Chapter XVIII: Epilogue: The Broken Note

It is the year 1926. The Vistula River now no longer turns at the Wawel Hill and plunges straight through the Krakow plain dividing the city of Kazimierz from the city of Krakow, but instead swings far to the left and surrounds the whole plain, now the new city. The castles and towers and cathedral of the Wawel still rise proudly on the hill as in former days; St. Andrew’s which has defied fire, siege, and war for eight centuries raises its head—two towers—above Grodzka Street; the old Cloth Hall, beautified during the Renaissance, still stands in the middle of the central Rynek. And although the glory of former days is departed from the city and the kings no longer sit in the castle on the hill, there has come with the years the growth of a new glory, the glory of culture as seen in the university of fourteenth century origin, in the schools of fine arts and music and handicraft and trade. From all Poland come students to study and to live in this venerable city, which is Gothic in every corner and every gable save where here and there a bit of Romanesque wall or arch has survived the Tartar, or the Cossack, or the Swede.

But the chief glory of the city is the Church of Our Lady Mary. It no longer stands apart, a monument visible from afar as of old—other palaces and buildings have shut it in, and one sees its towers only, until one is close upon it. Then the sudden magnificence leaps upon the visitor. A splendid silence lurking in its high roof descends suddenly like the thousands of pigeons that thunder down for particles of bread. Beneath one’s feet is the old city cemetery; there on the walls are the tablets and shrines; there at the south doorway are the iron collars that once clasped the throats of petty criminals as they stood supplicating the prayers and pennies of the faithful. Inside, the church is a veritable miracle of beauty. Above its exquisite wood carvings and choir rises a vaulted roof of sky blue, studded with stars. Images of stone look down from breaks in the Gothic fluting—tablets, banners, altars, shrines all strike alike upon the sight in amazing beauty.

But listen: is the organ playing? Whence come those notes that float down from above like God’s own music from heaven? They come from the towers, for the hour is striking on the bell, and a trumpeter is playing at one of the open tower windows. And that tune? It is the Heynal, the same tune played by a young man so many centuries ago when the Tartars burned the city—and listen, the trumpeter breaks off his song in the middle of a note. . . . Four times he sounds the Heynal, once at each of the four windows, west, south, east, north. And many a man or woman or child on hearing that song thinks of the days when the young life was given to country and God and duty. . . . Poland has been through many fires since that time—she has had centuries of war, a century of extinction. But in all that time the Heynal has sounded with each passing hour and men have sworn each year to keep the custom unto the very end of time. Hark, it is sounding now.

May it bring in an epoch of peace to all men!

NOTES

The author wishes to acknowledge his indebtedness to the following persons for their services in aiding his research: Professor Roman Dyboski of the English Department of the University of Krakow; Director Frederic Papee of the university library, and his assistants, Dr. Sophia Ameisen and Dr. Wojciech Gelecki; Director Adam Chmiel of the Old Archives Building; Miss Helene d’Abancour de Franqueville of the library of the Krakow Academy; Miss Helena Walkowicz, a student in the university, and Madame Sophia Smoluchowska of Krakow.

The Aqua Phosphorata mentioned on page 108 was a luminous liquid compounded by the alchemist. Phosphorus as we know it to-day was first made by Brandt in 1699. In 1602, however, Scipio Begatello exploited the qualities of the famous Bologna Stone and its luminous qualities, discovered by Vincenzo Cascariolo about 1595, and there are other suggestions that similar substances were used by earlier alchemists and magicians.

In the illustrations Miss Pruszynska has followed faithfully fifteenth and sixteenth century models. Two old volumes, the _Codex of Baltazar Behem_ in the University Library, and the _Pontifical Ciolka_ in the Czartoryski Museum, Krakow, have furnished the models for the dress, architecture, customs, and colors. For greater detail in dress, the book of the celebrated Polish artist, Matejko, _Costumes in Poland of Other Days_, was the authority. The decorations of the illustrations are in the style of the Wit Stwosz altarpieces of the Church of Our Lady Mary.

In the Iuramenta or Book of Oaths in the Old Archives of the City of Krakow may be found the modified oath of the Krakow trumpeters as it existed in the year 1671. It had been enlarged and translated from Latin into Polish. In 1740 the Book of Oaths was rebound in the form in which it now exists. Appended is a translation of the oath.

IURAMENTUM TUBICINIS

“I swear to Almighty God that I will be obedient to their honors
the gentlemen of the Krakovian council, and faithful to the
whole city in the service which I render with the trumpet, also
that I will be diligent scrupulously in keeping watch, to the
extent of my duties, to wit: the sounding of the alarm of fire
whenever and wherever it appears, in the city, or behind the
city, likewise to sound upon the trumpet the hours of the night
and day (appointed), and without the permission of his honor the
Burgomaster I will sound the trumpet at no man’s request. I will
be clean in all things and watch the fires in the tower. And all
this observe which belongs to my duties, so help me God.”

THE END

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where
multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer
errors occur.

[The end of _The Trumpeter of Krakow_ by Eric Philbrook Kelly]