We usually think of nation-states as relatively static entities, with a country like Germany HERE, a country like Poland HERE, and never the twain shall meet, so to speak. Having an easily definable (and defendable) border is also required, with a dotted colored line separating the two HERE.
But not too long ago the Northern European plain adjacent to the Baltic Sea was a patchwork of saltwater marshes, billowing meadows of wild grasses and impenetrable copses of giant Oak and Birch. Poorly Christianized Slavs and Prussian Old Believers lived side by side, harvesting Herring, Sprat and perch from the Vistula River. Strikingly, regardless of tribe or religion, they all paid homage to the Amber King
For thousands of years the Amber King has ruled from his glittering palace below the Baltic. Sometimes after a storm… after the waves recede… he would generously bestow blessings to the poorest of the poor, the weary beachcombers living in the tree line beside the beach – a fossilized harvest from the long dead Eocene – Amber! This amber made some men rich and other men slaves: traveling hand to hand from Roman to Viking to Russian along the Amber Road from the Baltic Sea to the Bosporus.
It was the spring of 2026 and we had just had purchased a new car. We didn’t even have a name for it yet, but we figured the best way to break it in was to head to Gdansk and comb the Baltic coast for amber. And maybe, just maybe, the Amber King would look up from his palace at the bottom of the sea and decide that we were deserving of a gift- a beautiful piece of amber!
From its inauspicious founding at the turn of the first millennium Danzig eventually became the pre-eminent trading port on the Baltic. For years it was the largest city in Poland! Of course it wasn’t strictly Poland back then. When Danzig was founded by Mieszko I there wasn’t any Poland, and the pagan Old Prussians and Christians were struggling for land and identity in the Baltic region. Just across the Vistula from the original wooden stockade of Danzig, for example, was the Viking trading emporium of Truso and a village of Old Prussians. It was also the beginnings of the Amber Road. Mieszko I would cut the Vikings out of the amber trade entirely and then unite religion and nationalism into a modern Polish state. But that is far in the future.
We checked into our cheap room tucked under the roof of a rebuilt apartment block overlooking the Motlawa Wisla. In the distance were the giant rusting cranes of the historic Gdansk Shipyards; out of the other window we could see the wooden Suraw, the medieval Gdansk port crane. It felt like we were back on a movie set, with all the horrible events of the last thousand years about to be played out before our eyes.
First we checked in with St Marys Church. It’s the largest brick church in Europe, but totally gutted in the waning days of World War II. Like many churches in the former DDR (Deutsch Democratic Republic) and Poland, the walls are whitewashed and unadorned. The rebuild astronomical clock is a rare spot of color.
At the turn of the first millennium relations between the Christians and the Old Prussians deteriorated. In 997 Old Prussians slew Adalbert of Prague, the bishop of Prague and the first missionary of note to the Baltic. When he arrived at Turso, the Viking trade emporium, he was immediately perceived to be a bringer of bad luck. Just as quickly he was stoned to death and his head stuck on a pike. Unfortunately, their predictions proved to be true. After failing to subdue the Old Prussians the Teutonic Knights- a rapacious band of Christian knights – were invited to carry out a “northern crusade” in the Baltic region. In 1308, while taking a break from converting the Old Prussians by the sword, the Teutonic Knights sacked Danzig, massacred its knights and citizens and burned the city to the ground.
Strangely, Danzig’s demise turned out to be fortuitous. After expelling the remains of the original Pomeranian population the Teutonic Knights aided in the resettlement of Danzig with German merchants and artisans. After joining the powerful Hanseatic League in 1361 Danzig became one of the primary trading partners of Flanders and the Netherlands, trading grain and timber for exotic spices and broadcloth.
Soon Dutch Mannerist and Flemish Renaissance architecture flooded the city under the direction of Hans Vredeman de Vries, Anthonis van Obbergen and Willem van den Blocke. And of course, along with Dutch, German and Scottish immigration came the Protestantism of the Low Countries. By the time the Teutonic Knights were finally defeated and expelled Danzig was a wealthy Protestant free city, a royal port, in the Catholic majority Poland.
Behind St. Catherine’s Church however is a smaller, unprepossessing brick structure, the Basilica of St. Bridget. Despite its small size it plays an outsize role in the spiritual and political life of Gdansk. Totally destroyed during the war, the Basilica of St. Bridget was rebuilt in the 1970’s and somehow found itself playing an outsized role in the tumultuous events of the summer of 1989. Roman Catholicism likewise found itself playing an outsized role, so that somehow Catholicism and Freedom eventually found themselves inextricably linked in the minds of the Polish people. But we didn’t know any of that beforehand. We just went to the Basilica of St Bridget to see the largest amber altarpiece in the world.
On entering the church it was plain something was going on. People were coming and going, genuflecting, crossing themselves and praying. Young nuns sat in pews, quietly looking about themselves in wonder. Along one whole wall was a photomontage (with English captions!) documenting the Gdansk shipyard strike that eventually drove the Communist Party from Poland. For many of us, Americans in particular, Freedom is something we were born with; it’s old hat. But these people, they earned it! They can still remember what it was like before, and what it was like after. And then, in the Nave of the church, the object of adoration, as it were, was the Amber Altarpiece.
It’s really hard to get a grip on the Amber Altarpiece. It’s like a gigantic volcano of amber laboriously constructed out of thousands of pieces of amber – fashioned into birds, or grapes and leaves and branches, and then garishly lit. All of my pictures looked out of focus, but I knew they weren’t. The Thing in Itself was confusing my technology.
After awhile I felt out of place standing there trying to figure out my camera.; it was like I was crashing someone else’s party. So we wandered around for a bit and eventually found ourselves down in the crypt.
While the Amber Altarpiece represents the socially engaged aspect of the Catholic Church, the recently discovered underground crypt points in a slightly different direction. The silver Reliquarium of St. Bridget of Sweden stands before a metal cage of skulls, unknown skulls, from the many killing field surrounding the city. The contemplation of Death becomes an active process, with the spiritual and mundane becoming one.
There is much discussion concerning the origin of Gdansk’s “Golden Age”- that brief period of time between 1580 and 1700, when everything seemingly went right for Danzig. On a light hearted note, some attribute the Golden Age of Gdansk to the founding of “Der Lachs (The Salmon) Distillery” . Founded in 1598 Der Lachs produced the famed “Danziger Goldwasserr” – a herbal and root liqueur featuring suspended flakes of 22 karat gold. It says something about your cultural awareness and panache when you can produce a liqueur that is the favorite of Catherine and Peter the Great!
In all reality the Golden Age of Danzig came about from the wholesale immigration of Flemish and Dutch artisans.
The Great Armoury, also called the Arsenal, was built at the turn of the 17th Century, when fears of a Swedish invasion were at its height. One prominent feature of the grain trade with Netherlands was that returning vessels, even if empty, carried a ballast of fine redfired bricks! Eventually Danzig came to be known as “The Little Amsterdam.”
In the Middle Ages Mariacka Street was a muddy unpaved lane of half timbered buildings. But by the beginning of the 15th Century more substantial buildings, clad in brick in the high and narrow Dutch style began to be built. Eager to show off their wealth, the local burghers built raised porches, or “Przedroze”, with highly individual ornamentation. Note the Art Deco Eve offering the Serpent the skull of Adam. A worthy topic of contemplation!
This gothic brick tenement house at 1 Mariacka Street (below) was built in 1451, the first house of record on Mariacka Street. Two wonderful late gothic porch plates depict scenes from the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Later, in the 16th century, house occupancy suggests a room was rented to Anna Schilling, the housekeeper and alleged lover of Nicolaus Copernicus!
Unfortunately, Danzig’s Golden Age came to a close as a dizzying number of armies swept across Poland in the 18th and 19th Centuries. The Second Partition of Poland in 1793 ceded Danzig to Prussia. Less then ten years later Napoleon conquered Prussia, creating the Free City of Danzig. With Napoleon’s final defeat, Danzig returned to Prussia. Eventually Prussia was absorbed into Germany, setting the stage for the tragic events of the twentieth century.
With Germany’s defeat in the First World War followed by the punitive Treaty of Versailles Danzig was stripped out of greater Germany and remade as a Free City. A narrow strip of land, the Danzig Corridor (the Polish Corridor), divided greater Germany from East Prussia. Plainly the situation was untenabl
With the rise of National Socialism in the 1930’s quislings and traitors flocked to Danzig. The parliament was seized by Nazis in 1933 and anti-semitic propaganda began to assume a fevered pitch. In 1939 Hitler staged a faux Polish border attack, complete with dead Germans in uniform (actually murdered POWs). And so World War Two began on Polish soil, fueled by hated and mendacious lies. Six years later the war ended, with Russians artillery bombarding Danzig into rubble
Since the war’s conclusion the hundreds of thousands of German refugees in Danzig have been repatriated to Germany and the border moved westward to the Oder River. My mother in law’s house in Goerlitz became Zgorzelec as Poles rushed into liberated territory to seize free housing. And so to the victors go the spoils.
One morning we rose early to avoid the tourists and went to see Isaak van den Blocke’s Allegory of Danzig in the Red Chamber of the Main Town Hall.
Ringing the walls of the Red Chamber are benches decorated with marquetry, different colored species of wood representing the mineral wealth of Danzig. The paintings above, painted at the end of the 16th century, by Hans Vredeman de Vries represented the virtues.
But of course, everyone comes to see the “”Allegory of Danzig”. Painted in the early 1608 by Izaak van den Blocke, the Allegory of Danzig on the ceiling dazzles with its concentrated ornamentation. Painted on twenty five oaken panels the “Allegory of Danzig” was dismantled shortly before the arrival of the Russians and so escaped destruction.
Immediately beside the Main Town Hall is the Artus Court, sitting on a stately raised porch beside the mansions of the richest burghers.
Basically the Artus Court was a businessmen’s club, attended by wealthy grain merchants and ship owners. Supposedly they poured the best Goldewasser in town!
Guarding the front entrance of the Artus court is the famous statue of Neptune, or Fortuna, who determined the business fate of all those venturing upon the Baltic Sea. Immediately to the left (our right and very hard to see). hangs the Devil’s Tooth. Supposedly the Devil demanded entrance to one of the Artus Court’s galas. After a fight the Devil was expelled, loosing one of his teeth in the process. To this day the tooth hangs beside the door on an iron chain. In all reality, the “tooth” is the metal triple flanged tip of a Teutonic Knight’s jousting spear! History and myth are wrapped up in an unheralded bundle!
The interior of the Artus Court, bathed in the Nordic Light of the huge fired glass windows, is a joy to behold!
In the end, we decided that although it was great hobnobbing with tourists on the streets of Danzig and drinking local vodka shots at Swojski Smak, it was time we got back to doing what we came to Gdansk to do… looking for amber!
But first we would have to go to the Baltic. We booked a cabin at Camp Bursztynowny Las, which we were assured was a short walk to the sea. It wasn’t far from Gdansk, and we drove through increasingly industrial settings, past a giant tank farm, and then through the woods towards the sea. We detoured past the construction site for a new natural gas pumping station- the terminal was to be just offshore- and then down a rutted dirt road to the camp. I feel for them. What was once a sylvan setting had been sacrificed to the gods of our age.
Our little cabin was great. Nearby a shipping container had been converted into restaurant and we lounged around with young Polish folk, eating pizza and drinking local vodka. That seemed to be the thing to do.
We woke the next morning, eager to collect our haul of Baltic Sea booty. Immediately we became lost in the woods, stumbling upon what seemed to be a dwelling of the original Old Prussians. But no, we concluded, the Old Prussians lived in long houses just like the Vikings. A troll must live here.
Back on track, we ambled towards the sea.
I don’t know what we were expecting, but this section of the Baltic Sea coast wasn’t it. To the west we could see the massive container ship terminal and miles of dredging pipes were scattered at the tree line.
We wandered along the tide line looking for amber. No luck. Most of the amber today comes from a massive open pit mine in the Soviet enclave of Kaliningrad. There were dead seabirds in the waves and a general listless feeling, as if the natural life of the world had been sucked away. Then a group of racing shells flew by. Here at least there was a little life!
Turning away we prepared to return to the camp. But there in the sand was an object! It wasn’t amber but what was it? It looked kind of like an egg, like a sea urchin shell you sometimes find on a more tropical beach. We picked it up and cradled it in our hands. It was pumice, shaped by the sea. How could it have gotten here? The nearest underwater volcano is… I don’t know how very far away! It was impossible!
I guess the Amber King had a sense of humor after all!
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