Kutná Hora: The Church of St. Barbara audio guide

4/ The Church of St. Barbara

The city's symbol and landmark began to be built at the end of the 14th century, following the example of the great French cathedrals, and according to historical sources, it was supposed to reach twice its present length.

The first designer of the church was Jan Parléř, son of the famous Petr Parléř. Over the years, several important names have been replaced on the construction, as the construction was interrupted several times (for example, due to the Hussite wars or the decline in silver mining). The construction was also supervised by the master Matyáš Rejsek (creator of the Powder Tower in Prague) or Benedikt Rejt of Pístov (author of the Vladislav Hall at Prague Castle). In 1626, the church was handed over to the Jesuits and largely Baroqueised and then, after more than 300 years, completed to its present form.

The Church of St. Barbara, which today belongs to the golden fund of the world's architectural heritage, expresses the respect of the townspeople for the Body of God, the power of the royal city, the tension between Prague and Kutná Hora and the independence of Kutná Hora from the Sedlec monastery. Perhaps that is why the church was built outside the city walls, outside the Sedlec clerical administration, on the land of the Prague chapter.

All generations have left their mark on the varied gallery of especially rare Gothic frescoes and stone art. The main nave is dominated by a Renaissance pulpit with Baroque paneling. The learned and pious Jesuits furnished the church with a number of Baroque altars, statues and paintings. The generous donors of the neo-Gothic restoration had a large part of the windows decorated with stained glass in the early 20th century, where the painter František Urban depicted a number of purely Christian motifs as well as important events of his time. This tradition was continued in 2014 with the last artistic achievement so far: a stained glass window with the motif of Saint Agnes of Premyslid, which decorated the last clear window in the south aisle of the church.

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Saint Barbara’s story explains why her name mattered so much here. According to legend, her pagan father locked her in a tower after she became Christian. She had three windows made in the tower to honor the Holy Trinity. Her father killed her, and the story says he was then struck by lightning. Because of that sudden, violent end, she became a protector against unexpected death.

For miners, that was not a distant idea. A collapse, flood, fire, or bad air underground could kill without warning. In Kutná Hora, devotion to Barbara was therefore practical as well as spiritual. She was a saint for people whose income and danger came from the same dark shafts beneath the town.

One of the best details to find inside is the mining imagery in the side chapels. Medieval churches usually filled their walls with saints, donors, and biblical scenes. Here, workers appear with tools, clothing, and gestures connected to the local trade. These paintings bring the town’s economy into sacred space. They also show the pride of a community that knew its silver was powerful enough to build in stone.

The architecture tells another story, about interrupted ambition. The first design came from the circle of the Parler family, the same building tradition associated with Saint Vitus Cathedral in Prague. Later masters changed and enlarged the plan. In the early sixteenth century, Benedikt Ried created the high late Gothic vaulting that helps make the interior feel weightless. The ribs do not simply hold the ceiling. They draw patterns across it, almost like stone lines being woven overhead.

The Hussite wars damaged the rhythm of construction, and later the money weakened. By the sixteenth century, the church was closed off before the original plan was fully carried out. The shorter west end is not a design quirk. It is a financial and historical scar. Kutná Hora’s silver had made the dream possible, and the decline of that same silver helped freeze it.

The building you see today also carries a nineteenth-century layer. After centuries of partial completion and later alterations, architects of the Gothic Revival restored and finished parts of it. Their work gave the church a more unified medieval appearance than it had kept through all those interruptions. That restoration is part of the experience, not a simple return to the past.

If you are outside first, walk far enough along the terrace to see the choir from an angle. The buttresses make far more sense from there than from the front. If you go inside, pause near the centre of the nave before moving to the chapels. Look up for the vaulting, then look sideways for the painted traces of miners and minting. The building is easiest to understand in that order: ambition above, labor below.