Chapter II: Our Rosalia

Yes, they had taken old Mrs. Muencz to Babaszek to be their "Jew," with forty florins salary, for they had no Jew there, and had to find one at any cost.

This is how it came to pass (and it is difficult for an inhabitant of Budapest to understand it). Babaszek was one of those small towns which in reality was only a larger village, though it rejoiced in what it called its "mayor," and on one day in the year a few miserable horses, cows, and pigs were driven in from the neighboring farms and villages, and the baker from Zolyom put up a tent, in which he sold gingerbread in the shape of hearts, of soldiers, of cradles, all of which was soon bought up by the young men and fathers of families and taken home to sweethearts or children, as the case might be. In one word, there was a fair at Babaszek. And for centuries every inhabitant has divided the year and its events into two parts, one before the fair, and one after it. For instance, the death of Francis Deak took place just two days after the fair at Babaszek. And the reason of all this was, that the old kings of Hungary who lived during the hunting season in the castles of Zolyom and Vegles, instead of making grants to the inhabitants, raised the villages to the position of towns.

Well, of course, it was a privilege, for in a town everything seems grander than in a village, and is worth a good deal more, even man himself. The little straw-thatched house in which questions of moment are discussed is called the Town Hall, and the "hajdu" (town-servant) must know how to beat a drum (for the town has a drum of its own), the richer ones even have a small fire-engine. After all, position is position, and one must do all one can to keep it up. Zolyom and Tot-Pelsoec were rivals.

"That's not a town," said the latter of the former; "why, they have not even a chemist there!" (Well, after all, not every village or town can be as big as Besztercebanya or London!)

Pelsoec could not even leave poor little Babaszek alone.

"That is no town," they said. "There is not even a single Jew there. If no Jew settle in a town, it cannot be considered as such; it has, in fact, no future."

But it is not my intention now to write about the quarrels of two small towns, I only want to tell you how Mrs. Muencz came to live in Babaszek.

Well, they sent word to her in Besztercebanya, to come and take possession of the little shop just opposite the market-place near the smithy, the best position in the town. On either side of the door was written in colored letters: "Soap, whips, starch, scrubbing-brushes, nails, salt, grease, saffron, cinnamon, linseed oil;" in fact, the names of all those articles which did not grow in the neighborhood, or were not manufactured there. So that is how Mrs. Muencz came to live in Babaszek, where she was received with great honors, and made as comfortable as possible. It is a wonder they did not bring her into the town in triumph on their shoulders, which would have been no joke, for she weighed at least two hundredweight.

Some of the townsfolk were very discontented that the mayor had only brought a Jewess into the town, and not a Jew, for it would sound grander if they could say: "Our Jew says this, or our Moricz or Tobias did that," than if they had said: "Our Rosalia says this, that, or the other;" it sounds so very mild. They would have liked a Jew with a long beard, and hooked nose, and red hair if possible; that was the correct thing!

But Mr. Konopka, the cleverest senator in the town, who had made the contract with Mrs. Muencz, and who had even gone himself to fetch her and her luggage from Besztercebanya with two large carts, the horses of which had flowers and rosettes on, coldly repudiated these aspersions on their Jewess, with an argument which struck as heavily as the stones in David's sling.

"Don't be so foolish," he said. "If a woman was once king in Hungary, why should not a Jewess fill the place of Jew in Babaszek?"

(This was a reference to the words of the nation addressed to Maria Theresa: "We will fight for our 'king' and our country.")

Of course they soon saw the truth of this, and ceased grumbling; and they were in time quite reconciled to their Jewess, for every year, on the Feast of Tents, all Mrs. Muencz's sons, seven in number, came to see their mother, and walked about the market-place in their best clothes, laced boots, and top-hats. The townsfolk were glad enough then, their hearts swelled with pride as they gazed at the seven Jews, and they would exclaim:

"Well, if this is not a town, what is?"

"You won't see as many Jews as that in Pelsoec in ten years," answered another proudly.

Old Mrs. Muencz feasted her eyes on her sons when she sat, as she usually did, in the doorway of her shop, her knitting in her hands, her spectacles on her nose (those spectacles lent her an additional charm in the eyes of her admirers). She was a pleasant-looking old woman in her snow-white frilled cap, and seemed to suit her surroundings, the whitewashed walls of the neighboring houses, the important-looking Town Hall, and no one could pass her without raising their hat, just as they did before the statue of St. John Nepomuk. (Those were the only two things worth seeing in Babaszek.)

Every one felt that the little old woman would have her share in the success of the town.

"Good-morning, young woman. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you, my child."

"How is business, young woman?"

"Thank you, my child, I get on very well."

They were all glad, oh, so glad, that the "young woman" was so healthy and strong, and that she got richer day by day; they boasted of it where-ever they went.

"Our Rosalia is getting on well. It is easy to get on in Babaszek, we are good-natured people."

They really made things very comfortable for Rosalia. She was over seventy, but they still called her "mlada pani" (young woman). As the king reserves to himself the right of conferring various titles, so the people have adopted the plan of conferring the "title of youth," and make use of it when and where they like.

Well, as I said before, they took great care of Rosalia, and when, a few years after her arrival there, she decided to build a stone house, every one who owned a cart placed it at her disposal, for the carting of stones, sand, wood, etc.; the bricklayers gave a day's work without wages; only one or two of the lazier ones did not join the rest on that day, but were sent to Coventry for it.

"Good-for-nothing fellows," said every one, "they have no respect for any one, neither for God, the priest, nor a Jew!"

Their respect went so far as to make them (at the mayor's instigation) set apart two pieces of ground, one for a (future) synagogue, and one for a Jewish burial-ground (for the one Jewess they had in the town). But what did that matter? They had the future before them, and who could tell what it held for them? And it was so nice to be able to say to strangers: "Just a stone's throw from the Jewish burial-ground," or "near to the foundation of the Synagogue," etc. And the inhabitants of the villages round about would say when the good folks turned their backs: "Poor things! Their brains have been turned with the joy of having a Jew in their town!"