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Authors: Peter Demetz
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The author of
The Weaver
had been trained at the University of Prague (he says himself that he is Czech in his head but, as far as his feet are concerned, he is from everywhere) and handles his quotations more carefully and ostentatiously than his German colleague, demonstrating that Johannes’s alleged quotation of Plato really comes from Aristotle. Earlier critics have suggested that Johannes of Tepl is more sincere because he
really
did lose his wife, while the weaver indulges in a witty and somewhat loquacious exercise, nearly four times longer than the plowman’s text. But sincerity of feeling was never a full guarantee of literary quality, and the weaver has his own excellence in the innovative force of his argument, the amplifications of the inherited trial formula, and in the surprising richness of his language (soon to be impoverished by the polemical writing of the coming revolution). The weaver may or may not have lost his Adli
ka, his lovely
perniká
ka
(gingerbread maker), but his work of art, which gathers for the last time the surfeit of older Czech, offers lasting enjoyments.
The Weaver
had been trained at the University of Prague (he says himself that he is Czech in his head but, as far as his feet are concerned, he is from everywhere) and handles his quotations more carefully and ostentatiously than his German colleague, demonstrating that Johannes’s alleged quotation of Plato really comes from Aristotle. Earlier critics have suggested that Johannes of Tepl is more sincere because he
really
did lose his wife, while the weaver indulges in a witty and somewhat loquacious exercise, nearly four times longer than the plowman’s text. But sincerity of feeling was never a full guarantee of literary quality, and the weaver has his own excellence in the innovative force of his argument, the amplifications of the inherited trial formula, and in the surprising richness of his language (soon to be impoverished by the polemical writing of the coming revolution). The weaver may or may not have lost his Adli
ka, his lovelyperniká
ka(gingerbread maker), but his work of art, which gathers for the last time the surfeit of older Czech, offers lasting enjoyments.
During the reign of King Charles the Jewish Town, the core of which was called
inter Iudeaos
in old documents, was not yet a ghetto (a term that derived from Venice’s borghetto, a Jewish district, much later). Originally, there had been two settlements closely surrounding the Old School and the Old New one, separated by the Church of the Holy Spirit, its parish, and possibly a small Benedictine convent, established in 1346; another church, that of St. Valentin’s, was located close by, and a third one, All Saints, lay almost within its invisible boundary. There were still clusters of Jewish houses elsewhere—a few perhaps in the Minor Town and, though the Jews did not accept the king’s invitation to settle in the New Town and enjoy its privileges, the cluster of almost a dozen houses near Prague’s oldest Jewish cemetery, which served the Jewish communities of Bohemia for nearly two hundred and fifty years; by 1481, six of the families had left, and nine years later all were gone.
inter Iudeaos
in old documents, was not yet a ghetto (a term that derived from Venice’s borghetto, a Jewish district, much later). Originally, there had been two settlements closely surrounding the Old School and the Old New one, separated by the Church of the Holy Spirit, its parish, and possibly a small Benedictine convent, established in 1346; another church, that of St. Valentin’s, was located close by, and a third one, All Saints, lay almost within its invisible boundary. There were still clusters of Jewish houses elsewhere—a few perhaps in the Minor Town and, though the Jews did not accept the king’s invitation to settle in the New Town and enjoy its privileges, the cluster of almost a dozen houses near Prague’s oldest Jewish cemetery, which served the Jewish communities of Bohemia for nearly two hundred and fifty years; by 1481, six of the families had left, and nine years later all were gone.
The boundaries of the Jewish Town were rather porous; in some places Jewish and Christian houses constituted a mixed neighborhood, especially if the king had intervened and allotted a Jewish building to a Christian institution (as King Charles did with Lazar’s house, later bought back by Jews) or given it to a favorite for excellent services, as King Václav II did when he gave the house of Michael the Jew to his court secretary
and in 1404 another one to a gifted artist who illuminated rare manuscripts for his pleasure. There were no massive walls separating the Jewish district from the Old Town, whose own fortification occasionally ran parallel to the Jewish houses, especially near the river, but the Jewish quarter’s densely built wooden dwellings, an easy prey to devastating conflagrations, constituted a souk-like district. It could be entered by any of six gates, one close to St. Valentin’s near the Vltava ferry, and the others at nearly regular intervals. But the walls did not protect the Jewish settlement when mobs came to rob and kill in 1389.
and in 1404 another one to a gifted artist who illuminated rare manuscripts for his pleasure. There were no massive walls separating the Jewish district from the Old Town, whose own fortification occasionally ran parallel to the Jewish houses, especially near the river, but the Jewish quarter’s densely built wooden dwellings, an easy prey to devastating conflagrations, constituted a souk-like district. It could be entered by any of six gates, one close to St. Valentin’s near the Vltava ferry, and the others at nearly regular intervals. But the walls did not protect the Jewish settlement when mobs came to rob and kill in 1389.
During the fourteenth century, the chances for Prague Jews to continue in their traditional and various ways of doing business were slowly reduced by the growing competition of Christian capitalists. The German burghers of the Old Town had seized the initiative in long-distance commerce, originally a Jewish sphere of interest; and even in the credit business, Christians circumventing church prohibitions against usury invaded Jewish economic territory. The rich were few and far between in the Jewish Town, though together they possibly commanded more cash than anybody else in Bohemia. Merchants changed currency, lent money, accepted pawns, bought and sold secondhand wares; other Jews, jealously watched by the Christian guilds, tried to shift to crafts, working on their own as tailors, goldsmiths, and later as belt makers and glaziers. A happy few were employed in community jobs, as, for instance, the
shammash,
or janitor of the synagogue, the
shulklopper
who announced when it was time to go and pray, the
mokel,
or circumciser, and the
shochet
, or butcher working according to prescribed rules. By legal definition, and by the consensus of church and empire, Jews were held in “servitude.” Church doctrine held that the eternal servitude of the Jews was symbolic penitence for Christ’s suffering on the cross, though Jews were also, according to Augustinian thought, necessary witness to the truth of Christianity. The Holy Roman Empire secularized this metaphysical idea and declared that the Jews were
camerknechte,
servants of the imperial chamber or, to call a spade a spade, of the imperial finance office; they were the ruler’s personal property, not persons but things, and ruled by the law of objects. Emperor Ludwig of Bavaria spoke of his Jews as belonging “as they do, to the crown and the empire with their body and property, and he could do, act, and proceed with them as he wants and sees fit.” Charles may have been an enemy of the Bavarian, but his ideas did not at all differ from Ludwig’s concept of the
camerknechte.
shammash,
or janitor of the synagogue, the
shulklopper
who announced when it was time to go and pray, the
mokel,
or circumciser, and the
shochet
, or butcher working according to prescribed rules. By legal definition, and by the consensus of church and empire, Jews were held in “servitude.” Church doctrine held that the eternal servitude of the Jews was symbolic penitence for Christ’s suffering on the cross, though Jews were also, according to Augustinian thought, necessary witness to the truth of Christianity. The Holy Roman Empire secularized this metaphysical idea and declared that the Jews were
camerknechte,
servants of the imperial chamber or, to call a spade a spade, of the imperial finance office; they were the ruler’s personal property, not persons but things, and ruled by the law of objects. Emperor Ludwig of Bavaria spoke of his Jews as belonging “as they do, to the crown and the empire with their body and property, and he could do, act, and proceed with them as he wants and sees fit.” Charles may have been an enemy of the Bavarian, but his ideas did not at all differ from Ludwig’s concept of the
camerknechte.
Among the many Jewish scholars of Prague in this time, Jom Tov Lipmann-Mülhausen was long remembered as thinker, interpreter of the
Bible, and keen polemicist. He probably came from Alsatia but spent his most productive years in Prague and by 1407 was appointed
iudex iudaeorum
, judge of the Jews, in the self-administration of the community. Long before the august Rabbi Loew, he was the first philosopher of Prague’s Jewish scholars exploring metaphysical questions of faith and free will, but it was always difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile his defense of the rationalist Moses Maimonides, whose ideas he tried to spread as far as he possibly could, with his interest in the Spanish Kabbalah, of the Gerona school, and with his studies in the form and meaning of the letters of the alphabet, as shown in his
Sefer-Alpha-Beta
, of essential importance to writers of sacred scrolls. To his contemporaries and those of the following generation, Jews and Christians, Jom Tov Lipmann-Mülhausen was well known as an energetic polemicist, defending Judaism against apostasy and demonstrating the insufficiency, as far as language and history were concerned, of Christian knowledge of Hebrew sources. His arguments were particularly efficient because he knew Latin and had studied the New Testament and the early church fathers. As a member of the rabbinical court and as a judge, Lipmann-Mülhausen was loyally committed to Prague’s Jewish community, but he also traveled widely to study and supervise rabbinical rules and practices, and he headed the council of Ashkenazi Jewry in Erfurt in 1440.
Bible, and keen polemicist. He probably came from Alsatia but spent his most productive years in Prague and by 1407 was appointed
iudex iudaeorum
, judge of the Jews, in the self-administration of the community. Long before the august Rabbi Loew, he was the first philosopher of Prague’s Jewish scholars exploring metaphysical questions of faith and free will, but it was always difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile his defense of the rationalist Moses Maimonides, whose ideas he tried to spread as far as he possibly could, with his interest in the Spanish Kabbalah, of the Gerona school, and with his studies in the form and meaning of the letters of the alphabet, as shown in his
Sefer-Alpha-Beta
, of essential importance to writers of sacred scrolls. To his contemporaries and those of the following generation, Jews and Christians, Jom Tov Lipmann-Mülhausen was well known as an energetic polemicist, defending Judaism against apostasy and demonstrating the insufficiency, as far as language and history were concerned, of Christian knowledge of Hebrew sources. His arguments were particularly efficient because he knew Latin and had studied the New Testament and the early church fathers. As a member of the rabbinical court and as a judge, Lipmann-Mülhausen was loyally committed to Prague’s Jewish community, but he also traveled widely to study and supervise rabbinical rules and practices, and he headed the council of Ashkenazi Jewry in Erfurt in 1440.
Charles’s policies concerning the Jews of his realms have been much discussed by Czech and German scholars, and after abundant evidence has been sifted, it is fair to say that the king of Bohemia benevolently protected his Prague
camerknechte
and those in most other communities of his native kingdom. He made certain that his Prague Jews enjoyed more than thirty years of peace and prosperity, but he also revealed his financial appetite, to say the least, when he failed to protect the Jews in Germany and squeezed them for money, alive or dead, and occasionally just waited in the wings to cash in on a pogrom (foreseen or even organized with his connivance). His statement that his
camerknechte
were “to serve the needs of the ruler when occasion warranted” sounds tolerant enough under late medieval conditions; and though he, at times, formally addressed the Jews as his
“libe
[dear]
camerknechte,”
preferably when imposing new taxes on them, he showed his cold-blooded indifference to human suffering in his financial dealings at the start of his reign when a wave of pogroms was sweeping through Germany in 1348-50 (Prague was spared at that time). Jewish servitude was materially expressed by an ever increasing annual contribution paid to the emperor; Charles, usually strapped for funds, made his income from real or potential Jewish
taxes into an instrument of his policies, using it to buy off the towns and territorial princes he needed as allies There were other sources of Jewish income: as soon as the smoke cleared over a destroyed Jewish community and the burned corpses (in some southwestern German towns Jews were burned alive in their little wooden houses), the emperor fought with the German towns for his part of what was left of the
Judenerbe,
or Jewish property.
camerknechte
and those in most other communities of his native kingdom. He made certain that his Prague Jews enjoyed more than thirty years of peace and prosperity, but he also revealed his financial appetite, to say the least, when he failed to protect the Jews in Germany and squeezed them for money, alive or dead, and occasionally just waited in the wings to cash in on a pogrom (foreseen or even organized with his connivance). His statement that his
camerknechte
were “to serve the needs of the ruler when occasion warranted” sounds tolerant enough under late medieval conditions; and though he, at times, formally addressed the Jews as his
“libe
[dear]
camerknechte,”
preferably when imposing new taxes on them, he showed his cold-blooded indifference to human suffering in his financial dealings at the start of his reign when a wave of pogroms was sweeping through Germany in 1348-50 (Prague was spared at that time). Jewish servitude was materially expressed by an ever increasing annual contribution paid to the emperor; Charles, usually strapped for funds, made his income from real or potential Jewish
taxes into an instrument of his policies, using it to buy off the towns and territorial princes he needed as allies There were other sources of Jewish income: as soon as the smoke cleared over a destroyed Jewish community and the burned corpses (in some southwestern German towns Jews were burned alive in their little wooden houses), the emperor fought with the German towns for his part of what was left of the
Judenerbe,
or Jewish property.
The king’s record in the German pogrom years of 1348-50, closely studied by younger scholars of the former German Democratic Republic and by František Graus, shows a good deal of financial tenacity and few of the Christian virtues which Charles so praised in his own writings. His involvement in the Nuremberg pogrom of December 5, 1349, in which nearly six hundred Jews were killed and their community destroyed, strikes me as particularly disgusting. When pogroms began to sweep through Germany from the southwest in 1348, Charles was very much concerned with what was to be done with Jewish property left in the ashes, and named his favorite great-uncle, the archbishop of Trier, as chief administrator of all possessions belonging to Jews “who were and are yet to be killed in Alsatia,” insisting that everything belonged to the
camer
(the king’s chamber); he assured the bishops of Bamberg and Würzburg that he, the king, would not dispose of Jewish property without their consent “in case the Jews of their district would be harmed.“In the spring and summer of 1349, Charles began to distribute the property of the Nuremberg Jews, anticipating their possible persecution; on April 6, he gave Arnold of Senckendorf a few Jewish houses “in case the owners would be killed or left town,” then transferred ownership of the best Jewish houses to the margrave of Brandenburg, assuming that “the Jews there were to be killed [
nu nehst werden geslagen
] shortly,” and finally offered the town council on November 16 the right to tear down the synagogue and a few other buildings to build a new church on the cleared square. In early December the pogrom really occurred as planned by the town council, and Charles, in a letter to the monastery of Waldhausen, had the blasphemous temerity to call it a fateful event sent by God himself.
camer
(the king’s chamber); he assured the bishops of Bamberg and Würzburg that he, the king, would not dispose of Jewish property without their consent “in case the Jews of their district would be harmed.“In the spring and summer of 1349, Charles began to distribute the property of the Nuremberg Jews, anticipating their possible persecution; on April 6, he gave Arnold of Senckendorf a few Jewish houses “in case the owners would be killed or left town,” then transferred ownership of the best Jewish houses to the margrave of Brandenburg, assuming that “the Jews there were to be killed [
nu nehst werden geslagen
] shortly,” and finally offered the town council on November 16 the right to tear down the synagogue and a few other buildings to build a new church on the cleared square. In early December the pogrom really occurred as planned by the town council, and Charles, in a letter to the monastery of Waldhausen, had the blasphemous temerity to call it a fateful event sent by God himself.
The Easter pogrom of 1389 in Prague was triggered, eleven years after Charles’s death, by an incident, variously described by contemporary reports, in the narrow streets of the Jewish Town. According to a rather dubious story, considering the location of a church within the Jewish quarter, a priest carrying the Host to a sick or dying man was stopped by Jewish adults and children, who badly abused him. Other chroniclers say that the Jews tried to stone the priest; a third narrative suggests that
a Jew threw a little stone at the monstrance (
da wart von einem Juden ein klein steinchen geworfen auf die monstrancie).
In the subsequent brawl, the Jews responsible were brought to the town hall to be punished, and fanatical preachers all over town called upon the crowds to revenge the blasphemy lest they be punished by God himself within a year. Inflamed by the sermons, people began to gather, arming themselves and eager to march through the Jewish streets. The council of the Old Town, well aware of the property rights of King Václav IV as the lord of his
camerknechte,
immediately mobilized the privileged citizens to come to town hall to prevent the worst, but in the meantime a man named Ješko emerged as the leader of the people, telling them it would be better to kill all the Jews than to be punished by God. Jews were killed by swords and clubs, fires set to the houses, and those found alive pushed back into the conflagration; only a few children and women were brought to the town hall for Christian baptism by force, as a Latin narrative says. The next morning, the town council met again, ruling that all Jewish property must, under penalty of death, be brought to the town hall for the king, but it did not do anything to punish the people who had broken the laws of the town and of the king. On the third day, three thousand corpses were buried (people feared a pestilence); and since people were digging in the ruins for hidden treasures, the town council had the gates of the Jewish district closed and sealed.
a Jew threw a little stone at the monstrance (
da wart von einem Juden ein klein steinchen geworfen auf die monstrancie).
In the subsequent brawl, the Jews responsible were brought to the town hall to be punished, and fanatical preachers all over town called upon the crowds to revenge the blasphemy lest they be punished by God himself within a year. Inflamed by the sermons, people began to gather, arming themselves and eager to march through the Jewish streets. The council of the Old Town, well aware of the property rights of King Václav IV as the lord of his
camerknechte,
immediately mobilized the privileged citizens to come to town hall to prevent the worst, but in the meantime a man named Ješko emerged as the leader of the people, telling them it would be better to kill all the Jews than to be punished by God. Jews were killed by swords and clubs, fires set to the houses, and those found alive pushed back into the conflagration; only a few children and women were brought to the town hall for Christian baptism by force, as a Latin narrative says. The next morning, the town council met again, ruling that all Jewish property must, under penalty of death, be brought to the town hall for the king, but it did not do anything to punish the people who had broken the laws of the town and of the king. On the third day, three thousand corpses were buried (people feared a pestilence); and since people were digging in the ruins for hidden treasures, the town council had the gates of the Jewish district closed and sealed.
The events of this terrible day were described in a Latin
Passio Judaeorum Pragensium
(
Passion of the Prague Jews
) by a cleric erudite enough to parody the gospels of Matthew and John (the manuscript was published only in 1877). The writer pretended to feel for the Jews but actually gloated over what had been done to them, unsparing in his details of blood and gore, and of how, when everything was over, curious crowds, including thieves and prostitutes, came to see the corpses lying in the streets.
Passio Judaeorum Pragensium
(
Passion of the Prague Jews
) by a cleric erudite enough to parody the gospels of Matthew and John (the manuscript was published only in 1877). The writer pretended to feel for the Jews but actually gloated over what had been done to them, unsparing in his details of blood and gore, and of how, when everything was over, curious crowds, including thieves and prostitutes, came to see the corpses lying in the streets.
Yet the victims continued to speak, and the renowned Prague rabbi and poet Avigdor ben Isaac Kara, some years later, wrote an elegy that revealed what had happened from the inside, as it were. This learned poet and richly gifted author, whose father had died in the flames, had a clear view of both the political circumstances after Charles’s death and the breakdown of authority in Prague. “The order of the world fell apart,” he wrote. “Innocence was destroyed by malice for, ach, the power of the state was broken and the royal scepter lost its radiance.” He had been enchanted with “magnificent Prague,” but he writes of the “muffled and spectral whisper in the streets,” “the ghastly gatherings” of the Christians
with their arms, axes, and hatchets, “as if they wanted to cut down a forest.” Unlike the Christian chroniclers, Avigdor ben Isaac Kara dwells on the courage of the Jews who, like the members of the rabbinate, killed themselves and their families rather than submit to baptism, and he gives an unforgettable account of the brutal plundering of the two synagogues (“Get the gold!” the killers screamed), of the dead, and, finally, of the cemeteries where the graves were opened for spoil. All the Jews killed “were robbed of their garments, and in the dirt of the streets the bloody corpses of babies, men young and old, boys and virgins, were wildly heaped together.” When Rabbi Avigdor ben Isaac Kara died in 1439, he was buried at the Jewish cemetery; for centuries his elegy for the dead of 1389 was read in the Prague synagogues on the Day of Atonement. The prayer concluding his text must have resounded with particular urgency far beyond the Middle Ages: “Now … Father of us all, it is time to proclaim that the killings must come to an end! Say it now that not a single one will be added to the terrible number of victims anymore! Long enough were they killed and choked to death to the world’s derision, long enough!”
with their arms, axes, and hatchets, “as if they wanted to cut down a forest.” Unlike the Christian chroniclers, Avigdor ben Isaac Kara dwells on the courage of the Jews who, like the members of the rabbinate, killed themselves and their families rather than submit to baptism, and he gives an unforgettable account of the brutal plundering of the two synagogues (“Get the gold!” the killers screamed), of the dead, and, finally, of the cemeteries where the graves were opened for spoil. All the Jews killed “were robbed of their garments, and in the dirt of the streets the bloody corpses of babies, men young and old, boys and virgins, were wildly heaped together.” When Rabbi Avigdor ben Isaac Kara died in 1439, he was buried at the Jewish cemetery; for centuries his elegy for the dead of 1389 was read in the Prague synagogues on the Day of Atonement. The prayer concluding his text must have resounded with particular urgency far beyond the Middle Ages: “Now … Father of us all, it is time to proclaim that the killings must come to an end! Say it now that not a single one will be added to the terrible number of victims anymore! Long enough were they killed and choked to death to the world’s derision, long enough!”
BOOK: Prague in Black and Gold: Scenes from the Life of a European City
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