“That’s right, I know who you are. Your daughter isn’t here. I haven’t seen her in a year or so.”
Hava feels like adding something hurtful. She feels like spitting at his feet. Saying, for instance, “Perhaps the Turks are blowing the grounsils with her now?” But she sees that all the air has gone out of him, his chest has deflated, he has suddenly shrunk. He reminds her of her father. She tells him to wait, and then she goes to fetch a little food for him, but he is no longer standing by the gate when she gets back.
Antoni Moliwda-Kossakowski writes to Katarzyna Kossakowska
In ?owicz, Moliwda sits down at the table and dips his pen in ink. Right away he blots the page, which he always considers to be a kind of warning. He sprinkles sand on it, and then he carefully scratches it from the paper with the tip of the penknife. It takes him a while. He begins:
My Ever Honored Lady,
You shall have such credit in heaven for your efforts on behalf of the Contra-Talmudists, who are already coming into Lwów in droves and setting up their camps like Gypsies, on the outskirts, right there on the ground—so impassioned are they about their new faith. But you, dear madam, as a woman with your wits about you, know perfectly well that behind this is not only a suddenly awakened love for the cross, but also other considerations, perhaps not so lofty, yet certainly very human and understandable.
The news has reached me here that they have written one more supplication, and it is a good thing that by some miracle it passed through my hands. When I glanced at the signatures, I saw: Solomon ben Elisha Shorr of Rohatyn and Yehuda ben Nussen, otherwise known as Krysa of Nadwórna—it was the two of them who knocked out this petition.
The blood ran to my head as I read. For what do you think they were demanding?
First, they complain that they are holed up in the Kamieniec bishop’s village, where they live off alms and the support of their brothers from Hungary—while they themselves remain without work. Then they write—and here I shall quote for you directly—“We demand first to settle in Busk and Gliniany, where a community of true believers has remained, and where we would therefore have means of seeking out our livelihoods, whether through trade or through craft, so long as it not offend Our Father. For we do not expect any of our own to subsist on innkeeping or to earn our bread in the service of drunkenness or by the extenuation of Christian blood, as the Talmudists have grown used to doing.”
And they go on to enumerate conditions, saying that after their baptism they wish to continue living in their little collective, that they do not want to cut their payot, that they want to mark their Shabbat as well as Sundays, and that they want to keep their Jewish names alongside the new Catholic ones, that they will not eat pork, they will be able to marry only amongst themselves and maintain their holy books, especially the Zohar.
How could I have shown this letter to the primate? They had had it copied out at the printer’s and translated into many languages to boot. I referred the matter to him only in broad strokes, not reading the letter itself, to which the primate responded, and this I consider to be final: “What’s the sense in listening to those people? A disputation is a disputation, but as soon as that’s done, there will be baptism. No conditions. After the baptism, we’ll see how they live, what kinds of Christians they are. But let them delay no further.”
If you could, dear madam, as you are not too far from Ivanie, warn Jacob that he is squandering the opportunities that have been given so freely to him and his people by permitting such deviations, and apply some pressure to him.
I must in addition warn you about Bishop So?tyk, for rumors abound that he has gotten into terrible debt and finds himself in a very uncomfortable position, vulnerable to any type of influence. This is why he is quick to accept gifts, which are, of course, pervasive in this country. The weight of the Commonwealth rests upon gifts, everyone has something to give everyone else, in order to secure protection, aid, support. That is just the way it is, as you of course know perfectly well already. Often it is the tallest crops that yield the least. So, too, those who put on proud and boastful airs often prove to be mere empty vessels, with the least understanding, merit, or skill. That is why I must warn you, dear madam, that the bishop’s intentions are woven together out of all sorts of different ribbons, some of them beautiful and pure, others tattered and muddied. It was reported to me that in Warsaw he was recently spotted meeting with our royal cashier . . .
Katarzyna Kossakowska to Antoni Moliwda-Kossakowski
. . . You must not talk so about our dear Kajetan, for he is fully devoted to our cause. I know he tries to kill many birds with one stone, being a seasoned player, and that he does not need any special sympathy from me, yet it is a dangerous thing to try to show that we have a better understanding than those whose opinions must be held to be infallible. Let us simply take what is best about him.
There is another supporter now, too—I was able to convince Prince Jab?onowski, my dear friend’s husband, to join our cause. And since he always goes about everything rather methodically, he immediately came up with this great notion that on his property we might create a little Jewish realm under his protection. He became so enthused about the idea that now he is going around his estates trying to get everyone on board with it. I would like the idea were it not for the fact that the prince is a bit chimerical and slightly flighty, and such a project would of course require great efforts and undertakings. The prince has read all about Paraguay, a country in America created out of similar poverty and savagery, the existence of which so fascinates the prince that he will not discuss anything else, and has not for some time. I asked him what those gentlemen live off over there, and the prince responds that there are no gentlemen there, and that everyone is just as equal in their property as they are before God, so from this, you understand, I can conclude that it is not for me!
The prince is known for his superior self-esteem. He carries himself like a royal, with his head held so high he often gets tripped up on his own legs. It is a good thing he has the wife he does, sensible and wise, who treats him like an overgrown child and ignores his eccentric excesses. I saw in their home a large picture with a representation of the Virgin Mary, before whom he had had himself painted tipping his cap to her as she stops him and says, “Couvrez-vous, mon cousin.”
We have also been joined by Prince Jerzy Marcin Lubomirski, who has agreed to accept one hundred and fifty neophytes onto his land and offer them hospitality there, as he is known for his great generosity (some would call it profligacy), and has become a great advocate of the matter, much like Bishop Za?uski . . .
Of the cross and dancing in the abyss