Judah the Pious Read Online Free Page A

who had been just about to sit down on the steps, remained on his feet. He had never thought of himself as strong before; compared to his enormous, sinewy courtiers, he had always appeared as plump and powerless as a milk-fattened capon. He turned his head so that the old man would not see the flush of pride on his cheeks; by the time he looked back, Eliezer had settled himself in the imposing throne, as comfortably and naturally as if it were a simple bench offered him by a courteous ox-cart driver.
    “Well,” said Eliezer, after a short silence, “I suppose I might best begin by asking you the simplest question I can imagine: what, do you think, is in our minds when we throw those lumps of dirt on the huge mounds which the gravediggers have already heaped high enough?”
    “That is a simple question,” nodded the king, recalling the careful briefing he had received from his advisors. “You are hoping that the arc in which the soil travels as it flies towards the grave may form a bridge for your dead to pass over when they return to earth. Thus, they can revisit the scene of their lives, and, out of sheer malice, frighten blameless Polish people into joining them in the other world.”
    “Nonsense,” shouted Eliezer, so loud that the muscles around Casimir’s heart tightened for fear that the entire court would come running in. “Is this really the way bright young men reason these days? Do you honestly believe that we would disturb the sweet rest of someone we loved just to irritate a few men we do not even know?”
    Still unsettled by the violence of the old man’s response, the boy was beginning to feel empty-headed and stupid. “I am not sure,” he stammered after a while. “If not for that reason, then why?”
    “I will tell you why,” said Eliezer, more gently. “But you must listen carefully, for I dislike repeating myself.
    “Among our people, it is generally believed that a dead man’s spirit accompanies his body to the cemetery, where it lingers like an uncomfortable party guest, seeking the proper moment to make an exit and a seemly manner of saying good-by. And it is not until the soul of the departed sees his loved ones turn their backs and cast dirt on his grave that he feels assured that life will go on without him, that he can depart in peace and begin to take his rest. So you see, King Casimir, our motives are actually just the opposite of what your nobles have been telling you. Really, does it not seem more logical to a young man of your intelligence that we should wish our dead to sleep quietly throughout eternity?”
    “Nothing is logical,” snapped Casimir quickly, to cover his uneasiness over the obvious good sense of the old man’s argument. “The only certain thing is that my advisors are telling me one story, and you another.”
    “And which do you believe?” asked the rabbi.
    Unaccustomed to being challenged in this way, King Casimir shrank from the old man’s question. “My courtiers have done some painstaking research,” he answered, “and, as a rule, tend to know what is best for the country. As for me, it is quite a different matter entirely; I hardly believe in spirits and such. Besides,” he added hastily, “you yourself know that, given the public sentiment, a horrible slaughter would probably take place if the people caught you persisting in your custom.”
    “There will be no massacre if you prohibit it,” shrugged Eliezer carelessly. “But why do you not believe in spirits?”
    The king, who had been hoping that his remark had gone unnoticed, was taken by surprise. “Because,” he began, then stopped, amazed at the tight, strangulated sound of his own voice. “Because I have never seen them.”
    “And you do not believe in anything you have never seen?”
    “No,” answered Casimir, feeling the word catch in his throat.
    Rabbi Eliezer’s face registered no emotion. “You must know that can often be a dangerous course,” he said. “For when we