Holy Cross Church, Warsaw

Stand at the foot of the steps for a moment. The traffic of Krakowskie Przedmieście moves behind you, buses and bicycles and the quick footsteps of students. In front of you, a stone figure of Christ bends under the weight of a cross. Above him, two towers rise into the Warsaw sky. This is Holy Cross Church. It looks calm, almost ordinary for a street this grand. But inside one of its pillars, it keeps a human heart.

First, a word about where you are standing. This street is part of the Royal Route, the old processional road that links the Royal Castle with the palaces to the south. Kings, funerals, protests, and parades have all passed this way. Look across the street. Those gates lead into the University of Warsaw. For generations, students have crossed from their lectures to this church, and back again. The church and the university face each other like old neighbours.

Now look at the facade. It is Baroque, the dramatic style of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, built to move people through curves, columns, and light. The two towers frame the entrance. The stone steps lift you above the street before you even reach the door. A church has stood on this site for centuries, but the building you see took its main shape from the late seventeenth century onward. It was run by the Missionary priests, a religious order founded in France by Saint Vincent de Paul.

Before you climb, look again at the statue on the steps. Christ carries his cross toward the street, toward you. On the pedestal you can read two Latin words: Sursum Corda. They mean "Lift up your hearts." It is a line from the Catholic Mass. Here, the words feel almost too perfect. Keep them in mind, because hearts are the true subject of this church.

In 1849, the composer Frédéric Chopin died in Paris. He was only in his late thirties. He had left Poland as a young man and never returned. His body was buried in Paris. But Chopin had a fear, and a wish. He asked that his heart be taken home. After his death, his heart was removed and preserved in a jar, believed to contain alcohol, probably cognac.

His older sister, Ludwika, carried that jar back to Warsaw. At the time, Poland did not exist as an independent country. Warsaw was under Russian control, and the border was watched closely. Popular accounts say she hid the jar beneath her skirts to pass the guards. Whether every detail of that story is true, we cannot say for certain. But the heart arrived. Eventually, it was placed inside a pillar here, in this church.

Go inside now and walk up the nave, the long central space. On the left side, look for a pillar with a carved epitaph and a portrait of Chopin. This is where the heart rests, sealed behind stone. The inscription quotes the Gospel of Matthew: "For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." People leave flowers here. Some stand very still. Some simply touch the stone and move on.

Here is a detail most visitors miss. Chopin is not alone. In another pillar rests the heart of Władysław Reymont, the Polish novelist who won the Nobel Prize in Literature. He wrote a long novel about peasant life called The Peasants. So this one church holds the hearts of two great Polish artists, one of music and one of words. Look for his epitaph as you walk the nave.

Now, the twentieth century. During the Warsaw Uprising of 1944, Polish fighters rose against the German occupation. Heavy fighting reached this street, and even this church. Much of the building was badly damaged. The statue of Christ outside was knocked from its place and lay in the rubble. A photograph of the fallen figure, still holding the cross, became one of the sad images of the destroyed city.

And Chopin's heart? Before the worst of the destruction, it was taken out of the church. It spent the rest of the war away from this pillar. In 1945, after the war, it came back. The return was a public moment for a wounded city. It was timed to the anniversary of Chopin's death in October. For many Warsaw residents, it meant that something of their city had survived.

The church you see today was rebuilt after the war, like so much of Warsaw. Look at the walls and altars with that in mind. Some of what stands here is old, and some was carefully restored from ruin. The statue of Christ also returned to the steps. A second surprise for many visitors: in 2014, scientists were allowed a quiet look at the jar, without opening it. They left it sealed, and returned it to the pillar.

Take a moment to listen inside the nave. On weekdays, this is still a working church, not a museum. You may hear a quiet Mass, the shuffle of shoes, a cough echoing off the vault. Light comes in from the high windows and falls onto pale stone and gold. Please be respectful during services. Photographs are often fine when nothing is happening, but always check the signs at the door.

When you step back outside, the noise of the street returns. Look down the avenue. The statue of Copernicus, the astronomer, sits not far from here. The university gates are still across the road. Then turn once more to the figure on the steps, bent under his cross. Sursum Corda. Lift up your hearts. As you walk on, you carry with you a small secret of this city: its most famous son came home only in his heart.