Judah the Pious Read Free Page A

have felt any incentive or obligation to represent his people before the King of Poland. But of course such facts never appeared in the committee’s official report.
    These memories, however, had not been forgotten by the rabbi. And so, when he saw for himself the age and appearance of the small boy on the massive throne, a vision of the Rimanov school crept back into his heart, and gave him the courage to begin his interview with such a boisterous laugh.

II
    K ING CASIMIR OF POLAND had been dozing fitfully on his throne when the Rabbi Eliezer first entered the royal audience hall. Shaken gently awake, the king peered at his visitor through a nearsighted haze, and wondered whether his advisors were trying to amuse him with another exotic ostrich brought back from the wilds of Africa. But, when the black-plumed bird threw back its head and laughed like a man, the young sovereign began to recall that this was the long-awaited day on which he was to meet the Jewish holy man.
    Squirming with excitement, the boy craned his neck forward until it chafed against the jewel-encrusted collar of his robe; then, disappointed, he straightened back into the ramrod-stiff posture of a proper king.
    Despite what Casimir had been taught as a child, no diabolical horns sprouted from beneath the Jew’s matted hair, nor were his yellow teeth stained bright red with the blood of innocent babies. Although he had known it would be this way, he still felt cheated. For, had Eliezer truly appeared a demon, a wild-eyed pagan with bones and boars’ teeth woven into his beard, the king might then have been able to discuss certain matters which he had never mentioned to any of his courtiers—certain secrets so shameful that they could only be revealed to a man who was already damned.
    No doubt, the good people of Poland would have been amused to learn the thoroughly mundane nature of the sins which so tormented their king. For Casimir, however, these problems were deadly serious. Unlike ordinary boys, who could share their growing pains with each other, the friendless young king could only conclude that his particular misery had never been experienced by anyone else.
    Day after day, he brooded on his failings, cursed himself for his listlessness, his apathy, his sense of isolation, detachment, and general irritation. He daydreamed incessantly, inventing vivid fantasies concerning certain court ladies; then, he would censor himself, and walk around for hours with downcast, guilty eyes.
    But the last of Casimir’s troubles was the one which caused him the most anxiety, for it seemed the most perilous: he had begun to feel hopelessly estranged from the warm, protective arms of the mother church. All his life, he had been a true believer. But lately, his faith in the great Miracle of the Birth, the Passion, and the Resurrection had come to seem worthless, illogical, and silly; and he could not help thinking that God had not prevented him from losing his parents, nor from being locked into a position from which he could never escape. For these reasons, he felt his religion slipping steadily and irreversibly away.
    What could be easier, he had thought in the days before the Rabbi Eliezer’s visit, than to confess the loss of faith to a man who never had any to lose? And, once the major sins burst out, the smaller ones would be carried along, perhaps even ignored, like ripples in a swelling flood.
    But Eliezer’s thoroughly unexceptional ugliness had dampened the boy’s hopes. There was nothing fantastic or exotic in the old man’s appearance, nothing to suggest a reckless amorality; no scent of brimstone followed him through the hall. Now, all that Casimir felt was a mild revulsion for Eliezer’s sunken cheeks and flabby skin.
    Forcing down his distaste, King Casimir of Poland motioned for the stranger to draw near; but the old man’s progress towards the throne was cut short by the same impatient nobleman who had just finished rebuking him for his