The Citadel

Today's tidy Polish republic was not always so. In the 18th century it was the ramshackle Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, a weak, manipulable confederacy of kingdoms that could be bribed and bullied into carrying out foreign agendas. Perhaps there is some nostalgia for this kind of "go along to get along" arrangement. Above the microwave oven in my apartment hangs a map of the Rzeczpospolita, or "kingly republic" of yore. 

Meantime, Russia and Prussia were the wolves of Europe, centralized military powers with predatory appetites. Is it any wonder then that Poland was partitioned for the entirety of the 1800s? And that the 1800s were followed by a bloodletting century in which, to borrow from Ilhan Omar, "some people did something"?

A month before the 1976 election, Gerald Ford famously declared that Poland was free from Soviet influence. It was a gaffe of course, and a huge gift to Jimmy Carter. A little historical knowledge can be a dangerous thing, and I may be making a Fordian blunder when I say that modern Poland's only periods of independence were from 1918 to 1939, and 1989 to present. That's all I can find. This preamble is by way of introducing my trip to Warsaw's Citadel. The question of why Moscow was operating a prison on the west bank of the Vistula is an obvious one. To obtuse tourists like me, it requires an answer.

The short explanation is that the Poles, admirably, would never shut the hell up. Their 1830-31 November uprising was followed by an 1863 uprising and capped by a 1905-1907 revolution. At the citadel's Independence Museum, a lot is made of the fortress's Carnot wall, a brick barrier with holes defenders can shoot through while remaining under cover. But there was no threat of outside attack. Plainly, the citadel was built to intimidate Warsaw's citizens after the 1830 revolt. In the vernacular of the Associated Press, it was a "restless" city.

One of the buildings on the grounds, the Tenth Pavilion, became the central investigative jail for political prisoners. Forty thousand of them passed through here. They included some of the biggest figures in Polish history, including Rosa Luxemburg. Several hundred were hanged after being led down this path to the Brama Stracen, or gate of doom. 

The last thing they probably saw was the Vistula River, and they were buried on the escarpment leading to it.

The museum is pretty modest. You see a lot of staged prison cells, a lot of cots, a lot of anodyne animations and sounds of shackles clanging, people yelling. Escape from the Tenth Pavilion was impossible. A story is told of a prisoner devoted to proving he was mentally ill. After months of faking it, he was taken to a hospital and examined by a doctor. The inmate struck up a discussion about Siberia. The physician was from Siberia and missed the tundra. Based on this emotional connection, the convict got the diagnosis he wanted and was sent to a mental institution, where he was freed by his compatriots. A rare win.

Several rooms are devoted to the artist Aleksander Sochaczewski. (For some reason, the museum's excellent English translations are omitted when it comes to anything having to do with Sochaczewski.) He took part in the 1863 uprising and was exiled to Siberia. His most famous painting, "Farewell to Europe," is housed here.

Closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. Admission is free on Thursdays. I paid 20 zlotys on a Wednesday, about $5 USD.