For untold centuries the Oder River meandered its way through the forests and sparse fields of Central Europe. Aurochs, Brown Bears and Wolves were as common as the occasional merchant caravan traversing the muddy Via Regia or the Amber Road. But by the early 10th Century the fledgling Holy Roman Empire arose in Germany, consolidating temporal power in partnership with the Church. Far to the East, the scattered Slavic tribes began to coalesce into their own isolated townships. In between these two there was, and still is, a borderland. Silesia, the land of the Oder River.
For much of its history Breslau was named Wroclaw, after the mythical Duke Wrocislaw who built a stronghold on Cathedral Island. A wooden church, a sawmill, even a steam bath for the nobles – with a local masseuse trained in the art of poulticing wounds – soon followed. By the time of the Polish King Boleslaw I the Brave a thousand people were living on Cathedral Island, Sand Island, and the left bank of the Oder.
But typically strongholds didn’t last long in Medieval times. Wroclaw was burned by its own defenders during the first Mongol invasion of 1240. According to local legend, the invaders only relented when a huge fireball, summoned by the prayers of the pious clergy, appeared blazing in the night time sky.
It has been noted that even from the beginning German and Latin had been spoken in Wroclaw; Breslau is merely the Germanization of Wroclaw. However, because of the decimated population, ethnic Germans were actively encouraged to immigrate into Silesia after the cessation of the Mongol Storm. In 1262 the rebuilt town adopted the Germanic Magdeburg rights (which codified the rights and obligations of freeholders) and by the end of the century had joined The Hanseatic League.
As Breslau grew the city moved west of the Oder; Cathedral and Sand Island were granted exclusively to the Church. Unfortunately, as the city grew so did the problems that accompanied Renaissance towns. Breslau burned down several times and needed to be rebuilt. Likewise the Plague swept repeatedly through Silesia, the plague of 1568 killed 18,000 of the 40,000 inhabitants in Breslau alone.
We came to Wroclaw on Easter Monday, the day Pope Francis died, so almost all the churches – again all of which were Roman Catholic – were filled with devotees kneeling in prayer. I had particularly wanted to visit the St. Mary of the Sand Church to see the “Dormition of the Virgin Mary altarpiece” And there it was, behind a heavy iron grate that closed off the Nave of the church! As we stood there frustrated a priest leading a tour group of Italian pilgrims unlocked the gate and conducted the pilgrims inside. “Go in there with them! Follow them,” Yasha whispered. On other trips, at the Necropolis in Samarkand and Sukotai in Thailand we had climbed over walls to access monuments where we hadn’t felt like paying the entry fee. It felt like a joke at the time. But here… suppose I was caught? No way was I going to be confronted by an angry priest, even if he only spoke Italian.
The interior of the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist seems remarkably spare for a major cathedral in Poland. Unfortunately, it was largely destroyed in the Siege of Breslau – as were all the churches in Breslau. Some of the interior fittings were salvaged and are now on display at the National Museum in Warsaw.
Post-Renaissance, the history of Breslau can only be considered as lamentable. Freed from the orbit of the disintegrating Polish state, Silesia was alternately occupied by the Holy Roman Empire, Bohemia, the Hapsburg Empire, Prussia, and finally in 1871, it was absorbed into the modern German state. And that is when the problems really began.
The first decades of the twentieth century found Breslau – and Silesia – significantly Germanized. Only 15% of the students at the University of Wroclaw were Polish; a further 10% were Jewish. In the contested parliamentary election that brought Adolf Hitler to power the Nazi party received fifty one percent of vote; and that was in a crowded field of candidates. Really, nothing can be more damning then this.
World War II swiftly followed, with the depressingly predictable plethora of concentration camps, work camps and the smell of death permeating the air through Silesia. But Breslau, was initially spared the horrors of war. Unfortunately, as German forces fell back before the relentless Russian advance, Hitler declared Breslau to be Festung Breslau, Fortress Breslau. All German forces in the East were to be pulled back to the city, which would theoretically prevent the Russians from crossing the Oder.
But of course, the Russians merely bypassed Breslau. One army raced on to Berlin, while another army encircled the city, trapping 80,000 soldiers and hundreds of thousands of refugees. A death sentence in a world of death. Unable to surrender, Breslau fought on through the spring of 1945, consuming the old, the young, and anyone in fact who could conceivably hold a gun. In the end, Breslau surrendered two days before Hitler shot himself and Berlin capitulated. This un-necessary siege claimed two hundred thousand dead, including the father of my brother in law, a destitute refugee who died of sepsis shortly before the conclusion of hostilities. The city was totally destroyed.
The Potsdam Conference of 1945 re-drew the borders of Eastern Europe: taking from the losers, giving to the winners. What was given to Poland after WW I was taken away after WWII. The once the bustling Polish city of Lvov in Russia is now the bustling city of Lviv in Ukraine. As the borders changed so did the population. Between 1945 and 1947 two million Poles fled westward. In fact, many Poles ended up occupying the houses of the of the four million ethnic Germans who had also fled westward, back into Germany. And in the process, Breslau became Wroclaw.
The Breslau of today dazzles and beguiles. Can we say everything is forgiven? But the Wroclaw of today isn’t quite the same as before. Overnight the Lutheran Churches became Roman Catholic, but even after they were rebuilt there wasn’t anything to put in them… all the art was lost.
The Basilica of St. Elizabeth is a case in point. Destroyed in the Siege, it’s been rebuilt to modern standards and consecrated by Pope John Paul II in 1997. Like many things in present day Poland, the Basilica sits at the confluence of piety and politics, for the church also houses the mausoleum of the Polish underground state and the home army. One could say “Never Forget”, but to whom?
The Poles have many fears, but they know that the danger comes from the East, not the West.
In the book The Bloodlands Timothy Snyder writes about the historical tragedy of Poland and its neighbor Ukraine. In the twentieth century both countries were systematically raped and dismembered by their totalitarian neighbors, Germany and Russia. Even today, in quiet groves of trees, accompanied by the occasional call of a bird, mass graves lie undiscovered, the dead uncounted. Today Ukraine still resists Russia’s bloody occupation. But Poland has gone a slightly different route – the path of whimsy.
After the Orange Revolution, tiny brass dwarfs began appearing around Breslau. With no artist or name they literally popped up underfoot, or looked out from dark alleys. Some even peered down from the broken windows of abandoned buildings. Today there’s more than 400 dwarves scattered around old Breslau, accomplishing dwarfish tasks, and tourists are encouraged to purchase a map and find them all! But what does it mean? Perhaps nothing… it’s simply the Polish way of laughing at the giants of the world who carelessly trample the rest of us, the little people, the little countries, underfoot in moments of rage.
As you walk from from the tourist zone of the Ryek, or Alstadt, out towards the Oder you pass through layers of architectural history: Gothic, Baroque, Classical, and even some shabby examples of Communist era apartment blocks. On Kuznicza Strasse there’s a lovely little block of Art Deco buildings (above), and then directly across the street is the entrance to the old Mutual Support Society of Traders building (right).
By now the streets are swarming with students, and there’s a ZABKA (the Polish version of 7-11) literally on every block. Then, as you approach the Oder and the Most Piaskowy bridge to Cathedral Island the crowds grow thick and tourists outnumber the students. On the right side of Piaskwoa Strasse there’s the enormous Hala Targowa, the Market Hall, and to the left is the University of Wroclaw.
The Hala Targowa is fine example of early 20th Century modern Architecture, with soaring vaults of reinforced. concrete. Earlier I had spoken with a local from Wroclaw who now lives in Germany and she had said that each time she returns to Poland she makes a bee-line for a small restaurant in the Hala Targowa: it was almost a family ritual. So why not us? We easily found the Cafe Targowa – we simply followed the line – and ordered simple fare of Perogies and Bigos. As a special treat a portion of the Cafe Targowa remains as it was during the communist era, with dishes chained to the counter top so customers couldn’t walk off with them! So much for the worker’s paradise!
We crossed back across the street and walked south along the Oder. Really, this whole area, Cathedral Island and the old University of Wroclaw, is cool and serene, even on a warm day. Occasional groups of tourists, led by a black cassocked priest, wandered quietly past.
We weren’t going in any particular direction at this point, so when a women opened a massive door and slipped inside we followed her. And as they used to say, “Gloria Dei!” We were astounded!
The founding deed for the University of Wroclaw, a Jesuit University, was signed in 1702 by King Leopold I, the king of Hungry and Bohemia. As such, the Holy Name of Jesus Church was an important tool in the Counter-Reformation. Miraculously, the Holy Name of Jesus Church, along with the nearby Aula Leopoldina, were spared destruction during the Siege of Breslau. As a consequence the Holy Name of Jesus Church is considered the finest Baroque structure in Central Europe. Unfortunately,, there is no illumination inside the church- only what comes in through the windows. (Supposedly modern lighting bleaches the frescoes). As a result The High Alter and virtually everything is shrouded in darkness.
With the influx of ethnic – Protestant – Germans into Breslau in the 18th, 19th, and 20th century the University taught both Catholic and Protestant theology. At the same time many of Breslau’s churches were deconsecrated and turned into Protestant places of worship.
Directly outside of the door to the Holy Name of Jesus Church is an “execution wall” where Gestapo death squads eliminated enemies of the German state. This was an all too regular event in the final fanatical days of the Siege of Breslau. Children served as soldiers while anyone even suggesting surrender was brutally murdered and thrown into the Oder.
A short walk past the Holy Name of Jesus Church and the Fencer statue lies another nondescript door; through it and up the stairs lies the auditorium for the University of Wroclaw, the Aula Leopoldina.
The Aula Leopoldina is the largest Baroque hall in Europe. Although it was undamaged in the war it remained shuttered for years. Academics and artisans fled en masse from the formerly Polish University of Lwow to aid in the refurbishment of the auditorium.
In the 1720’s, when the Aula Leopoldina was built, wisdom and knowledge and all virtuous human activity in general was considered to be due to God’s grace. Unlike today, knowledge was prized for its own sake. The window niches the surround the hall, for example, are painted with contemporary and ancient personifications knowledge – Socrates, Plato, and the like.
Behind the bust of Leopold I in the rear of the hall is an extensive trompe-l’oeil palace painted by artisans from the University of Lwow. Unfortunately the allegory of Silesia, accompanied by Oder and Wroclaw, are obscured from below by the marble bust.
We spent four days in Wroclaw and it still wasn’t enough. In fact, I still can’t pronounce Wroclaw like the Poles; somehow my mouth just won’t do it.
So on the last day, as a storm approached, we decided to climb the 274 steps up through the tower of the Cathedral of St. Mary Magdalene. The two metal clad spires in the 1920 photograph (to the right) along with much of the church, was destroyed in the Siege of Breslau. Today the staircase goes only as high as the “Bride of Penitents”. Which can also be seen in the photo to the right. It wasn’t until we were almost to the top that we discovered that the bridge was also called the “Bridge of Witches”, and that witches, good and bad and (Yes!) riding on broomsticks are as deeply ingrained in Polish culture as the Gunslinger is in America’s.
As you can see, this blog post is merely a cursory examination of Breslau – Wroclaw – and Polish culture in general. I’m still learning about a country that lies directly across the border from where I live in Goerlitz. If you would like to look at a fun website about Breslau, and a great video, please go to https://www.inyourpocket.com/wroclaw/wroclaws-olbin-abbey-the-mystery-of-the-wlostowic_80017f
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