On November 18, 1918, after 123 years of occupation, the Polish state was reborn and regained its independence. November 11th marked the end of World War I and the defeat of all three occupiers. Russia was plunged into the confusion of revolution and civil war, the multinational Austro-Hungarian monarchy, held together by its government’s perpetuation of inter-ethnic conflicts as a means to divide and conquer, fell apart and went into decline. The Germans, of course, lost and were punished.
For Poles was their opportunity to reclaim their right as a nation, something they had continually fought for since they were invaded by the three occupying powers.
Marshal Józef Piłsudski speaking to the to the Polish people in a radio broadcast on November 11th, 1926 speaks about November 11th 1918 (originally posted here).
“Two dear little ones are sitting by me and begging for a tale. So I will tell the ladies and gentlemen a tale for children and grown-ups alike. “As much happiness as in a dream, as much truth as in a song.” So one man wrote, and we who read sometimes believe him and sometimes not. But today I tell you truly that there are charms and spells, so long as we are happy. Once I saw a crowd of children bending over something on the ground. Wondering what they could find to look at in a dirty courtyard, I espied a little frog. Filthy and frightened the frog hopped clumsily on its long legs and glared at the children with its goggle eyes.
“What are you gazing at?” I asked the little ones. One lad answered that he had read of a frog which was jumping about in the dirt, but suddenly by charms and spells, there came a great golden chariot drawn by six big horses. Six big lackeys held their bridles, and from the chariot ladies alighted dressed too gorgeously for words. They took a box from the chariot, and – oh! Charms and spells! The frog turned suddenly into a magic maiden, with lovely eyes and countenance.
The maiden looked at herself and marveled. For her robes were gleaming with pearly-white and rose color shot with gold and silver. Snow-white stockings covered her legs, which had been red with gold, but now were so warm that they gleamed like white marble through the silk. The dirty frog, transformed into a charming maiden took her place in the chariot and drove to a great white palace. The parquet mirrored her beauty, and maidens yellow with envy, whispered that she was an evil changeling. So there are charms and spells when a maiden is happy. They say that on earth there are no such tales.
I do not know if fairy-tales are true, but it is true that there are charms and spells when one is happy. I have heard with my own ears, I have seen with my own eyes, I have touched with my own fingers such charms and spells that of them I fear to speak. None of us, indeed, may have seen the dear child who was picking strawberries and suddenly espied a forest where, instead of branches, the trees grew cakes, ready to break off and eat. Who has seen the child who, as he hopped, found himself in an enchanted garden where magic birds chirped joyously between themselves? Or the dear girl in that garden where big juicy pears came of their own accord to her lips and red apples dropped into her pocket? Such, I believe, exist, and I will tell you about the wonder of wonders that I have touched and seen.
On a bright November day, not many years ago, along a road drowned everywhere in mud, a short grey serpent of lads big and small pressed forward. Like the clumsy frog, they wearily stumbled on, often stamping with frozen legs on the grey and marshy track. Poor fellows! They were hunched up and trembling with cold, their eyes dimmed by a toilsome night and many toilsome days. Their feet, soaked through their worn-out, mud-caked shoes, stumbled over the ground, lingering as though they clung to it for a moment’s rest. On the eleventh of November, they found themselves somewhere under the walls of Krakow. Before them rode another lad – rode on a young chestnut with a white-starred head.
The chestnut, daughter of the meadows, went mincingly into the town whence came those ragged lads, who now, as dirty as the earth itself, marched in. They had marched the whole night long, with death always staring them in the face. They had marched through the gate of death, through its strait and stifling portal. Like the frog, they longed to stumble into safety – safety within the walls of Krakow. But the country chestnut with the hairless head gazed on the city with disgust. When she reached the first houses, a scarecrow lorry came along, groaning and hissing, and she jibbed in terror. The lad upon her back caressed her and began to tell her of charms and spells. “Fear not, chestnut,” he murmured, “you are going into the capital, where thousands will gaze upon your lovely neck and golden hair.” For in Krakow there are charms and spells when a lad is happy, whether they be in the twin-towered church, or in the mighty bell, or in the crypt where kings for ever sleep, or in the hero’s or the poet’s tomb.
Not many years passed by, and the same chestnut gazed upon the same city on a new eleventh of November. Charm on charm and spell on spell – where were the grey and dirty lads, and where their leader? The same leader, but see how he has changed! On his breast as many stars as there are countries in the world. Trumpets and drums sounded as the infantry, in their steel helmets, marched firmly by, and the heavy guns made the windows rattle as they passed. An enchanted world, transformed!
But my time is up, and I must close with a wish for the next eleventh of November. Even if the month brings storms which roar in the chimney and shriek of death and terror, I know that restoration of the body and the soul’s rebirth give strength and beauty. In them we find an inward warmth which baffles the damp and poison. And may you smile then as on the magic eleventh of November in 1918! May the autumn sun burn your cheeks and a gentle breeze cool them, and may we laugh together from happiness at being great-souled and reborn! This, men and women and dear children, I wish you all.” — Marshal Józef Piłsudski
