It was envisaged that both the Piłsudski and the Batory would become “floating embassies of Polish culture,” and as such, 78 artists were drafted in to design the furnishings and even minutiae like the menus and ashtrays.

In the smoking room, a sculpture created by Alfons Karny—an artist who had produced busts of Hemingway and Einstein—was installed. In the main hall, meanwhile, a portrait of Marshal Piłsudski—the architect of the modern Polish state—was hung.

Unsurprisingly, the vessel’s launch was treated as a red-letter day in both Italy and Poland. When, on December 19, 1934, it set sail from its Italian home, the residents of Monfalcone were granted the day off. The ceremony was covered live by Polish Radio, while in Italy the press described the ship as “a masterpiece.”

A year later, it would leave Italy for good, finally reaching Gdynia on September 11, where it was greeted by an enthusiastic crowd of 30,000.

Yet whereas the Italian media had called the ship a triumph of Italian engineering and technology, this was sadly not the case. Problems soon became apparent, and when it reentered Gdynia a few days later for its official homecoming, its main engine failed.

Principally sailing the Gdynia-Copenhagen-New York-Halifax line, other issues soon reared their head with the crew reporting a variety of problems—when the ship encountered its first major storm, water flooded the bow and shattered the windows on the bridge.

The discovery of these flaws ensured they would not be repeated on the Piłsudski’s younger sister, the Batory, which, to all intents and purposes, was technically superior. This did not impact the Piłsudski’s popularity, however, and whenever it docked, crowds of Polish emigres would cheer its arrival.

It was equally popular with Americans who, according to some sources, enjoyed both the Polish cuisine served on board and the lively soirees overseen by the dashing crew.

In total, the Piłsudski would complete 38 journeys to New York but found itself in British waters when WWII broke out. Chartered to the British Ministry of War Transport and rebranded the ORP Piłsudski, the ship was reconstituted as a troop carrier and set sail from Newcastle, in northeast England, on its first mission on November 25, 1939—disaster would not be far off.

Bound for Australia, where it was destined to take on a transport of soldiers, the ship left port unaccompanied by an escort. With the waters deemed safe, neither did it sail in the recommended zigzag pattern.

Following the English coast, the boat was rocked by two explosions at 5:36 a.m. on November 26 and sank in just under five hours, coming to rest 30 meters below the surface—while most of the 170-strong crew were rescued, Captain Mamert Stankiewicz later died from hypothermia.

In line with the mariner’s code, Stankiewicz was the last to leave the sinking ship and was posthumously awarded the Virtuti Militari Cross and buried with full honors in Hartlepool, northeastern England.

The sinking has never been satisfactorily explained, with three theories being offered: some claim it was torpedoed by a U-Boat, but no records exist that suggest any were operating in the area. Others point the finger to sabotage, though it is more believable that the ship struck some mines—either way, it was to prove a wretched end for a once glorious vessel.

Fortunately, Stankiewicz’s quick call to abandon ship saved numerous lives, yet while the Piłsudski’s sinking lacked the outright human tragedy of the Titanic, it is understandable why comparisons have been made—in much the same way as the Titanic had been billed as the pride of British shipping, so too had the Piłsudski.

Instilling a sense of pride into Poles, the ship had come to represent everything glorious about the country’s interwar era, as well as its hopes and ambition. A once magnificent symbol of the reborn nation, the Piłsudski’s demise would coincide with that of Poland itself. An era had ended.