Ghost Town: the Lost Buildings of Prague

We’re all used to thinking of Prague as a ‘well-preserved’ city. But in fact hundreds of important historic sites have disappeared over the centuries, victims of urban planning, war, or political meddling. In this piece on the Lost Buildings of Prague, we take a look at five that are no longer with us.

Few visitors taking their morning espresso at Prague’s Obecní dům, that jewel in the crown of Czech art nouveau, realize that they are sitting on the site of a much earlier building.  In 1380, Wenceslas IV had a second royal residence built next to the Powder Tower. Its name is recorded in the street which runs alongside the Kotva department store: Králodvorská (Royal Court).

The Royal Court occupied a unique place in Czech history. Here in 1462, King George of Podĕbrady proposed what would have been in effect the first European Union: a multilateral treaty between Germany, France and Italy. It seems, however, that such an enlightened concept was too much for the various parties, not least the Catholic church, and the idea was soundly rejected.

As was the Royal Court itself: in 1484, the seat of power reverted to the Castle; and the arrival of the Habsburgs in 1526 was the final nail in the Royal Court’s coffin.

It was one of four fortified bastions which guarded the eastern side of the New Town, though unlike the others there was no drawbridge. After extensive alterations in the 17th century, the gate was finally replaced in 1836 with a grand empire-style colonnade designed by Petr Nobile, also the architect of the Old Town Hall 

By the end of its life, the gate had become part of a garden promenade, replete with cafes and restaurants; and a walk along the wall became a popular weekend pastime. However, with the increasing expense of maintaining the ancient fortifications, Franz Josef I decreed that Prague should be an open city, and had the whole lot dismantled. The Horse Gate was demolished in 1875, but when plans were drawn up for the National Museum, the architect cleverly mimicked the three arches of Nobile’s design in the lower range of the new building, so a memory of the old gate remains even to this day.

What they destroyed has never been replaced. Arguably it was no great loss: the 19th century neo-gothic structure – which had replaced an earlier mediaeval hall – was a relatively recent, and comparatively ugly addition to the square’s architecture. Moreover, its removal opened up a view of the church of St Nicholas which had obscured for at least a hundred years. 

Throughout the last century, there were multiple plans to rebuild the town hall. In 1909, Josef Gočár designed an enormous ziggurat, hopelessly out of scale and higher then the clock tower. In 1987, Milan Knížák proposed an extraordinary La-Défense-type arch soaring over the rooftops of the old Town, with one upright planted on the footprint of the old hall, the other next to the Jewish cemetery.

It seems that leaving well alone is not an option. If a new structure does eventually fill this gap in the Old Lady’s teeth, it is now more likely to be a faithful reproduction of the original 14th century hall. This would certainly be in keeping with the current plan to restore other original features to the Old Town Square in the near future. Better still, why not keep it as an open space?

Alas for Ernest Denis, his association with the railways was only a brief encounter. A year before they destroyed his statue in Malostranské náměstí, the Nazis also erased his name from the station, renaming it, predictably enough, Moldau Bahnhof.  The Soviets were no kinder when they reinstated its original name: Prague-Tĕšnov. Without question, had it survived until 1989, this glorious building would once more have been called ‘Denisovo’, after that great friend of the Czechs. But by the time of the Velvet Revolution, it had already been reduced to rubble – demolished to make way for the Wilsonova highway. 

Today, the only clue to the garden’s existence is in the street that once ran along its north-east border. Nowadays named Politických vězňů (Political prisoners street), it was at one time called Platea Angeli, after the 14th century pharmacist, Angelus of Florence. Invited to Prague in 1346 by King Charles IV, Angelus and his descendants were given the right to ply their trade in Malé Námĕstí, just off the Old Town Square. This specially cultivated garden, from which he plucked his herbal remedies, became famous throughout the civilized world.

One of the great things about Prague is that it is not some well-preserved Disneyland: architecturally speaking, it is always on the move, as these examples show. Some districts, like the Jewish quarter, are lost forever; others retain a street pattern or a single exposed building like the Výtoň customs house at Podskalí. What examples do you know of? Send in your suggestions for a possible sequel!

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