In ancient times, when King Wenceslas IV, son of the famous Charles IV, reigned over the Czech lands, not only the shadow of mighty castle walls but also a dark cloud of uncertainty and unrest spread over Prague. The king, a man of complex character, often retreated into seclusion, far from the intricate intrigues of courtiers and the growing tension in the country. Yet he could not escape fate, for its threads were woven by a hand more powerful than that of man.

One cold evening, when the stars above Prague Castle shone particularly brightly and coldly, King Wenceslas IV summoned his astrologer to his chambers in Hradčany, an old man with deep eyes and fingers perpetually stained with herbs and the dust of ancient scrolls. The king was troubled, for it seemed to him that clouds of fateful omens were gathering over his head.

“Tell me, master,” said the king with a voice heavy with worry, “what do the stars say about my future? And what about the fate of this tower of St. Vitus Cathedral, whose stones grow towards the sky so slowly?”

The astrologer bowed, looked long into the king’s face, then raised his hand to the window, beyond which the unfinished silhouette of St. Vitus Tower was outlined. “King, it is written in the stars and determined by eternal will that your life will be fulfilled before this tower is completed. Its last stone will be laid only after your departure from this world, and not during your reign.”

These words struck King Wenceslas IV like a bolt from the blue. Anger and defiance were reflected in his eyes. What? He, the Czech king, should be bound by such a prophecy? He, who tried to rule a land full of strife, should fall before the work of his father and his fathers was completed? A wild desire was born in his heart to deceive fate, to stand against the will of the stars.

“So be it!” cried the king, until the echo spread through the chamber. “If my death is to be connected with the completion of this tower, then no one will complete it! I order the tower of St. Vitus Cathedral to be torn down! Stone by stone, let it be brought to the ground! Let my name not be associated with its end!”

The king’s words were powerful and his command relentless. The very next day, the sounds of hammers and crowbars echoed at Prague Castle. Masons, who for years had built St. Vitus Tower upwards with respect and diligence, now with heavy hearts began to bring its stones down. It was a sad spectacle, how the work of generations turned back into a pile of rubble. King Wenceslas IV, however, persisted in his order, firmly convinced that he would thus deceive predetermined fate.

To turn away from the sight of the demolished tower and from the worries that burdened him, the king retreated to his favorite New Castle near Kunratice. There, in the silence of the forests, he sought peace, while in Prague the sounds of demolition work continued to echo. Days passed, spring gave way to summer, and with it came the hot July of the year of our Lord 1419.

While King Wenceslas IV resided in Kunratice, Prague was boiling like a cauldron. The people, fanaticized by the sermons of the Hussite preacher Jan Želivský, who incited the faithful in the Church of Our Lady of the Snows and elsewhere, were full of anger against the councilors of the New Town of Prague, whom they considered enemies of the true faith.

On July 30, a Sunday, Jan Želivský led a massive procession that set out from St. Stephen’s Church. The crowd, led by deep faith and determination, headed towards the New Town Hall, where the unpopular councilors resided. The atmosphere was charged with tension, the air crackled with anger and determination. When the procession reached the town hall, the situation escalated. The Hussites broke in and mercilessly threw the anti-Hussite councilors from the windows of the town hall building. It was an event that went down in history as the First Prague Defenestration and unleashed unprecedented storms in the country.

News of this terrible event spread quickly and soon reached the New Castle near Kunratice, where King Wenceslas IV spent his days. When he was informed of what had happened in Prague, how his royal majesty had been trampled upon, and what atrocities had occurred at the New Town Hall, King Wenceslas IV was deeply disturbed. Immense shock, anger, and helplessness settled in his heart. At that moment, he felt the unbearable weight of fate that had turned against him. His body, already weakened by worries, could not withstand the onslaught of such suffering. He suffered a stroke.

King Wenceslas IV, who had tried so hard to deceive the prophecy, died shortly thereafter at the New Castle near Kunratice. His death stopped everything. It stopped not only his suffering but also the demolition of St. Vitus Tower. The masons laid down their hammers, for who could command further when the king who issued the order was no longer among the living?

Thus the astrologer’s prophecy was fulfilled. King Wenceslas IV died before St. Vitus Tower was completed. His remains were first laid to rest in Zbraslav Monastery, but later found eternal rest in the royal tomb in Hradčany. And St. Vitus Cathedral, whose tower remained unfinished, stood thus for centuries, as a silent witness to the power of fate and the futility of human defiance. Only after long ages did it see its completion, long after the departure of King Wenceslas IV from this world, exactly as it was written in the stars.