Look for the towering stone sculpture group featuring a central figure of the Madonna perched on a rounded globe, flanked by two men and an unmistakable little stone dog holding a torch at the base. This dynamic scene was carved in seventeen oh eight by Matěj Václav Jäckel, the same artist we ran into earlier on the bridge. He was commissioned by the Dominican order to create a grand, theatrical vision descending from the clouds.
Notice the dog at the feet of the Madonna. It is actually a centuries-old visual pun. In Latin, the Dominican order is called Dominicanes, which sounds an awful lot like Domini canes, or the dogs of the Lord. The torch refers to a legend that Saint Dominic's mother dreamed she would give birth to a dog carrying a torch to set the world ablaze with the gospel. On the right stands Saint Thomas Aquinas with a sun pendant, and below him, a cherub holds a beehive, representing his honey-sweet words.
These intricate details were originally carved from local sandstone. But standing out over the river means facing the relentless dampness of the water year after year. The original stone eventually became too fragile to withstand the natural environment and was moved to a museum in nineteen fifty-eight to keep it from crumbling away entirely. If you want to see how this masterpiece has weathered time, take a look at your screen for a comparison of the stone from the nineteen seventies. Thanks to these faithful replicas, this dramatic vision survives against the odds.
Let us continue along the bridge to another spot with a history of extreme vulnerability, leading us right to the statue of the Pietà.
