In Search of the Middle Ages

Aleksander Brückner was one of the greatest and most original Polish scholars of Slavonic languages and historians of Polish literature, language and culture. He was considered the last polyhistor, or scholar of multiple disciplines, and his output of more than 1,500 publications in several languages is one of the most extensive achievements in the humanities.

Brückner was born on January 29, 1856 in Ternopil (then in the Austrian Empire, now Ukraine), although he was emotionally attached to the nearby city of Berezhany, where his grandfather was mayor for many years. The Brückner family probably came to Poland from Austria in the eighteenth century and quickly became Polonised, settling in the multicultural environs of Lviv.

On leaving his Gymnasium (grammar school) in 1872, Brückner went to study Philology at the University of Lviv. Four years later he completed his doctorate in Vienna under Franz Miklosich and, in 1878, after further studies in Berlin and Leipzig, his post-doctoral Habilitation. He began working at the University of Lviv, but soon there were calls for him to take up the chair of Slavonic Languages and Literatures in Berlin. He was appointed to this position in 1880 and worked at the University of Berlin for the next 40 years, until his retirement. He aroused great admiration with his erudition, energy, polemical zeal and productivity. His scholarly proposals were brilliant and bold, sometimes controversial and often criticised and corrected by the scholar himself years later. He remained in Berlin until his death on May 24, 1939.

Aleksander Brückner’s vast body of work includes not only the first critical editions of his greatest discoveries, including the oldest surviving texts in Polish, but also his history of Polish culture (Dzieje kultury polskiej), his still largely up-to-date study of Slavonic mythology (Mitologia słowiańska), his unusual etymological dictionary of Polish with many digressions (Słownik etymologiczny języka polskiego), a monumental encyclopaedia of Old Poland (Encyklopedia staropolska), dozens of critical editions of works, works of popular science and over a thousand academic articles and essays.

Professor Brückner’s one and only holiday

In 1889 Alexander Brückner, then aged 36 and Head of the Department of Slavonic Languages at the Friedrich Wilhelm University in Berlin, put in his first ever request for leave of absence. This was the only holiday Brückner ever took in an academic career spanning almost half a century – a holiday that shaped his career, and in the process brought about a revolution in the history of the Polish language and literature.

Brückner’s plan was not to rest during his holiday, he intended to work. He was well prepared for this: he had an itinerary, a grant from the Prussian Academy of Sciences, contacts, letters of recommendation and above all his own knowledge and unparalleled intuition when it came to research.

Mysterious hints about his plans appeared in the newspapers of the time. It was said that the Professor intended to write a history of Polish literature. Some claimed that the work was already being printed, others that Brückner was still was on his way to St Petersburg to consult new sources.

On Tuesday, August 11, Brückner wrote to one of his patrons, the aged Romuald Hube, formerly an active politician in Congress Poland and professor in St Petersburg: “I shall leave tomorrow or the day after, stay in Danzig and Königsberg for a few days or maybe a dozen – that will depend on the abundance of material I find – so I shall not be in St Petersburg until the end of August”. St Petersburg, then capital of the Russian Empire, was thus his ultimate destination. On his way there, Brückner would search for unknown artefacts of Polish linguistic history. He travelled the entire route of the Prussian Eastern Railway, before changing to the broad-gauge Saint Petersburg-Warsaw Railway and continuing north to the last station on the line.

On Thursday, November 16 (November 28 New Style), Brückner wrote to Hube:

I have been in St Petersburg since mid-August (Old Style), working since the first days of September in the manuscripts department; prior to that I busied myself with the printed works. The printed matter is not very abundant and has perhaps already been too thinned out by enthusiasts sui generis; the manuscripts, on the other hand, although there are gaps here too, contain very rich, valuable material. I am extending my research to include Polish and Polish-Latin literature from the fifteenth to the eighteenth centuries: for every epoch and almost every major writer, important additions can sometimes be found, some of which I am seeing for the first time. From ten in the morning until eight at night I work in the library, leaving for lunch when the manuscripts department closes and then returning. On Sundays and holidays, I worship in the library from twelve to three. In this way I try to make the best use of the time that I have.

This sounds enthusiastic, although conditions in the Imperial Public Library were not the best. The manuscripts reading room had neither lighting nor a good catalogue, and researchers were only allowed to consult a maximum of four volumes a day. Brückner managed to overcome the strict rules, however, and was given as many manuscripts as he needed. When it grew too dark in the manuscript section – St Petersburg has a maximum of six hours of daylight in autumn and winter – he moved to the printed works reading room, where he browsed through piles of old books.

For eight months, the rhythm of Brückner’s life was determined by the opening hours of the Imperial Public Library. And in those eight months, Brückner made more discoveries than were made by others in the entire field of Slavonic studies in half a century.


Why was St Petersburg and the Imperial Public Library the goal of Alexander Brückner’s travels? Why did the Professor assume that he would find the most important and most valuable artefacts of Polish literature and language there?

Brückner was well aware of the workings of Russian historical and cultural policy, steeped in colonialism and the pursuit of cultural supremacy over subjugated states and peoples. As is still the case today, the basis of this policy was plunder and destruction.

Brückner often mentioned that he worked with the “Załuski collection”. The Załuski Library in Warsaw, Poland’s first national library, was at the end of the eighteenth century one of the largest collections of books in the world. In 1794-95, after the defeat of the Kościuszko Uprising and the third partition of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, the collection, comprising almost half a million items, was looted by the Russians and became the main part of the Imperial Public Library founded by Catherine II. It was systematically transported to St Petersburg from Warsaw, almost half of it being stolen along the way. In this way, the plunderers and colonisers took control of the most important artefacts of Polish history and culture.

Further great collections were stolen by the Russians after the suppression of the November Uprising in 1831, namely the collection of the Warsaw Society of the Friends of Science and, particularly importantly, the collection of the Public Library at the University of Warsaw. The University was liquidated by order of the Russian Tsar Nicholas I in retaliation for the November Uprising, and its collections were also taken over by the St Petersburg library. It is worth mentioning that the University Library contained the collections of the Polish monasteries, which had been dissolved in 1819 – works that had yet to be studied in detail. It was in the binding of a book from one such collection that Brückner discovered the oldest Polish continuous prose work, the Holy Cross Sermons.

After the Polish-Soviet War, under the 1921 Treaty of Riga, the Russians undertook to return part of the looted collections, including the most valuable items discovered by Brückner. The items were returned over the course of several years and formed the most important collection in the National Library. Some of them remain there today; however, most of the items recovered from St Petersburg were lost in 1944, deliberately set fire to by German troops during the Warsaw Uprising.

An uncle from the provinces

No one has yet undertaken to write a biography of Alexander Brückner. Indeed, he is a somewhat intimidating figure for any potential biographer. He kept his private life private, and ensured that his scholarly activities were perfectly organised and followed a strict timetable of academic work and professional meetings in cafés. To understand even a little of the great man’s life, one must work one’s way through his great body of work – there are over 1,500 items that he authored, and it is still unclear how many additional texts he published anonymously or under a pseudonym – as well as reading the memoirs of his students and colleagues, and finally consulting works by those who engaged in fierce polemics with him during his lifetime.

Max Vasmer, Brückner’s successor in the professorship in Berlin, recalled him as follows: “Before 1915, I knew Brückner only from his writings. I had the impression that anyone capable of independent thought would surely have to argue with him. I first encountered him personally in the summer of 1919 […]. In his personal relations, Brückner turned out to be extremely pleasant, gentle and tactful. When I later moved to Berlin, he treated me as a father treats a son.” In his writings, Brückner was indeed extremely categorical, stubborn, polemical and at times even scathing. At the same time, he was that rare type of scholar who is equally critical of his own findings. Many of his scientific proposals arose spontaneously as the result of great erudition and extraordinary intuition when it came to research. This led him to both great discoveries and total misunderstandings – which he freely admitted and rectified in subsequent articles.

Vasmer’s observations were shared by other acquaintances of Brückner. Although the Professor was fond of discussions and polemics in his writings, in person he was typically gentle, forbearing and actually rather shy. He had a great sense of humour, although he did not always show it. He had a particular liking for old Polish epigrams full of somewhat risqué humour. Indeed, he discovered many of them himself and introduced the concept of literatura sowizdrzalska (Polish picaresque literature of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries) into Polish studies.

Brückner’s style of writing was unique: dense, often colloquial, but at the same time demanding of the reader, digressive and highly subjective. It was also notable for its originality. Literary historian Stefan Kołaczkowski, a former student of Brückner’s, recalled him as follows: “As a result of his complete participation in any sort of social life – he was quite cut off from the world – his manner, his appearance and his old-fashioned dress were quite characteristic: they retained many features typical of the milieu and period of his youth. I remember my amazement when I first saw Brückner at a lecture in 1912, when I was a student. He looked like an uncle from the provinces. It was slightly comical, this unexpected coexistence of incommensurate elements: European-wide fame, and an uncle from the provinces – an uncle from the provinces… lecturing in Berlin as if he were a scholar!”

In a sense, Brückner was a typical example of this idea of an uncle from the provinces. Both in his youth and towards the end of his life he wore an old-fashioned double-breasted frockcoat and a neatly tied bowtie. Born in 1856 in Ternopil (today in Ukraine, then Austrian Empire) but emotionally attached to the nearby city of Berezhany, he spoke Polish with a strong Berezhany accent. At the same time, language was for him both the material and the object of his research. On the history of Polish, he wrote that “language is a chimera, you can never guess in advance what it wants or where it is headed”, and he believed that the engine of linguistic change was “the laziness of speakers”. Aware of the gradual disappearance of Polish dialects and the linguistic assimilation of ethnic and national minorities, he advocated making field recordings and creating a large phonographic archive of the Polish language; although he appeared old-fashioned, in fact he was well aware of the value of new technology.

Perhaps surprisingly, Brückner did not accumulate a book collection at home but rather got rid of any books that were donated to him – he said he “threw them away”! “The only sort of libraries he acknowledged were public libraries,” recalls Kołaczkowski. Brückner was the opposite of a conservative German academic. He was accused of methodological and scientific anarchy; people spoke of his Polish or even Sarmatian impetuousness. He was always full of energy, still publishing in the final months of his life. His work undermined the literary canon. He loved digging up the unobvious, resurrecting forgotten works and authors, discovering details, glosses and marginalia. And thanks to his intuition and genius, seemingly worthless scraps of parchment were revealed as priceless linguistic artefacts.


She was a year older than him, and her name was the same as his mother’s. They married in 1897. It was said at the time that she was extraordinarily beautiful, a widow, his former maid. However, most of his friends considered the marriage a misalliance.

Emma Henrietta, née Hakelberg, was regarded by Brückner’s acquaintances as another of his eccentricities. They treated her with mild irony or ignored her. Vasmer described her as “a completely uneducated German”. Józef Frejlich, who worked as a historian at the Polish Embassy in Berlin and accompanied Brückner in his last years, was unsparing in his critique of her: “Brückner married late […]. He married a German, guided by honesty and a sense of gentlemanly honour. Intellectually, Brückner’s wife was on quite a different level to him. […] Brückner’s wife understood this herself. She could sit for hours in a room, listening […] to conversations in Polish which she did not understand, without intruding on the conversation at all. […] For the loner Brückner she was a good hausfrau, but that was the beginning and end of her role and her influence on his life in Berlin”.

The Brückners kept a closed house: the Professor did not socialise and was careful to maintain their privacy. They paid no attention to gossip and their relationship lasted quietly for over 40 years, until Brückner’s death in 1939. Emma died a year later, by which time the War was already underway and hardly anyone noticed the death of the wife of a Polish professor in Berlin.

It was not until decades later that the literary historian Tadeusz Ulewicz looked a little more deeply into the Brückners’ relationship. Commenting on Frejlich’s harsh words, he stressed that without Emma’s efforts and care, Brückner’s vast scholarly output would not have been possible. Emma was not a hausfrau but a partner whom Brückner consulted when making the most important decisions about their life. When Poland regained its independence, Brückner received frequent invitations and offers to return to the country and take up a senior academic position. Ulewicz points out that although the conditions in Poland were much more favourable than in Germany at the time, Brückner consistently refused, giving various excuses. In fact, he did not leave Berlin for one simple reason: his love and concern for Emma.

Scraps more precious than gold

The Holy Cross Sermons

On the 25th of March of this year [1890], in the Public Library in St Petersburg, while looking through a Latin theological manuscript from the beginning of the fifteenth century, in quarto, from the ancient, rich Swietokrzyska library, I noticed some Polish words written in ancient spelling on some narrow parchment strips (which at that time, during the binding of paper manuscripts, were placed inside individual bound volumes to prevent the string rubbing). At my request, these strips were removed from the binding; there were eighteen of them.

Ateneum, 1890, Vol. 2 (58)

This is how Aleksander Brückner recounted his greatest, albeit at first sight unassuming, discovery among the seized Polish collections in St Petersburg. Eighteen parchment strips, medieval scrap paper used in the fifteenth century to strengthen the binding of a book, bearing some text written a century earlier, turned out to be the oldest known prose text in the Polish language. Thirteen of the strips, once extracted from the binding, formed a double-sided page of writing, while the rest formed a fragment of the next page. They contained the text of a number of church sermons, of which only the sermon for St Catherine’s Day survived in its entirety.

Brückner sensed the importance of his discovery. Just one month later, it was reported in the press that “the earliest record of the Polish tongue” had been found. Brückner dated the find to the fourteenth century, although the text itself may have been written a hundred years earlier. Stanisław Ptaszycki, a Polish archivist in St Petersburg, called the discovery “Brückner’s artefact” but in fact Brückner himself had already written in a letter to Romuald Hube of August 1890 of “the Holy Cross Sermons, as I call them”. Researchers continue to argue about the origins of the document, with Leżajsk and Miechów contending with the Benedictine Holy Cross Monastery on the hill Łysa Góra.

Th eighteen parchment strips were carefully extracted from the binding of the medieval book and placed between sheets of glass. In 1925 they were returned to Poland. Evacuated together with the National Library’s most valuable collections to Canada, they survived the War, although the manuscript in whose binding they had lain hidden for several hundred years was lost to the flames during the uprising in Warsaw.

Sermon IV: On Christmas Day

A przeto iże nie imiał w swem narodzeni, gdzie by swą głowę podkłonił, togodla przed wołem a przed osłem w jasłkach Syn Boży położon był, bo dziewica Maryja acz pieluszek dobrych w to wrzemię nie imiała, a togodla ji we złe chustki ogarnęła. […] Naleźli ji, prawi, pieluszkami ogarnienego a jasłkach położongo. Toć wiem wielikie ubostwo krola tako csnego, iż jeść tako śmierne przyście i tako śmierne narodzenie Syna Bożego, jenże przez początka z Bogiem Oćcem jeść krolewał. 

And since he had no place to lay his head after his birth, the Son of God was placed before the ox and the donkey in the manger, because the Virgin Mary had no good swaddling clothes at that time, therefore she wrapped him in cloth of linen. […] They found him, he says [the Evangelist], wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger. For so great is the poverty of this king that his coming into the world is so humble, and so modest is the birth of the Son of God, who reigned with God the Father from the beginning.

– Modern translation by A. Rosé 

Comfort food

The first Polish poem? – the reader will ask, surprised – Is it right to use such a pompous description when at any moment a manuscript may be discovered that contains older poems?

I cannot deny the truth of this – but I doubt very much whether a poem older than the one I present below will ever be found. Older ones do exist, of course, such as Bogurodzica, the Mother of God, and there are folk songs that have their beginnings long before Bogurodzica…

Ateneum, 1891, Vol. 1 (61)

With these lines, Brückner introduces the first edition of the work which, strictly speaking, we should call the oldest known secular Polish poem. Today it is known under various names: Wiersz o zachowania się przy stole (On Table Manners), Wiersz Słoty (Słota’s Poem), Wiersz o chlebowym stole (At the Bread Table) or by its opening words: Gospodnie, da mi to wiedzieć (O Lord, grant me understanding). The poem is courtly, didactic and at the same time somewhat satirical. It partly alludes to the medieval courtly cult of women, and partly to the cult of Mary. Above all, however, it is a poem about food and culinary etiquette.

At the centre of the poem is the titular “bread table”, the feasting table at which the courtiers sit and eat. Generously laden with food and drink, it dispels all sorrows: “Z jutra wiesioł nikt nie będzie, / Aliż gdy za stołem siędzie, / Toż wszego myślenia zbędzie” – which roughly translates as “no-one is cheerful in the morning, but when they sit down at table, they immediately forget all their worries”. It seems the idea of comfort food was not invented in the last century but was already well known in the Middle Ages.

Whilst at table, however, one must behave appropriately and observe courtly etiquette. The poem presents a list of bad manners, and the poet is unstinting in his opprobrium for uncouth feasters. One such feaster “goes to the table, sets himself down like an ox, as if he had driven a stake into the ground”. Another “is the first to make a rush for the bowl because it is as sweet to him as honey – may his mouth be closed up by an ulcer!” Someone else eats with dirty paws, while another hoards food, plucking off morsels “as if he were wielding a hoe”. The worst type of feaster is the one who “reaches into others’ bowls in search of the best morsels”. Fortunately, the court servants are on guard against the gluttons, and place “the better bowls” in front of the “honourable ones” who do not pounce on the food. The table reflects the courtly hierarchy, or rather feudal sympathies – which, crucially, are not determined by the wealth of those attending the feast. Before an extended passage in praise of women – “I praise you, maidens and wives, for there is nothing better than you” to whom “the Mother of God gave power, that before them princes may rise up and praise them greatly” – the poem finally indicates what good table manners should look like: “Maidens, keep to cutting yourselves small bites – take them often but keep them small, and eat them as if you only wanted that one bite”.

The poem is not anonymous: in the final lines, the poet humbly signs himself “Slota, a sinful servant”. At the beginning of his article introducing the poem, Brückner describes him as “perhaps some sort of scholar”. But a few pages further on, in the conclusion, he already begins to revise his opinion: “Who Słota or Złota – the spelling of the manuscript is not conclusive here – was, I cannot say at present; I’m not even sure I am right to call him a scholar”. According to later research, the author may have been Przecław Słota of Gosławice, the sub-starost of Poznań.

The poem appears on the last pages of the manuscript. A little earlier on in the document, at the end of the theological treatises in Latin, there is a medieval anticlerical poem, also known from other sources, which in a certain sense is also about feasting:

Priest, if you want to improve your soul,
Do not say too often, “Pour some beer!”
For beer is a wonderous oil.
Thus the peasants are laughing at them,
Saying “the priests are mad”.

At the end of his article on “the first Polish poem”, Brückner writes:

“The manuscript from which I extracted this poem was kept by the Benedictine monks of Sieciechowski, having been given to them by a certain Father Mikolaj in the fifteenth century; today it is in the Imperial Public Library in St Petersburg, whither it was transported from Warsaw; its catalogue number is as follows: Latin manuscripts, Section I (Theology), in quarto, no. 25. This is a collection of theological treatises written in 1413, 1414 and 1415 in Cracow, in the hand of Lutosław of Radlin or Chrościechów…”

The manuscript found by Brückner ended up in the Załuski Library in Warsaw. From there it was stolen by the Russians in 1794 and taken to St Petersburg. It was recovered in the interwar period and placed in the National Library of Poland. In 1944 it was burnt by the German Brandkommando, along with tens of thousands of other books.

Our Lady walks on the sea 

At the end of a small manuscript from the Załuski Library containing sermons and the legend of Saint Dorothea, stolen by the Russians, Brückner found a number of medieval incantations. A Latin incantation, partly obliterated, that begins with the words In stellas una non una, is followed by three incantations in Polish:

Dawn, dawns, three sisters

Our Lady walked on the sea gathering golden spume. She was met by Saint John:
– Where are you going, little mother?
– I’m going to cure my son.

Prussian/Ruthenian butter, as men cannot be without it, so you shall not be without me

The third incantation is the most enigmatic. It is not clear what “Prussian/Ruthenian butter” is – could it refer to some kind of plant? As Brückner suggests, the whole formula may be related to love spells.

The first formula, although it sounds somewhat like an invocation to certain pagan goddesses, may be related to Latin incantations. The practice of invoking the dawn when trying to relieve ailments is something that survived a long time in folk tradition. At some point before 1887, Ignacja Piątkowska noted the following custom found in the Sieradz area:

If an infant cries after nightfall, then to stop this happening in the future you take it on three consecutive days at sunset and expose it directly to the fading rays of sunlight, making the following incantation:

Sunset, sunset, sunsets,
Take the crying from our child.

The second incantation, the most elaborate one, is an apocryphal dialogic narrative. Such formulas were used throughout Europe and are a feature of Christian folk witchcraft. They take the form of short stories about saints, Jesus or Mary wandering the world and bringing relief to the suffering or chasing away personified illnesses. In the nineteenth century a very similar formula, used to ward off rabies, was recorded in the Kielce area by the priest and folklorist Władysław Siarkowski:

Mother was walking on the upper road,
The Lord Jesus himself met her there:
– Where are you going to, mother?
– I am going to ward off the rabid beast.
– Go, go, mother, ward it off with God’s help and your motherly strength.

The question remains of why these incantations were recorded in a manuscript alongside sermons and lives of the saints? Perhaps some preacher criticised the faithful for using them and noted them down as “field material”. Or perhaps they were written down for practical purposes, as a way to cure illnesses.

This unassuming treasure combining religion and witchcraft, scholarly culture and folklore, and Latin and Polish, returned to Poland, survived the war and can today be found in the National Library of Poland, catalogue number Rps 3030 I.

The Angelic King, the Holy Spirit and choosing a wife

The manuscript with catalogue number 3021 is peppered with medieval Polish. It contains Latin sermons written in the fifteenth century, with the addition of numerous Polish glosses and interspersed with Polish songs.

At the beginning we have probably the earliest known Polish Christmas carol, starting with the words:

Hail, Angelic King,
Thou who art come to us in the flesh,
Thou art the true hidden God,
Made pure, holy flesh…

Later the preacher quotes a song, also known from other sources and in other versions, giving advice for a young man seeking a partner:

Choose not, young man, with your eyes,
But listen with silent ears.

The jewellery will lead you astray, young man,
And the smooth, painted face
Every damsel has red cheeks,
But see that she is homely.

After this practical instruction comes a description of what an orderly confession should look like. It is to be “simple, humble, […] chaste and faithful, frequent and frank, thoughtful and voluntary, ashamed, full, secret, repentant, weeping, prompt, strong and highly obedient”.

Later, in the Resurrection sermon, the preacher quotes a short excerpt from the well-known Polish Easter hymn “Christ is risen from the dead, who gave an example to men…”. Indeed, the hymn was so well known that he did not need to transcribe the whole thing. Interestingly, it is a Polish version of the oldest German Easter hymn, Christ ist erstanden, sung to the same tune.

The last of the songs in this manuscript is a Polish adaptation of the Veni Sancte Spiritus sequence:

Come, Holy Spirit,
Quicken the hearts of thy faithful,
and enlighten their souls.


Forgive us our sins,
And receive us
into the kingdom of heaven. Amen.

Dum bibo piwo

National Library manuscript number 8076 was not taken to St Petersburg; Brückner worked on it in Lviv. However, the material it contained was extremely attractive to the great scholar, for it contained exactly what he loved: irreverent medieval humour.

The codex begins with Andreas Capellanus’s highly popular Latin treatise on courtly love, De amore et de amoris remedio. For unknown reasons the copyist has dressed up the text with Old Polish accents, adding lewd glosses such as “kop” [cunt], “masdze” [prick], “piscza” [twat] and peculiar-sounding names such as “Zoficzka cudna” [Wonderful Little Sophie], “Biskupek” [Little Bishop], “Goworek” [Gasbag], “Murzinka” [Blackie], “Pjąchirzyk” [Bladderpipe], “Kachniczka miła moja” [Dear Little Duckie], “Anuchna” [Little Annie], “Warszewska” [Warsaw Wench], “Mazurka” [Mazury Wench] and “Małpisko” [Big Bad Monkey].

The manuscript contains several other learned treatises. After the treatise Epithoma institutorum rei militaris ad Theodosium imperatorem – a Later Roman treatise on the Roman military by Publius Flavius Vegetius Renatus, also known as Vegetius – the scribe added some humorous closing words. Brückner found and published many such texts in which copyists complain about their wages or poor working conditions, demand food or drink, or rejoice when their work is finished, thanking the saints and their patrons. In this case the closing words take the form of a poem, part Latin and part Polish:

Explicit hoc totum [This is where it all ends]
Infunde, da michi potum [So give me a drink at last]
Dum bibo piwo [When I drink beer]
Stat michi kolano krzywo [I can’t stand up straight]

The exhibition “Aleksander Brückner. In Search Of The Middle Ages” was prepared by:
Bibioteka Narodowa,
Author and exhibition curator: PhD Łukasz Kozak
Translation: PhD Nick Ukiah
Graphic design: Hanna Dudkowiak

The project is financed by the Chancellery of the Prime Minister as part of the of the public task: Transfer of the remains of Prof. Aleksander Brückner to Poland, burial at the Rakowicki Cemetery in Cracow and the organisation of accompanying events, carried out by the Foundation Polish-German Reconciliation.

This project was developed in cooperation with: