Godzina "W"- the "W" Hour

We celebrate the 70th anniversary of the Warsaw Uprising (sometimes called Warsaw Rising) this year.

In 1944, the Western side of Warsaw had been occupied by German forces for five years. The Ghetto had been murderously emptied in 1943, its own uprising having failed. On the Eastern bank of the river Vistula, in the part of the city we call Praga, the Soviet armies gathered. Soviet planes had been dropping pamphlets calling Warsaw to arms for months now, and radio transmissions from Moscow where the Polish Committee of National Liberation had been formed urged citizens to rise up against the Germans.

Meanwhile, the German occupants were already enacting a retreat. Administrative workers were being evacuated. As Hitler had said to Hans Frank, the Governor-General of occupied Poland: Warsaw, perceived to be the nest of the Polish resistance against the Nazi new world order- the 'Polish problem'- was to be destroyed at the nearest opportunity.

Today, some will say the Uprising provided that opportunity, and that it had been cleverly incited by the Soviets, who wanted a clean territory to move into. They could very well have expected it- Hitler's orders were clear: raze Warsaw to the ground and kill every single citizen. Take no prisoners: make it a terrifying example for the rest of the world.

Was the Uprising good or bad? This is a debate which happens every year. Decisions made by the Polish Home Army are often questioned, called foolishness or outright treason in the face of the 200,000 civilian deaths, destruction of 90% of the city, and the subsequent unhindered entry of the Soviets, who proved to be wolves in sheep's clothing. On the other hand, waiting meekly for rescue or oblivion was not a preferable fate- Poland had no options at that time, as even the Allies' help was insufficient, and blocked by the Soviets (sic!). We had already been sentenced to oblivion by both of our neighbours.

Whatever you make of it, one thing remains true: seventy years ago, citizens of Warsaw, civilian and military alike, fought against all odds for two months to liberate their city. 

We didn't always celebrate them- we weren't always able to. In fact, during the socialist days many former members of the Home Army and their families suffered severe repercussions. The Uprising was not a welcome or safe topic.

Even though the system changed in the 80s, it wasn't until the establishment of the Warsaw Rising Museum ten years ago that awareness of the Uprising began to improve. On the 60th anniversary, an advertising campaign aimed at young people was rolled out, featuring photographs of smiling elderly insurgents who would have been teenagers in 1944, and the question: "Would you go?"

I think that is the question we ask ourselves every time we notice the many reminders of the occupation scattered around Warsaw, every time we look at a building that looks old, and know that it was rebuilt from rubble. Would we go? 

You will see many, many plaques like these all around Warsaw. They say: 
"This place was sanctified by the blood of Poles who perished
fighting for our country's freedom", with details below.
In this case:
"In this place on the 27th of September 1944,
Hitler's soldiers shot 22 Poles in an insurgent hospital."

It's hard to put yourself in their place. They had no social media, no global information system. Their parents still remembered the first war, and their grandparents a time when Poland didn't even exist on the map. They lived in a country under the rule of an occupant who had made great efforts to erase their dignity through imposed language, racial and ethnic segregation enacted on multiple levels from the creation of a ghetto for Jews to tram carriages that said 'Nur für Deutsche', forced labour, deportations to concentration camps, random executions, and also very precisely planned executions aimed at cultural and national authority figures. Warsaw was no longer the capital. Warsaw was no longer a Polish city. Warsaw was dead.

Except it wasn't. Warsaw's motto is Semper Invicta- latin for 'Ever Invincible'. Clearly not because its walls have never been breached.

If you happen to be in Warsaw on August 1st, go out into the street just before 5:00 p.m. and wait.  5:00 p.m. on that day is "W" hour. "W" for Warsaw, and for walka, wybuch, wystąpienie; battle, explosion, stepping forward. You should be out in the street, because when the sirens sound, everyone will stop in their tracks and stand still for one minute. People will get out of their cars and stand up from their meals at restaurants. Trams will pause on the rails, buses will turn off their engines. Flags will be raised and flares fired in perfect silence.

And then everyone will go back to whatever it was they were doing.

It's my favourite way of celebrating the memory of the Uprising because it is the one that happens only because people want it to. Nobody forces us to stop. Nobody organises it. Nobody announces it, nobody stands up with a mic and says 'get ready now'. Nobody sets up a stage and gives out freebies afterwards. I guess at some point someone suggested: one minute of silence, and everyone thought it was a good idea. This happens in every part of Warsaw, and perhaps most spectacularly in the centre, where people no longer just stop what they are doing, but come out on purpose to pay their respects to those who fought.

There is another latin motto which we often hear in Poland: Gloria Victis. Glory to the Defeated. 
I will blog again this month about other ways in which we pay our respects to the insurgents.

-------

Meta:

The video above was shot on August 1st 2014 by the Warsaw Rising Museum. For the 70th anniversary, we stood in silence for 70 seconds instead of the usual minute.

Warsaw Rising Museum website: http://www.1944.pl/en/

Wikipedia Entry on the Uprising: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warsaw_Uprising

25 years ago...

25 years ago the first free election took place in Poland- a partially free election, hard-won after a turmoil of long negotiations, workers’ strikes, deaths, injuries, military action and repressive tactics by the government against the opposition.

Eventually the Communist government was forced to recognise Solidarity as a legitimate political movement instead of dismissing it as disorganised riots. During the famous Round Table negotiations came an agreement to a compromise- a partially free election in which 65% of the mandates in the Sejm (parliament) would be reserved for the ruling Communist coalition.

Only the remaining 35% was up for grabs by any party… and the opposition, Solidarity, took 160 out of 161 available seats. 

This overwhelming victory prompted changes in Poland which the government had simply not anticipated, and which the Polish people themselves had not quite believed would be possible. Suddenly communism was no longer a status quo with no end in sight, but a crumbling system that could be challenged. Suddenly, the opposition had power beyond rallies and strikes. People had voted, and their vote counted.

I remember going to the voting booth with my parents, and I remember going to rallies and fundraisers for weeks before then. I was very young but the urgency of this change was clear to me, and I will always remember the hopeful atmosphere of those days. 

Here is a drawing I did afterwards- my mother later showed it to Wałęsa who signed it for me. :) I was six years old.

The Solidarity logo- below a portait of Lech Wałęsa
(with his name in the wrong declension and a spelling error),
one of the slogans "No freedom without Solidarity",
my childish rendition of this poster,
and a drawing of people voting!

You can't warp in the rain, or a day in the Radomskie region

One Thursday morning my neighbour Mariza called me up.

"I'm going to the countryside on Friday, there's a huge old loom that needs setting up! And we'll be winding the thread onto the warping mill. Are you coming with?"

What a silly question. Weaving is a great tradition of almost every folklore, and woven cloth is particularly beautiful in Poland. The most recognisable traditional pattern is simply a composition of  colourful stripes, and Mariza, aside from having a loom of her own, just happens to be friends with an elderly woman who had supported herself all of her life by weaving skirts, shawls, blankets, and ceremonial rugs and throws of all sorts.

A typical Polish striped throw

So we got into the car bright and early at 6 in the morning. Even St. Christopher on the dash seemed sleepy.

Święty Krzysztof, patron of travellers

"I might stop at chapels," Mariza said, and that was all right by me. Roadside chapels are a peculiar characteristic of Poland, and they range from quaint to kitschy. It was may, and may is when the women of the villages decorate the chapels with garlands of flowers and ribbons. There is even a verb pertaining to this: 'umaić'. To make something 'May-worthy'. Something that is 'umajone' has been festively and brightly decorated.

Three chapels we stopped at. Mariza nicknamed the last one 'the road to Heaven'.

 I digress- I'll do one about chapels another time.

For now, a couple of hours later, we arrived at the weaver's house, ready and eager to set up shop.

"Pani Krysiu," Mariza called, in that manner which sounds so strange translated into English but which is the proper way to address an older person or a stranger in Polish: the Mr or Mrs honorific (Pan, Pani) plus the person's first name. "Mrs. Krysia! Pani Krysiu! Shall we get the workshop out of the shed first, or shall we warp the thread?"

As it turned out, neither. Pani Krysia gave us tea, grumbled and mumbled, and said the workshop was all gnawed on by mice, and she had no room to set it up, and her hands were old and too gnarled to go back to the craft, and it looks like rain, and you can't warp in the rain.

Slightly disillusioned but accepting that things just work differently in the countryside, we packed up the 30 km of thread Mariza had bought and went to her own cottage, a place she had inherited from her father.

"Luckily I've already been here this spring and evicted the bats from under the shutters," she said, and I disagreed, as I did not find it lucky at all that I had missed seeing bats fly out into the forest.

Mariza's loom

And I discovered exactly why we could not warp in the rain. You see, Mariza's warping mill was set up in the doorway of her barn- half exposed to the elements, and humidity would ruin the thread. The obvious solution was to move it into the house- but the central pole was too short.

The warping mill. It was raining already.

Advanced engineering and a clever pair of hands were necessary here. For lack of such, I stepped up. After some hemming and hawing, we decided to hop across the road to see Pani Tosia, who had an impressive stockpile of timber in her back yard, guarded by a ferocious dog.

Pani Tosia and her friend

Old as the world, but she picked the straightest little pine and chopped off most of the branches before we could protest. The rest was up to us. She lent us her axe. We measured, and began to chop, scrape, and carve.

Two hours and two inches of progress later...

I think I got pretty far considering the circumstances!

... we decided to call for help. Luckily, Pan Janek who lives just down the road was a carpenter. A few runs through a circular saw and then a few slices with the drawknife, and our pole was ready. Although I maintain that if I'd had eight hours to spend on it, I could have managed with just the axe.

All I needed now was to spend another hour hammering a support into the ceiling, and by late afternoon, the warping machine was set up in Mariza's cottage.

Harder than it looks- the pole has to spin smoothly and stay upright, and it also needs to be removable.
In other words,  AM OUTRAGEOUSLY PROUD OF MY HANDIWORK.

 We called up pani Krysia, proud of ourselves, ready to spin, only to hear these harsh, rhyming words:

 "Piątek zły pracy początek."

 Which means "Friday is a bad day to begin work", or more accurately translated, go away you silly city girls I've got no time for you.

That was that, the adventure was over. Friday is a bad day to begin work, and you can't work on that particular Saturday, because it just so happens to be May 3rd, a very holy day dedicated to Mary Mother of God, Queen of Poland, and of course Sunday is right out.

There was nothing for it. We heated up some pierogi on the old oven than sits in the heart of the house and heats every room, and we sighed and complained a little bit, and then I went home. I didn't see warping, and I didn't see weaving, and I didn't get to put together a weaving workshop.

Still…somehow I don't consider the day wasted.

I'll be sure to take another trip down there, maybe in the summer- and there will be a perfect warping mill with the date and my initials carved into it waiting for me. :)

(and just wait 'til I tell you about what we saw in Pan Janek's mother's house... but that's for another time.)

Consolation prize.

Five p.m. on August 1st, 1944

Today is the 68th anniversary of the Warsaw Uprising. At five p.m. sirens will sound and modern Warsaw will stand still.

(I can't be in Warsaw today, unfortunately. I will write more about the Uprising next week. In the meantime, find out more at 1944.pl and warsawuprising.com)

The legend of king Krak and the Dragon of Wawel Hill

Why is Cracow called Cracow?

Panorama of Cracow from the Nuremberg Chronicles (1493)

The latin name is Cracovia, but in Polish, we call it Kraków, which means 'City of Krak'. I pause here to let you have a giggle at how that sounds… now here's the story.

Krak, or Krakus (Grakhus in the earliest chronicles), was a prince from the 7th century, a tribal leader whose people settled in the area some six thousand years ago. Late 13th century accounts speak of a terrible dragon living in a cavern under Wawel hill.  (the word 'wawel' is said to derive from 'wąwel', meaning 'a rise in the marshes') As is in a dragon's habit, the beast demanded to be fed cattle every week, and would devour people if he was unsatisfied.

In the 13th century work Chronica Polonorum, historian Wincenty Kadłubek wrote that was Krak himself who slew the dragon and built his castle on top of the rock. The 15th century chronicler Jan Długosz attributed the deed to Krak's sons. In the 16th century, poet Marcin Bielski introduced a young tailor called Skuba or Dratewka into the legend.

That is the story I was told as a young child, and it goes something like this:

In the royal city of Kraków, King Krak lived in a castle on top of Wawel Hill. His city was built by the river, on fertile lands, and would have been rich and prosperous if not for the fierce dragon which lived in a cavern below the castle. The dragon would roam the countryside, stealing sheep, cattle, and people, and he delighted in the taste of virgin flesh.

The beast devoured virgin after virgin, until only the king's own daughter, Wanda, was left. It was then that King Krak declared that the brave hero who would slay the dragon would receive half the kingdom and his daughter's hand in marriage.

Knight after knight tried to kill the dragon; all were devoured. One day, a poor young cobbler's apprentice by the name of Dratewka announced that he would try his luck. The boy was no warrior; he had no armour, no  sword. What he did have, however, was his wits.

Dratewka knew he could not destroy the dragon by force, so he tried cunning instead. He took a sheepskin and stuffed it with sulfur, then sewed it back together and left it at the mouth of the cave. As expected, the dragon swallowed the stuffed animal whole. Soon, a dreadful ache started up in its belly. The suffering dragon crept down to the river, and began to drink...and drink...and drink...

...until it had drunk half the river, and burst into a million pieces.

An illustration of the legend from German cartographer Sebastian Munster's
1544 Cosmographia Universalis

It is sometimes said that the name 'Kraków' was derived from the cawing of ravens (in Polish: krakanie kruków) which flocked to eat the remains of the dragons.


So, did the dragon really exist? Well…

The cave under the castle hill is quite real. You can visit it in the warmer months, climbing down a long spiral staircase in a narrow turret. The turret was once a well, drawing water from the flooded caverns.

In the 16th and 17th century, part of the cave was used as a storage room and banquet hall for a tavern and public house built by the river. In 1843, the space was opened up for sightseeing.

Though the cave is no longer home to a dragon, another rare species can be found in its depths: a troglobitic crustacean called Niphargus tatrensis, seen only in underground karst reservoirs. It was discovered in 1887 by Polish biologist August Wrześniowski, and named after the Tatra mountains in which it was found.

After you have passed through all three limestone chambers, you will emerge at the foot of the hill, by the river, where, since 1972 a large statue of the dragon stands guard. Every five minutes or so, the dragon spits fire!

Nearby, the outer walls of the castle bear a plaque which states:

Krakus, Prince of Poland

Ruled between the years 730-750

(Peters, Royal Registers 2nd fascicle page 40)

This is the site of the cavern 

in which having slewn a wild dragon

then settling on the Wawel he founded the city of

Kraków

When you enter the Cathedral on Wawel Hill, you should look up at the arch. Three large bones hang over the doorway, suspended on chains. For centuries, these were believed to be the remains of the dragon.

In reality, they belong to a mammoth, a rhinoceros, and a whale.




That should put the silly legend to rest, shouldn't it?

Not quite. In 2007, the jawbone of an unspecified dinosaur was discovered near the village of Lisowice in the South-West of Poland. Dating back to the late Triassic, it was classified as a rather large, predatory Archosaur, and given the species name of wawelski in the genus Smok. A.k.a: the Dragon of Wawel!

And in 1965, author Stanisław Pagaczewski wrote a hilarious series of books for children called "The abduction of Balthasar Sponge" , depicting an alternative reality in which medieval Cracow blends seamlessly with  then modern-day Poland. King Krak is now friends with the sophisticated Dragon, and regularly goes down to visit the cave and play chess or discuss the most recent football match between the two local teams- Wisła and Cracovia. When famous professor Balthasar Sponge is kidnapped, the Dragon and his friends set out to retrieve him... The books featured dramatic adventures, international spies, mythical creatures, and ingenious inventions.

The work was later turned into a very popular and equally amusing animated series:

So...is the dragon real?

You'll have to go to Cracow and find out for yourself.

Meta information:

Location of the Wawel Castle on google maps:

https://maps.google.com/maps?q=Zamek+++Wawel,+Krak%C3%B3w,+Polska&hl=en&ie=UTF8&ll=50.053949,19.935438&spn=0.002807,0.008256&sll=50.053956,19.935985&sspn=0.002807,0.008256&oq=zamek+&hnear=Zamek+Wawel,+Krak%C3%B3w,+ma%C5%82opolskie,+Poland&t=m&z=18

Official Website for Wawel Castle:

http://www.wawel.krakow.pl/en/

Article on the discovery of the Smok Wawelski fossils:

http://www.academia.pan.pl/pdfen/system_en_34-35_sulej.pdf

Cosmographia Universalis print on Wikipedia:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:M%C3%BCnster_wawelski.jpg

Nuremberg Chronicle print on Wikipedia:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Nuremberg_chronicles_-_CRACOVIA.png

Deep Underground: The Wieliczka Salt Mine

Where does salt come from?

Legend says that when the Hungarian princess Kinga, daughter of Bela the IVth, was married to Bolesław the Chaste, Duke of Polish towns Cracow and Sandomierz, instead of gold or silver, she brought salt as her dowry.

She did not have it brought in barrels or ox-drawn carts, however. In her homeland, she threw her engagement ring down one of the shafts of a salt mine. As she rode back to Poland to meet her new husband, she ordered the party to stop near Cracow.

"Dig here," she commanded. Can you guess what was found in the excavation?

Salt rock, and Kinga's engagement ring, glittering within the savoury crystal.

A salt carving depicting the legendary finding of the ring.

This is the legend of the great Wieliczka Salt Mine, which, indeed, dates back to the the 13th century, and the reign of Bolesław the Chaste and princess Kinga. To fully appreciate the significance of the story, one has to understand that in the middle ages, salt was an incredibly valuable mineral. We think nothing of it today, but it used to be the privilege of kings. You could buy whole townships with the proper amount of the stuff! By the 14th century, the gains from the salt sources around Cracow formed one third of the whole country's income.

Excavation of rock salt may have begun in the 13th century, but the site of Wieliczka had been giving up salt since the Middle Neolithic period (3500- 2500 B.C.) And the source itself is fifteen million years old! Water sources in the area were not potable, flowing with a salty brine, but when evaporated, they left behind the tasty mineral. This was known to the local peoples well over five thousand years ago.

The briny springs were a good enough source until the middle of the 13th century, when men had to delve deeper, and began to build the first shafts. When you visit the town of Wieliczka, you will see many signposts marking the sites of historical shafts, long ago exhausted and filled up.

But the larger part of the mine remains active and open to the public. And it is a stunning place to visit.

The Daniłowicz Shaft, one of many in Wieliczka. This is how you enter and exit the museum.

The tour begins with a walk down exactly 380 wooden steps. This is what you see if you look over the railing.

First, it's huge. At present, the combined length of the underground corridors is over 300 km. There are  almost two and a half thousand excavated chambers (!!), spread out on three levels, the deepest lying 327 metres below the surface of the earth.

Second, it's the only mine in the entire world which has been continuously active since the Middle Ages.


All right, you might say. It's still just a mine. A dark hole in the ground. What's there to see?


Oh, I don't know...how about the huge chapel of St. Kinga, at 101 metres below the surface, carved entirely out of salt?

You see, once a large lode of salt is found underground, it can only be mined to a point before becoming unsafe. The miners would scrape out the centre of the salt block, leaving a hollow cavern and then moving on down the next corridor. And because mining was hard and risky work, the presence of God was very much welcome down below.

To this day, the customary greeting in the mine is 'Szczęść Boże': God bless. This is what you say when the lift starts going down. This is what you say whenever you meet someone on your way through the underground maze. It's a ritual, a sacred and unbroken custom, dating back to a time when the mine was a much darker and dangerous place.

Chamber after chamber was created by excavation, and over the years, miners would carve out sacred figures, crosses, and chapels in the salt rock, hoping for celestial protection.

The chapel of St. John, built in 1859. In 2009 it was moved from the first level to the third,
and is now a part of the tourist route.

St. Kinga's chapel is one such work of piety, the deed of miners and self-taught sculptors from the late 19th and early 20th century. They were the brothers Józef and Tomasz Markowski, and Antoni Wyrodek. Today, Mass is still celebrated in the chapel on special occasions.

You can even rent it out for a magical underground wedding, and have the reception catered in one of the salt ballrooms.

Yes, that chandelier is made of salt. All of them are. Every single little crystal.

And those are only some of the stops on the three hour tour. Other chambers hold exhibits showing how men worked to extract salt over the years of the mine's existence. You will see an authentic horse-powered mill from the 18th century, a chamber burned out by an explosion, and amazing feats of underground architecture.

 For instance, the Michałowice Chamber:

This huge, 35-metre-deep cavern is filled with a complex wooden scaffolding, erected in the 19th century with no help from any machinery, piece by piece as the vertical lode was excavated. This deposit was so huge, it was exploited for almost a hundred years!

Salt covers the walls of the mine corridors. The floor tiles are also carved out of salt, by the way.

What other mysteries does Wieliczka hold?


If you're very lucky, you might meet Skarbnik, the legendary spirit of the mine. 'Skarbnik' means 'Treasure Keeper', and salt, of course, is the treasure in question. Skarbnik is a good spirit, but he always comes bearing a warning. If he should appear, that means there is dangerous gas, or a cave-in up ahead.  Turn back!

The Weimar chamber, named after the prince of Weimar who visited it in 1790 in the company of Goethe.

Besides legends, there are many, many true stories that Wieliczka keeps in her memory. An often overlooked, yet important symbol is a Star of David carved deep into the face of the Staszic Chamber. Why is it there?

In 1944, the Nazis decided to use the chambers of Wieliczka as a war factory. In the Staszic Chamber, they set up an assembly line for aircraft machinery. The forced labourers, as you can probably guess, were Polish Jews.

In secret, they carved out the Star of David, a symbol of their people and religion, not only as a spiritual mark, but as a proof of their imprisonment and slavery. They wanted to make certain that whatever happened, in the future people would know they had been held there.

Another interesting tale will lead you to the Piłsudski Chamber, where a 19th century statue of St. John of Nepomuk stands guard by a disused ferry. This was once part of the Austrian tourist route, until 1915 when it was witness to a rather gruesome accident. Several Prussian soldiers tipped over the ferry, and fell into the brine.

Now, as you probably know, bodies of water with a high density of salt are practically impossible to drown in. The salt keeps you afloat, pushing you up and out of the water.

And yet, the soldiers died. They could not drown, but the raft tipped over and trapped them underneath it. They could neither lift it, nor dive into the salty water to swim out. They suffocated under the overturned ferry.

Hmm, all that salt in the air...is that healthy?

Yes, yes it is!

The mine actually has an underground spa, where people come to cure respiratory ailments and allergies. They have been doing so since the 19th century. The microclimate in the mine is very special- bacteriologically pure, allergen-free, rich in microelements such as sodium chloride, magnesium and calcium.

Good breathing!

The Wessel underground lake. Therapy sessions take place alongside it.

These stables, built in 1913, have been converted to a dormitory for the spa patients.

Patients ride down to the third level of the mine, 135 metres underground, and spend the day beside a brine lake. There is a library, a gym, a brine fountain; patients participate in breathing exercises, musical  therapy (underground sing-alongs!) and other activities, all under medical supervision.

Light physical exercise at 135 metres under the surface of the Earth.

Wow! But that's got to be all, right? That's all we can see?


Nope. 


If you book a couple weeks in advance,  you can also take a special tour which will take you off the regular tourist path, and deep into the abandoned parts of the mine.

You get to wear a stylish hat.

You will ride down with the miners, in a hard hat and with a flashlight as your only source of light.  The corridors are much grungier here than on the tourist route, with beautiful salt crystals forming everywhere. There are lost chambers, forgotten monuments, deep, salt-covered mineshafts that seem to have no bottom. Geology enthusiasts will be delighted as the structure of the mineral deposit is revealed to them. History buffs will find traces of Austrian and German invasions where corridors were named and renamed again according to whichever force held the mine.

On this Austrian sign, you can see ink graffiti from 1898(sic!),  disputing the renaming of the corridor
after a foreign nobleman, when it was originally named after general Tadeusz Kościuszko.

And those among you who simply want to feel the thrill of adventure will love the mysterious corridors, the narrow spaces, the sudden drops, the old wooden ladders and unbelievable darkness of the mine.

A few extra facts about the mine:

-The Wieliczka trademark is the first in Poland, and one of the oldest in the world. Very early on in the mine's history, special white, so-called 'royal' salt transports meant only for royal consumption were stamped with the mark.

-The mining of salt in Wieliczka ended in 1996, but conservation works yield rock salt that is used to manufacture memorabilia, and the mineral is still drawn from the brine water. You can buy Wieliczka salt for your table in any Polish supermarket. :) Just look for the trademark!

-There are no bugs or vermin in the mines- they couldn't survive! Any insects which get carried in on people's clothing quickly dry up in the salt-rich atmosphere. However, rats and mice did once live in the mines, back when its permanent residents were...

-Horses. Horses were kept in the underground stables and used to pull large loads and set heavy machinery in motion. The last horse, a mare called Basia (short for Barbara- st. Barbara being the patron saint of all miners) was removed from the mine in 2002, at sixteen, in good health. She is living out her retirement in a quiet pasture.

-Tourism is not a modern attraction in the mine. In the years 1772- 1918, when this part of Poland was under Austrian rule, visitors were first admitted underground.

-A new form of the behind the scenes tour called The Miner's Route will be opening this July. It involves lots of activities which will teach visitors about the realities of working in a salt mine. Personally, I can't wait!

-All tours are available in English and many other languages. You won't miss a thing.

-You'll have to find out the rest for yourself. Come visit! And if you do, let me know. I might just come with you. :)


I would like to thank the staff of Wieliczka, from the offices dealing with my requests to the miners, tour guides, geologists, therapists, cooks, everyone who was so kind and helpful during my visits. The Salt Mine is one of my favourite places in Poland, not just because it's a spectacular sight, but because of how unwaveringly friendly its people are.

Dziękuję!


Meta info:


Wieliczka official website: 


http://www.kopalnia.pl/

May Days and the famous Constitution of 1791

"Welcome, May, beautiful May,
 Poland is paradise today..."

So say the words of the May 3rd Mazurka. The lyrics do not refer to the chance of a nine-day weekend (see footnotes), but to the introduction of our first Constitution.

In Poland, May begins with a series of important holidays. May 1st is International Worker's Day, obviously very popular in our socialist years, and still an official day off. On May 2nd, we have Flag Day, when all flags should be up, if they weren't for May 1st  already. And on May 3rd, Constitution day. Displays of patriotism which are practically obligatory today were forbidden under socialist rule. Your flag had to be out on May 1st, or you would suffer repercussions, but if you dared to leave it up until May 3rd, you'd find yourself in much bigger trouble…

So, what was this Constitution, why did it bother Russia so much, and why is it still so important?

Manuscript of the Constitution

Let's go back a few centuries. Since 1385, Poland had been a sprawling empire often referred to as the Republic of Two Nations:  The Crown and Lithuania.  As the name itself suggests, it was a federal union between the two countries, precipitated among other things by a desire to strengthen the nations against the usual suspect: Russia.

The idea wasn't bad, but almost four hundred years later, the union was not faring so well. In 1772, the edges of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth were sliced away and divided between Russia, Prussia, and Austria. That was the first partition.

Partitions were a direct result of the country being weak and unable to perform the reforms necessary to strengthen its military position. Why was this so? Well, the Polish nobility have a history of being a stubborn band of anarchists, and the great number of privileges they enjoyed under the Commonwealth made ruling the country in a unified manner troublesome. Nobles had immunity. Nobles could not be taxed. Nobles could not be controlled. Nobles came and went as they pleased, attending meetings of the Sejm (the Polish version of Parliament) with the pleasant certainty that they had more executive power than the monarchy. The law even allowed them the right to rebel against the king if he should violate any of their privileges!


But worst of all was the deputy right of liberum veto, which allowed any noble in the Sejm to end the current session and nullify all legislations passed. All he had to do was shout out: "Nie pozwalam!" (I do not allow this!)

The veto was not entirely a bad thing; in fact, in origin, it had served to curb the powers of the (elective!) monarch and keep noble landowners in control of the country. It was also a crucial tool in the upholding of religious tolerance, a weighty matter in a place as diverse as the Commonwealth, and especially important in contrast with the rest of Europe, where the faith of each country depended on the faith of its monarch. But the Republic could not function properly with every decision at the mercy of whim and veto. With the magnates enjoying their so-called Golden Age of Privileges, reform was all but impossible.

Szlachta- Polish nobility in the 2009 Constitution Day Parade in Warsaw.

So, imagine you are radical political thinkers nobleman Ignacy Potocki and priest Hugo Kołłątaj, and you are sick of seeing your country fall prey to its neighbours while the magnates bicker among themselves. Imagine you have sat down and prepared a lovely new Constitution which decreases the privileges of the nobility and abolishes the liberum veto. How do you possibly get it legislated?

You get crafty and call a Confederate Sejm- a special kind of parliament meeting during which the liberum veto is prohibited and majority vote rules. And you call this meeting in secret, right after Easter, knowing a great number of the deputees most likely to oppose you haven't returned to the capital from their holidays yet.

Snap. May 3rd, 1791, the first codified Constitution in Europe (second in the world after the US) was declared in Poland.


So, what did the Constitution change?

• It reformed the government, dividing it into legislative, executive and judiciary branches (after Montesquieu's model). It also decreed that ministers could be tried and judged.

• It improved the rights of the peasants and decreased the privileges of the nobility, doing away with the liberum veto. The Sejm and Senate would now pass legislations by simple majority vote. The voting rights of landless nobles were also taken away, thus making it impossible for wealthier magnates to purchase their votes.

• It made the peasants and townspeople political equals, and placed peasants who had previously been completely at the whim of their noble masters under the protection of the government. It also declared that refugees and new settlers would not be bound to any landlords.

• It gave the citizens of royal cities the right to hold posts previously reserved for nobility, such as public offices and military commissions and even seats in the Sejm. It also guaranteed them the right not to be arrested without warrant. These rights could be extended to citizens of private towns.

• It abolished free elections; the throne was now hereditary, with elections occurring only at the end of a dynasty. This was an attempt to decrease foreign influence on the choice of rulers (it was  starting to get silly). The instution of pacta conventa - a document each monarch had to sign to pledge his respect for the laws of the Commonwealth- was also preserved. 

• It established Catholicism as the national faith, but preserved the earlier freedom of religion. 

• It transformed the union between Poland and Lithuania into a unitary state called the Republic of Poland, which meant the armies and treasuries would no longer refer to two separate authorities. The Lithuanian deputies were concerned for their rights, many protesting the decision. To appease them, it was decided that Lithuanian deputies would hold a guaranteed proportional number of seats in the new government.

Detail from Jan Matejko's 1891 painting depicting the Crown Marshall of the Sejm being
carried out of the Royal Castle with the Constitution in his hand. At the left are Hugo Kołłątaj
and Ignacy Potocki, who helped shape the document. On the ground, deputy Jan Suchorzewski,
an opponent of the Constitution, threatens to kill his own six-year-old son if the document
is ratified. The painting may be full of symbolism, but, yes, this actually happened.

Unfortunately, the Constitution was short-lived. Fourteen months was all it took for the pot to boil over; not only was there a strong opposition within the country, but our neighbours did not take too kindly to our liberal reforms, either. Why would they? They liked Poland weak and chaotic, and thought of it as of a sort of land reserve with which to replenish their losses on other fronts. Catherine the Great found the idea of free peasants especially appalling- she feared a massive exodus from Russia.

So, in 1792, Russia attacked. Unable to push back, King Stanisław Poniatowski thought to stop the conflict by surrendering and agreeing to hand the reform over to a conservative confederacy mounted under the protection of...none other than Catherine the Great. (and just as a side note, the whole reason he was king in the first place was because Catherine, his former lover, supported his candidacy and staged a coup to get him the throne. The tsarina giveth, the tsarina taketh away...)

The results were disastrous. The Constitution was torn apart, almost all of its reforms scrapped, and many supporters forced into exile. Worst of all, Poland was once again forced under foreign heel and partitioned for a second time, losing over 100,000 square miles of territory to Russia and Prussia. Even the conspiring confederates hadn't predicted this one! The additional documents the creators of the constitution were working on- namely, a 'moral and economical constitution' which was to address the civil rights of all citizens, including the most overlooked peasants and Jews, were never completed.

Though the original Constitution was not a success (even its co-authors ominously called it "the last will and testament of the expiring Country"), May 3rd is now an extremely important national holiday in Poland, celebrated since 1918.

Riders in historical uhlan uniforms on parade for Constitution Day, 2009

Not unusually, we applaud the Constitution for what it stands for rather than what it actually achieved. In most of its decrees it was a revolutionary and progressive attempt at reform and strengthening our position on the map, and the way it was subsequently taken away from us by foreign forces makes it into a powerful symbol of the fight for independence.


Meta information:


Wikipedia entry on the Constitution of May 3rd:
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Constitution_of_May_3,_1791


Wikipedia entry on the Second Partition of Poland:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_Partition_of_Poland


Photo of the manuscript taken from Wikipedia:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Manuscript_of_the_Constitution_of_the_3rd_May_1791.PNG


A detailed analysis of Matejko's painting:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Constitution_of_May_3,_1791_(painting)


About the nine day weekend:
Since May 1st and May 3rd are official national holidays, if May 1st falls on a Tuesday, all you need to do is convince your employer to give you Wednesday and Friday off in order to bag a nine day weekend. Yes, people do take advantage of this.