Roughly forty-five meters up and with the legs of my tripod braced uneasily against a stone ledge never intended for such undertakings, I take one of my favorite shots of Wroclaw. Below me, the market square spreads outward with its collection of characteristic red rooftops. I am positioned along the thin stone footbridge that connects the two towers of St. Mary Magdalene’s Church. To locals, it’s known as the Bridge of Penitents, but for everyone else, it is known as the Witches’ Bridge.
The dark legend of the Witches’ Bridge
The bridge was constructed in the 1400s and according to legend, its height and narrow, precariously rail-less walkway were originally assigned a more sinister use than a typical bridge. The bridge was built in the Middle Ages, when accusations of witchcraft were rampant in Europe. In Wroclaw, women who were accused of witchcraft, usually older, unmarried women, were forced to walk along the bridge’s edge to determine their guilt or innocence. If an accused witch successfully walked the vertiginous path, it was obviously proof of her guilt, as she had to have had help from the devil to make it across. She would then be burned alive. If she fell, however, a drop that was certain to be fatal, she was innocent. No matter what happened, the “trial” of the accused witch would result in her death. Every time that I’ve crossed this bridge, I’ve placed my own feet along that narrow ledge and gazed at the ground forty-five meters beneath me and felt a slight shiver along my spine.
But there is a somewhat gentler, less gruesome version of the bridge’s story, one that is printed on the information boards and presented to tourists. In the more palatable version of the bridge’s history, a vain girl named Tekla was cursed by her father and condemned to sweep the bridge for all eternity. Tekla was saved from her fate when a kind-hearted witch intervened. According to local lore, mothers used to bring unruly daughters to the bridge as a warning, a cautionary tale about what happens to women who defy expectations.
The bronze witch, photographed at dusk
Now, the once sinister bridge is adorned with a Disney-like bronze witch and her cat; they are not at all menacing. Instead, the witch bears the benign appearance of the city’s famous dwarves and like the dwarves, the witch and her cat are shiny from decades of children’s hands.
I’ve come to the bridge at dusk, which is my favorite time for photographing the city. The last of the day’s visitors have made their way back down, the pile of coins they’ve left at the witch’s feet shining in the last of the day’s sunlight. With the crowds dispersed, it’s easy to feel a slight pang at the thought of the bridge’s tragic past. But, as I looked out over a city that I love, I felt only my deep fondness for Wroclaw and its people, including the bronze ones.
