in 1915, although we still refer to it as one – thanks to the construction of Smíchov lock, you can access mainland Malá Strana by dry land.
Kampa didn’t have a great time of it in the 2013 floods:
And here’s some great footage from 1966:
On Na Kampě itself, I recall this being the Estonian Embassy quite recently, but it isn’t now.
Obviously, there’s more to say about Kampa, but much of it isn’t on this street, so Carry on Kampa continues tomorrow.
Originally published on X on 13 and 14 November 2023 (there was quite a lot to get through, as you’ll see).
No street sign, but I could hardly get away with not writing a post about this one.
In 1172, Prague got its first stone bridge, built by King Vladislav II and named Juditin Most after his wife, Judith of Thuringia. It survived until a flood in 1342 and was replaced by a wooden bridge until there was a plan (and money) for something a bit more permanent.
Work on the replacement began in 1357 or 8; compared to the Judith Bridge, it had fewer arches, was higher, and had deeper pillars. It was designed by Matthias of Arras, Peter Parler, Bohemian stonemason Oto, or none of the above, depending which source you prefer to believe.
By 1406, the bridge was open and the Kingdom of Bohemia had spent a heck of a lot of money on it. A toll was charged for anybody who wished to cross, and this wouldn’t be abolished for over 400 years.
Until 1828, the bridge also welcomed small businesses, usually selling food. The bridge also used to have an electric tram (1905 to 1908), buses (1908-9 and 1932-1946 or so), and, until 1965, cars.
The improved construction didn’t stop the bridge from getting flooded again – after one flood in 1432, the ensuing repairs would last 71 years – but the most famous flood came in 1890. Two pillars collapsed, three arches were washed away, and two statues fell into the Vltava.
Thanks to the work of the architect Josef Hlávka, the collapsed parts were back in place in 1892 and the two fallen statues were rescued from the water.
Charles Bridge also escaped major damage during the Prague Uprising of 1848, but, if these artworks are accurate, it was a close shave.
Further reconstruction work (1965-78) solved some problems, but exacerbated others, and yet more reconstruction took place between 2007 and 2010. Unfortunately, this too has resulted in the need for further corrective work.
On my birthday in December 2020 (when drinks down the pub were not an option), I got up very early and experienced Charles Bridge when it was (almost) empty.
I wouldn’t recommend December 2020 to anyone, but I would recommend this.
Part 2 begins here
When preparing for this thread, I took pictures of every statue on the bridge. Then, when I wrote a thread, I used none of them. This feels like a shame, so here’s your guide to all thirty statues, one by one.
Obviously, many of are replicas, and not every photo makes the features of the statue itself particularly visible (crowds / patience / etc.).
These are in order of appearance (if you start on the eastern side of the bridge, walk along the northern side, and then walk back, looking south).
Madonna and St Bernard (originally by Matěj Václav Jäckel – a Sorb – in 1709; remade from 1978 to 1980).
The Madonna, St Dominic and St. Thomas Aquinas (also by Jäckel, 1708; remade from 1958 to 1961).
The Calvary – made by Wolf Ernst Brohn around 1628, and brought to the bridge in 1657; it’s rumoured that a crucifix was in this spot from the every early days of Charles Bridge’s existence. This is the oldest statue on the bridge, and has been replaced several times.
Saint Anne (again, by Jäckel, 1607; replica from 1999).
St. Cyril and Methodius (created by Karel Dvořák from 1928 to 1938, having been commissioned to celebrate ten years of Czechoslovak independence).
St John the Baptist (by Josef Max, 1855), replacing a larger sculpture showing John baptising Christ, damaged during the Prague Uprising of 1848.
Saints Norbert, Václav and Zikmund (also by Josef Max, 1853, replacing an early statue which had deteriorated due to the low quality of its stone).
St. John of Nepomuk (cast by J.V. Herold in 1683, based on a 1681 sketch by Matyáš Rauchmüller, and unveiled on what people then thought was the 300th anniversary of John being thrown into the Vltava).
St Anthony of Padua (Jan Oldřich Mayer, 1707; vases on either side restored in 2010).
St Jude Thaddeus (also by Mayer, 1708).
St Augustine (by either Jeroným Kohl or J.B. Kohl, 1708; replica from 1971).
Saints John of Matha, Felix of Valois and Ivan (Ferdinand Maxmilián Brokoff, 1714). With extra peek inside.
St Vojtěch (Ferdinand Maxmilián and Michal Jan Josef Brokoff, 1709; copy from 1973).
St Lugardis (Matyáš Bernard Braun, 1710; copy from 1995; copy not on display since 2020, as the pillar’s being repaired, which it just took me a half hour of scrolling through photos to realise): https://www.ghmp.cz/aktuality-plastika/socha-sv-luitgardy/
St. Nicholas of Tolentino (Jeroným Kohl or J.B. Kohl, 1708, copy from 1970).
Saints Vincent Ferrer and Procopius (Ferdinand Maxmilián Brokoff, 1712; currently having stuff done to it).
St Francis of Assisi (Emanuel Max, replacing an earlier statue from 1708).
St Ludmila with a young St Wenceslas (Matyáš Bernard Braun, 1702; copy from 1999).
St Francis Borgia (Ferdinand Maxmilián Brokoff, 1710; replacement from 2017).
St Christopher (Emanuel Max, 1857).
St Francis Xavier (Ferdinand Maxmilián Brokoff, 1711; one of the ones swept away in the floods of 1890; copy from 1913).
St Joseph with Jesus (Josef Max, 1854, replacing an original by Jan Brokoff from 1706 which was damaged by gunfire in 1848).
What's in a Prague street name 
