I said it last week, but it bears
repeating: Europe is so magnificent that even the less popular cities are full
of astonishing beauty.
Before we planned this summer’s trip, the
only thing I knew about Krakow was its reputation for being the loveliest city
in Poland. I couldn’t have told you anything else, but because it was a not-too-distant
drive from Berlin (our other destination), it made for an intriguing choice.
Of course I read about Krakow before we
went. But even so, I was awestruck at the beauty of St. Mary’s Basilica.
Located just off Krakow’s Main Market Square, we visited the basilica because,
well, it was supposed to be beautiful and we were in the area.
Then we walked into a place of worship
that’s the equal of anything else we’ve seen. As gorgeous as Notre Dame. As
impressive as Hagia Sophia. As ornate as St Petersburg’s Church on Spilled Blood.
And the trip planner, the one who blogs about her travels and constantly dreams about where she'll go next, hadn't even heard of it before this summer.
St. Mary’s is home to the largest Gothic
altarpiece in the world. This three-panelled carving depicts the lives of Jesus
and Mary. Carved from linden wood, the altarpiece is made up of over 200
figures and decorations. It’s considered one of Poland’s great treasures, and
was dismantled and hidden for part of the Second World War, although it was
later discovered and taken to Germany. It survived heavy bombing and was
returned to Krakow in 1957.
The altarpiece, the vaulted stained glass
windows, and the high cobalt ceilings dotted with golden stars, all added to
the sense of magnificence. My words won’t do it justice, but I hope our photos
can.
The exterior of the church is equally
fascinating as what lays inside, and that’s because of the legend attached to it.
We were fortunate to be near the basilica
at noon, because of the tradition that takes place there, on the hour, every
hour, every day of the year. After the clock chimes, a trumpet player enters
the ornate watchtower and plays a short tune four times, once each through the
north, south, east and west windows. Each time he plays a few bars, then stops
abruptly. (The entire ritual is played daily on Polish National Radio at noon.)
Of course, there’s a reason for that. The
tune is the hejnal, a short piece of
music that used to be played at the opening and closing of the city gates, and
as a warning of fire or enemy activity. During the Tartar invasions in 1241, a
watchman in the tower noticed invaders preparing to climb the city walls to
attack it. He played his trumpet to warn the townspeople of danger. The enemies
saw him and pierced his throat with an arrow in the middle of the song. But in
the meantime, his warning had given Krakow citizens ample time to meet the
challenge.
 |
| See the trumpet, just inside the upper central window? |
And in an enduring tribute, they play the
shortened tune in his honour, once an hour, every day of the year.
A stunning church with a bittersweet story?
It just doesn’t get any better than that.*
*Yes, there are other, more prosaic legends
behind this tradition. But this is the story I like the best, and I’m sticking
with it.
