What caught my attention in this town? Above all, its historic monuments, which show how strongly both the town and the County of Kłodzko were connected with the Kingdom of Bohemia (from the 10th to the 18th century). It was precisely the separation of the county from the Kłodzko Land that led to Kłodzko’s development and shaped its character.
Kłodzko, like the surrounding areas, changed hands repeatedly. After the Peace of Wrocław between Bolesław the Wrymouth and Soběslav I, the Kłodzko Land went to Bohemia. As an aside, I will add that the Polish Jagiellonians also sat on the Bohemian throne, but it was their successors, the Habsburgs, who led to the gradual incorporation of the Kingdom of Bohemia into Austria.
With the Habsburgs ruling on the Bohemian throne, the state of our southern neighbors began to lose its national identity. It was supposedly independent, but not entirely. Bohemia and Austria were united by one ruler, but Bohemia increasingly ceased to exist as a separate entity. The Kłodzko Land became Austrian, just like Silesia.
Austrian troops moved into the fortress towering over the town. However, another related—German—state had designs on the Silesian region, and the Silesian War began—or rather, three wars, as it had three episodes. The war began in 1740. Prussian troops entered Austrian Silesia. On April 20, 1742, the Prussian army took over the Kłodzko fortress. The Prussians brought in heavy guns, at the sight of which the Austrian troops surrendered. The surrender and departure from the fortress nevertheless took place honorably: in full military gear and under their banners, the Austrians left the fort with loaded weapons. In those days, even war was governed by etiquette and a kind of military ethic. A defeated opponent was treated with respect.
At that point, our magnificent fortress underwent a transformation. A certain Dutch engineer, Gen. Gerhard Cornelius von Walrave, came up with a brilliant idea. At the foot of the fortress, he built cellars—or, more precisely, a network of cellars and corridors—and covered the surface with earth. Why? So that when enemy troops approached the walls to position their guns, the defending soldiers in the Kłodzko fort could detonate explosives and blow up the underground corridors from below, together with the invaders. It may seem a little strange, but we must remember that cannons at the time did not yet have rifled barrels, so in order to destroy a distant target, the gun had to be brought fairly close. Blowing up the mining tunnels, as they were called, meant that after a battle or a war had ended, the damage had to be rebuilt. The idea was good, but labor-intensive.
The Kłodzko fortress was home to the 47th Prussian Infantry Regiment, numbering around 9,000 soldiers. That was as many people as Kłodzko had at the time. The fortress was a kind of source of income for the town, although it itself had a bakery, brewery, military casino and hospital (the so-called lazaretto)—though no one today would really call it a hospital. The main procedure in the lazaretto was limb amputation. Naturally, the only anesthetic was a little vodka and a sturdy stick between the teeth. One in ten patients survived.
The brewery in the fortress operated to produce beer for the soldiers—their staple drink. They did not drink water, which was often dirty and contaminated. It caused illnesses and diarrhea, while the golden beverage was an alcoholic drink believed to provide disinfection and hygiene. It sounds unusual, but that was the belief at the time. The beer was also different from what is produced today. It contained no more than 2% alcohol and was cloudy. It did not resemble today’s golden beverage, but it was consumed in large quantities, including in local Kłodzko inns.
Every morning, the Prussian commanders also treated everyone to vodka. The drink, only 18% alcohol, was served as morning disinfection for the body.
Who were the soldiers stationed in the fortress? Above all, ordinary people, most often local peasants conscripted into the army as early as the age of 15. To shape a soldier, numerous disciplinary punishments were imposed every day. Most often, they were beaten for the smallest offenses, simply as a matter of principle. Such humiliating measures were meant to break the disobedient and turn people into machines for carrying out orders and killing. Prussian discipline was known throughout Europe at the time.
As you can see, service in the Prussian army was an extremely harsh experience. No one was spared, not even war invalids. They were not sent back to “civilian life” after losing an arm or leg. Absolutely not. What would such a man do outside the barracks? No one would employ a disabled person. Such a soldier would become a beggar or a burden on his family. In every fortress, such people formed an invalids’ company, serving in auxiliary roles involving minor tasks such as gardening (only for the barracks’ needs), repairing weapons and maintaining order.
At the end of the 19th century, the fortress lost its status as a defensive stronghold. A prison was established there and operated until World War II. Among others, opponents of Adolf Hitler were sent there.
Thus, Kłodzko is a wonderful town to visit. Around 100,000 tourists pass through it each year. For a small, provincial town of around 20,000 inhabitants, that is quite a lot.
And do you know how many times the mining tunnels around the fortress were blown up? Not once. Never. This labyrinth network, extending for 10 km and at times only 70 cm high, was never used. Technology “killed” the Dutch engineer’s excellent idea. By the time of the Napoleonic Wars, cannons with rifled barrels had already been invented. Large guns could fire shells approximately 2.5 km, so no one had to drag cannons right up to the walls. The Kłodzko fortress became a relic of the past, although its structure and design remain astonishing to this day.
What else reminds us of the town’s Czech character? Certainly St. John’s Bridge, reminiscent of Charles Bridge in Prague on the way to Hradčany. However, although this bridge is smaller, it was built much earlier. It also bears a statue of St. John of Nepomuk—a Czech monk who did not reveal to the Czech king the secret of his wife’s confession. For refusing, he was drowned in the Vltava, and statues of him were erected in what was then Czech Silesia.
As an aside, I will only add that the Kłodzko Land came very close to provoking a Polish-Czechoslovak war. The Czechs were dissatisfied that the county’s territories went to Poland in 1945, even though in fact they had always belonged to Bohemia. This historical injustice continues to affect relations between the neighbors to this day.
Paweł Skiersinis
The author is a blogger and history enthusiast, particularly interested in the history of Lower Silesia and Poland. Why Lower Silesia? As he puts it: “Why not? The most interesting history is the history around us, concerning us and our ancestors.”
He adds: “I try to present history from a different perspective, in an engaging way, not in the typical textbook style, full of dry dates and facts. The articles I present concern facts that we will not find in textbooks or well-known publications. The history of Lower Silesia is undoubtedly interesting and fascinating, so it is worth devoting at least a brief moment to it from time to time.”