Poland and "the weight of history" Part 2

Continued - from Part 1  

Opposite: Interior of the Monastery Chapel. The shrine to the Black Madonna is in a side chapel on the left

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Through the sacristy we made our way down to the sanctuary of the Black Madonna, passing along a narrow railed corridor to the right of the shrine. Because of the confined space, we barely had time to stop, let alone view the icon. But there was a palpable feeling of devotion among the pilgrims standing in this small chapel as they recited the responses to the prayers. And fleeting though the visit was, before we passed from the side chapel out into the body of the church, at least one "non-believer" among us, felt that their presence there was an intrusion.

Now whether it was divine retribution for our squabble, or simply the forces of nature at work, I can't say. But we left the monastery of Jasna Gora in a thunderstorm. And half an hour later our coach came to a halt, when our driver was alerted to a burning smell that seemed to be coming from within the coach. So for forty minutes we sat there watching the rain and the skewed lightening forks as they rushed to earth. Then, and perhaps tired of waiting, and having overcome his misgivings, our driver changed his clothes, and buried his head in the engine compartment. A strange ending it seemed, to a brief stop at Jasna Gora, just long enough to witness the celebration of Faith, that along with with Hope, had triumphed over the Nazi doctrine of rejection and despair.

As a consequence of the delay, it was dark when we arrived in Krakow, where my sense of place was of tight turns and a seemingly endless line of low tree- trunks, as they passed, just visible in the headlights.

Krakow

 Krakow:  The Vistula, From Wawel Hill

Once the capitol of Poland, Krakow so irked the communist government after WW II, that they built the steel producing town of Nowa Huta on its doorstep. For their part, the people of Krakow saw this as punishment for their bourgeois values, and lack of enthusiasm for the new order, while the communists took the view that Krakow was a city trapped in "unproductive daydreams." And they believed that this planned influx of working class neighbours, would "save it from fossilisation." (11) Ironically, and as time passed, there was so much concern about the effect of acid rain on the fabric of this Medieval city, that a huge clean up operation got underway, with the result that Krakow is now a UNESCO World Heritage site; and listed as one of "the twelve most remarkable architectural complexes in the world." (12)

It is the place where the kings and queens of Poland are buried, and men of science and letters remembered. In Market Square, a statue of the romantic poet Adam Mickiewicz, (who wrote the acclaimed epic poem Pan Tadeusz, watches over the passers bye, while at the Jaiellonian university, (founded in 1364,) Copernicus, who attended lectures there, is remembered; and where a room is set aside for the display of 15th and 16th century astronomical instruments. There are palaces, convents and monasteries, and churches in abundance; from the oldest and austere Romanesque church of St Andrew, through to the Gothic Church of the Virgin Mary, with its unfolding and sculpted altarpiece, to say nothing of the cathedral on Wawel Hill. And what is striking about the churches of Krakow is, that none of them are redundant. They are fresh and in use. And apart from the monuments to saints and sinners, there is the bugler who, on the hour, every hour, calls from a tower on the Church of the Virgin Mary; a call that stops abruptly, supposedly reminding the people of Krakow of the bugler who, alerting them to an imminent Tartar invasion, was shot through the throat with an arrow. And an unusual and pleasing feature of Krakow is the Planty; a tree lined parkland built over the former mote beyond the old city walls. As you make your way around this unusual feature, past the barbican and the opera house, you can break your journey almost at will, to visit the principal places of interest.

                        The Planty: Built over the old moat, this walk skirts the city wall

                           and provides easy and pleasant access to places of interest.

In 1939 a new occupant moved in to the castle on Wawel Hill, the home of the former kings and queens of Poland; a castle that sits cheek-by-jowl with the Cathedral where they are buried From this commanding height you have a spectacular view of the Vistula, and perhaps more significantly, of the city of Krakow. And when from the streets of Krakow you look up to Wawel Hill, you can be in no doubt as to its psychological importance. It was from these heights that power, both political and religious, was exercised And what changed for the people of Krakow in 1939, was, that the man now in charge, was Hans Frank, Hitler's former lawyer, who had been elevated to the position of Reichsfuehrer, or head of the General Government of Occupied Poland.

The Wawel Cathedral, Krakow

When on our first morning we visited the Kazimierez, or old Jewish quarter, I knew nothing of the intricacies of the city's history. But as we stood looking at the Stara Synagogue, built in the 14th century, and now a museum to the Jewish history of Krakow, it was a poignant reminder of the extent of Nazi influence throughout Poland. And it was a reminder also of irreparable change. Before the war, there were 68,000 Jews living in Krakow, today there are about 200; (13) and there is no orthodox rabbi resident in the city. And as I listened to our guide telling us that it was here where Oscar Shindler had his factory, and where much of the film "Shindlers List" was made, I couldn't help noticing that for all the Hollywood notoriety, the area had a decidedly neglected feel to it. Nearby was the Rehmu Synagogue with its adjacent Jewish cemetery. Much as we had wished to visit it, and try though we did, the cemetery, with its recovered 16th century tombs, was locked. And as there was no one to enquire from about access, that seemed to add to the general sense of things being in the past.

That afternoon we travelled from Krakow to Auschwitz and Auschwitz-Birkenau; and no questions were asked of those people who chose not to go. On the drive there, a journey that takes about an hour and a half, I was preoccupied in trying to comprehend the relationship between the present and the past. Not any past, but this particular past, in all its darkness. But the truth is, that the road to Auschwitz is normal; a point brought home when our driver was pulled over for speeding.

Auschwitz and Auschwitz Birkenau

When taking pictures at Auschwitch I tried to avoid the crowd focusing instead on the solitary symbols of suffering: watch-towers and paths, with their trees neatly spaced, and the no less meticulously laid out prison huts on either side. For me, the power of these pictures is in the absence of life. And I took pictures of indescribable things. The mounds of human hair. Hair that the Nazis had knit into socks for submariners. And the disordered mound of cardboard suitcases. At one and the same time they were symbols of hope and deceit. A lie that weighed people down as they trudged to their deaths. One such suitcase bears witness to Zedanka Pantel: another to Marie Kafka; while a third, in a loud hand, reminds us of Klara Sara Goldstein.

And I took pictures in what I called the corridor of death. There the walls are lined with photographs of men and women in striped suits, with their heads shaved. An official Nazi record of who they were, the date they entered the camp and when they died. And elsewhere, I took pictures of children, who were photographed by the Nazis, as you would a criminal.


Of the ten thousand Russian prisoners who were put to work through the harsh winter months, building the camp of Auschwitz-Birkenau, two hundred were still alive by the spring. (14) And no amount of reflection on a bronzed autumn evening, could do justice to their memory; or give expression to the inhumanity that drove these men to their deaths. Which is why, as we left one of the abandoned prison huts, my words were so inadequate. To the man next to me, all I could say was: "It's a bloody disgrace!"

None of us knew, or discussed among ourselves, what brought the other to this place. But some particular memories have stayed with me. Memories of those few who, standing next to the reconstructed furnaces, were overcome with emotion and sobbed quietly. And the man whom I recall, asking his wife to take a picture of him standing next to the perimeter fence, (a fence that in the past was electrified,) and into which, many despairing prisoners rushed to their death,) And why you might ask should I remember this particular incident? Because it seemed to me then, and now, that, (to want) to have your photograph taken at Auschwitz, was to have failed to grasp an essential truth. That Auschwitz and Auschwitz-Birkenau belong to the men, women and children, who suffered and died there.

And though I don't support the death penalty, (even for those found guilty of war crimes,) there is a compelling sense of justice in what happened to the commandant at Auschwitz and Auschwitz-Birkenau, Rudolf Hoess. (Not to be confused with Rudolf Hess.) Found guilty of war crimes, he was taken back to Auschwitz to be hanged. Hanged next to the crematoria and the parallel bars from which many inmates were hanged during the often marathon early morning roll calls. In his book "Auschwitz: The Nazis & "The Final Solution,"" Laurence Rees reflects on the thoughts of Stanislaw Hants. A former inmate who had been tortured at Auschwitz and who witnessed the execution of Hoess. Hants would have preferred that Hoess had been treated as an exhibit, transported around Europe and subjected to public humiliation until he understood the enormity of his crime. But Rees sees this as a forlorn hope:

"All the clues in his autobiography, which he completed just before his execution, point one way: all the humiliation and mistreatment in the world would never have caused Hoess to search into his heart and think that what he did was fundamentally wrong. Of course he does say in his autobiography that he "now" sees that the extermination of the Jews was a mistake, but only a tactical one, since it has drawn the hatred of the world upon Germany." (15)

That evening we had a prearranged meal in the Kazimirez district, (the old Jewish quarter.) The lighting was low and the general ambiance, warm and reassuring. During the meal a group of musicians appeared, and though I knew nothing about them, within minutes, I was struck by the quality of their playing. It was truly exceptional. And though I knew little or nothing about Yiddish culture, the music was instantly recognisable: pulsating, fast-flowing, reaching out, and with a seemingly manic zest for life. And perhaps because it was so infectious, it produced in me non musical responses: thoughts of those who had died at Auschwitz and Auschwitz-Birkenau. And a feeling of joy at this defiance; that their music was still being played in this place. And I couldn't help but wonder about this young trio. Who were they? And why, with such an exceptional talent, were they here playing for us?

What I didn't know was that they are graduates of the Academy of Music in Krakow. They have won many awards and performed outside Poland, though curiously, not in England. And you can find them at http://www.klezmorim.pl/rameng.html

In the days that followed, and from the Planty, we explored Krakow in depth and climbed the hill to the cathedral and Wawel Castle; the courtyard of which, is reputed to be "one of the famous examples of Italian Renaissance architecture." And by chance, in the suburbs beyond Wawel Hill, in the Crypt of Honour below the Pauline church of St Michael, I noticed by the entrance, a modest sarcophagus on top of which lay a solitary bouquet of flowers. I had never heard of Czeslaw Milosz, but I was curious, because he was recently dead and I understood the significance of the word "Poeta". In stature he is the Polish equivalent of England's Ted Hughes or Ireland's Seamus Heaney. A man who was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1980. The inscription on his tomb reads: "Czeslaw Milosz Poeta 1911-2004 Bene Quiescas." And having since read over a thousand of his poems in translation, and allowing for the usual hyperbole, I can quote with confidence the citation from the cover of the book in question:

"One of the greatest poets of the twentieth century Czeslaw Milosz defined the tragedy and beauty of his age with an unrivalled elegance and precision. Whether describing his early youth in Poland, the anguish of war-torn Warsaw, or his personal search for religious meaning, his poetry brilliantly evokes the wonder, amazement, and sensuous detail of living, and the particular individuality of every life. Compelling explorations of mortality, war, love and faith. These unique poems are at once unsettling and deeply inspiring: a passionate confirmation that "to exist on earth is beyond any power to name." ( 16 )

His is a contemporary voice, so here is a sample of his work, that appropriately, and in the context of "the weight of history," links the past the present and the future:

               INCANTATION

Human reason is beautiful and invincible,

No bars, no barbed wire, no pulping of books.

No sentence of banishment can prevail against it.

It establishes the universal ideas in language.

And guides our hand so that we write Truth and Justice

With capital letters, lie and oppression with small.

It puts what should be above things as they are,

Is an enemy of despair and a friend of hope.

It does not know Jew from Greek or slave from master.

Giving us the estate of the world to manage.

It saves austere and transparent phrases

From the filthy discord of tortured words.

It says that everything is new under the sun,

Opens the congealed fist of the past.

Beautiful and very young are Philo-Sophia

And poetry, her alli in the service of the good.

As late as yesterday Nature celebrated their birth,

The news was brought to the mountain by a unicorn and an echo.

Their friendship will be glorious, their time has no limit.

Their enemies have delivered themselves to destruction.

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In our remaining days in Krakow we travelled beyond the city; to the salt mines at Wieliczka, to Zakopane in the Tatra mountains and to Wadowice the birthplace of Pope John Paul 11. Each in turn took us in different directions and further from the Nazi past.

The Salt Mine at Wielczka

While visiting the salt mine I was reminded of the slate mines at LLechwedd in Wales: of the huge grey and dry caverns, temples, from which slate had been extracted, of the harsh working conditions and the tenacity of the men who worked there. In centuries past and despite the hardships of each working day, these men, lost in the bowels of the earth, found time to build small caban, in which, during their short break they would study, write poetry and hold formal debates on the issues of the day. That same steadfastness found expression within the salt mine at Wiieliczka. There, down the centuries, the miners gave expression to the political cultural and religious life of the nation.

A Rock-Salt Chandelier In St Anthony's Chapel

Within the mine there are nine levels, extending to a depth of 327 metres. And there are some 3,000 chambers from which green rock salt has been extracted. Among them is one dedicated to the memory of Nicolas Copernicus, who is believed to have visited the mine in 1493 while studying in Krakow. Then there is the "Casimir The Great Chamber". King of Poland from 1333-1370; this chamber was dedicated to his memory in 1968, six hundred years after he had proclaimed what is known as "the statute of Krakow Salina"; an Act that regulated the customary mining law and the management of the salt mine. But unique among these monuments to the past are the chapels, both portable and permanent, that were carved out after the rock-salt had been extracted. Among them is the small chapel of St Anthony carved between 1690-1710 in which, the miners, who understood the risks in their work, attended Mass daily. But by far the most spectacular of these is the chapel dedicated to St Kinga. Within the confines of the mine, it is huge, cathedral like. The work of sculpting it began in 1896, in the space left after the green rock-salt had been extracted.

Apart from the sanctuary, that extends to the full width of the chapel, there are side chapels sculpted into the north and south walls, and crafted staircases that take you down beneath the salt crystal chandeliers to the body of the church below. Much of the early work was carried out by the brothers Jozef and Tomasz Markowski. Jozef, among other things, carved the high altar with its pair of double columns, and carved in rock salt the statues of St's Joseph, Clement, and the then Blessed Kinga. And the pulpit, the base of which approximates to the shape of Wawel Hill. Between 1920-1927, Tomasz carved a series of relief's: "Herod's Sentence," and "The Massacre of the Innocents." But other artists also played a part. Between 1927-1936, Antoni Yrodek who began as a self taught sculptor, carved various relief's, among them: the "Flight Into Egypt," "The Miracle of Cana-in-Galilee," and "The Last Supper," after Leonardo da Vinci. And bringing us up to the present day, there stands between the staircases a rock salt statue of Pope John Paul 11. Carved by the miner sculptor Mieczyslaw Kluzed, it was placed there to commemorate the elevation Kinga, who, declared "Blessed" in 1690, was declared a saint in 1999. And in the context of "the weight of history" it is worth mentioning that this new Polish saint, came originally from Hungary.

Zakopane

Zakopane is a picturesque ski resort in the Tatra mountains; a range that spans the border with Slovakia, and it is described as "the winter capitol of Poland." Without doubt that was a sufficient reason for going there. But what I will remember Zakopane for, is its mix of beautiful brick and timber framed-houses, with their balconies, discrete windows and multi layered overhanging roof's. And for their rural as distinct from refined urban gardens. At one and the same time, they were beautiful and mysterious.

Wadowice

As for Wadowice, the birthplace of Pope John Paul II, I remember it as a seemingly ordinary place, from which, an extraordinary man came. And what was also clear, was, that in the long history of Poland, it has a future as yet another place of pilgrimage. Which is why, when we were there, this already beautiful 15th century parish church in which Pope John Paul II was baptised, was shrouded in scaffolding and the ubiquitous green gauze.

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© Cormac McCloskey

Note: This blog, "Poland and "the weight of history", was first published on Windows Live Spaces, by me, on 18th November 2006

All the photographs were taken by me, with the exception of the interior of St. Kinga's Chapel, whish was taken from Wikipedia

(11) "Krakow" by Scott Simpson. Thomas Cook Publishing p124

(12) "The Golden Book of Poland" p102

(13) "Poland: Insight Guides" p212

(14) "The Nazis & The "Final Solution"" p 81

(15) "The Naxis & The "Final Solution""

       by Laurence Rees. BBC Books 2005

(16) "Czeslaw Milosz:

       New and Collected Poems 1931-2001.

       Penguin Books 2001