Czerniawski treats the Lord’s service with gravity, and it is a ceaseless source of emotion for him, and there is probably no one else in this chatty, heedless crowd who understands as he does what actually happened when his parents came to Podolia to join Jacob. No one calls them Shabbitarians or converts anymore, and nothing remains of that disdain that was once almost a part of the air they all breathed. He looks proudly at the regular Sunday retinue that rides to the church in Bürgel, and at the Lord they lead in when they get there, holding him up by his shoulders, and at Eva—he considers every honor given her to be absolutely proper, though he acknowledges that she does somehow lack presence. He knows that the Lord’s sons hate him, but he believes that this bad feeling arises from a simple misunderstanding that will dissipate with time. He cares for them, these aging bachelors unsuited to any work, demanding and unhappy. Roch is a sybarite, Joseph a man of very few words, an oddball.
Czerniawski has arranged it so that whenever anyone goes in for an audience with the Lord, they must first drop down and put their face to the ground, and wait for the Lord to speak first. He also monitors the Lord’s diet. He orders his robes. The weaker Jacob gets, the more certain Czerniawski grows of what he’s doing, but he isn’t in it for himself—he does not want to rule over the others’ souls. It is enough for him that the Lord can’t do without him, that he calls him in when he’s upset about even the smallest things. Czerniawski understands all the Lord’s needs, does not judge them and never opposes them, either.
He has situated himself just next door to the Lord’s chambers, and now whenever anyone wishes to speak with the Lord they must register with Czerniawski first. He guards this order without compromise; he is the one who gets the Lord’s doctors for him and conducts Eva’s correspondence. It is also he whom the Lord sends out with letters to the prince and any delegation that goes to Warsaw. And it was through his intercession that they managed to obtain a portion of the money they needed to move to Offenbach.
He feels somewhat like a sheepdog, the kind the peasants had back in Wallachia, that herds all the sheep into a pack and takes care that they don’t wander off again.
The Lord’s health has improved, although the paresis of his left hand and the left side of his face persists. This lends the Lord’s face a new expression of sadness and surprise. The women run in with broths and delicacies. The Lord fancies a bit of catfish, so they race to the fishermen at the river to get it. Eva, Avachunia, spends whole days sitting by his bedside, but he never asks for his sons, no matter how long they have been waiting for an audience.
After a week, he feels well enough to be taken to the church in Bürgel, and then along the river, in the sun, for a walk. In the evening, he gives his first lesson since he fell ill. He says that he has taken upon himself all the anguish on the road to Daat—sacred knowledge, the sole road to salvation. Whoever travels on it will be freed from every pain and every plague.
Of Thomas von Sch?nfeld’s big plans
Jacob’s rooms are on the first floor, with a direct entrance from the galleries and enormous panes of stained glass in the windows. It is furnished with the carpets he so loves. Here you sit on pillows, according to the Turkish custom. Since these rooms are dominated by damp, Eva remembers to cense them every day. The incense burns until afternoon, and everyone is duty-bound to go in the morning to the “temple,” as Jacob’s ceremonial room is called, and in their prayers to pay their respects to the Lord, who is hidden in the back. Eva knows exactly who has come and who has not performed this duty—the smell of the incense gets into your clothes; it’s enough just to sniff them.
Zwierzchowska, who is allowed to go in and see the Lord at any time of day or night, brings him girls to warm up his bedding. The older the Lord gets, the more he likes his girls to be extremely young. He has them get undressed and lie beside him in bed, two at a time. At first they’re usually frightened, but then they quickly get used to it and begin to giggle. Sometimes the Lord makes jokes with them. The bodies of such young girls are reminiscent of parsley, long, delicate rootlets. Zwierzchowska doesn’t worry about their virtue. The potency of the Lord is now limited to speech. Somebody else will have to tire himself out over their virtue. They are there to keep the Lord warm.
Zwierzchowska knocks and doesn’t wait for an answer to enter.
“The young Dobrushka has come.”
Jacob gets up with a grunt and orders his clothes to be brought and put on him, so he can greet his guest. Slowly the castle lights up, although it is the middle of the night.
Thomas von Sch?nfeld runs to his uncle with open arms. Behind him is his younger brother, David-Immanuel.
They sit until almost dawn—Jacob has returned to bed, Thomas sits at the foot of it. Young Immanuel has dozed off on the carpet. Thomas shows Jacob some receipts and some drawings, at which Jacob has Czerniawski awakened and brought over. Czerniawski shuffles up, wearing his long nightshirt and his nightcap. Whenever Czerniawski is called, it has to be something to do with money.
Before he’s even made it to the door, Czerniawski hears the voice of Thomas von Sch?nfeld:
“I will divorce my wife and marry Eva. You are weak now, you cannot bear all this, you need peace. Wealthy people at your age go south—the air is better there. In Italy the air will cure even the gravest ailments. Just think, you can barely walk now, Uncle.”
When Czerniawski knocks and enters, one last sentence reaches his ears:
“And I know that I am the closest person to you, and that no one else understands what you are saying as well as I do . . .”
Then, with Czerniawski standing there, they really do talk of investments: money on the stock market is momentarily immobilized, but there will be new possibilities soon. Investments in America, bonds. Thomas knows what he is doing. Czerniawski, meanwhile, thinks in terms of trunks full of gold, not believing in bonds, which are—what? Just scraps of paper.
Thomas sits with Jacob all day long and takes the liberty of ordering food for himself. He reads him all his letters and writes down what he dictates. He tries to get in league with Czerniawski, but Czerniawski is impenetrable—polite, obedient, yet very firm when necessary. Thomas also tries the so-called “elders,” meaning Dembowski and Jakubowski, but they say little and look at him as if not even remotely understanding what he’s going on about. When Jan Wo?owski comes, Thomas tries to ally himself with him, but this doesn’t work out, either, although he had been counting on it. The Poles are still strongest at this court, and they run a tight ship here. The “Krauts” have very little say in things, even if their numbers are increasing.
There is a man in the castle now named Hirschfeld, a wealthy and learned burgher, an eccentric Jew who never converted and who gets along pretty well with Jakubowski. It is he, cajoled by Jakubowski, who goes to the Lord to warn him about Thomas von Sch?nfeld.
“He is certainly a brilliant man,” he said. “But he is also a libertine. He has been thrown out of the lodge of the Evangelists for Asia that he founded himself and for which he wrote such an honorable charter. In Vienna he was constantly invoking your name, Lord, and Lady Eva’s, as his relatives, which gave him better access to the court. He has gotten into debt because of women and licentiousness. It pains me to say this, because I was once on such good terms with him,” confesses Hirschfeld, “but I must loyally warn you, Lord: he is a profligate and a pettifogger.”