Continuities and Discontinuities of the Habsburg Legacy in East-Central European Discourses since 1918 [1 ed.] 9783737009232, 9783847109235

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Wiener Galizien-Studien

Band 3

Herausgegeben von Christoph Augustynowicz, Kerstin S. Jobst, Andreas Kappeler, Andrea Komlosy, Annegret Pelz, Dieter Segert, Olaf Terpitz, Tatjana Thelen, Philipp Ther und Alois Woldan

Die Bände dieser Reihe sind peer-reviewed.

Magdalena Baran-Szołtys / Jagoda Wierzejska (eds.)

Continuities and Discontinuities of the Habsburg Legacy in East-Central European Discourses since 1918

With 10 figures

V& R unipress Vienna University Press

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet þber https://dnb.de abrufbar. Verçffentlichungen der Vienna University Press erscheinen bei V& R unipress. Gedruckt mit freundlicher Unterstþtzung des DK Galizien, des Wissenschaftsfonds FWF und der UniversitÐten Warschau und Wien.  2020, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht GmbH & Co. KG, Theaterstraße 13, D-37073 Gçttingen Alle Rechte vorbehalten. Das Werk und seine Teile sind urheberrechtlich gesch þtzt. Jede Verwertung in anderen als den gesetzlich zugelassenen FÐllen bedarf der vorherigen schriftlichen Einwilligung des Verlages. Umschlagabbildung: Lemberg, Rathaus (Lwów: Wydawnictwo Kart Artystycznych D.G., [1911–1925]). Source: Biblioteka Narodowa, Call Number : Poczt.2234 (Public Domain). Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Verlage j www.vandenhoeck-ruprecht-verlage.com ISSN 2566-9710 ISBN 978-3-7370-0923-2

Contents

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

7

Alois Woldan Jan Nepomucen Kamin´ski’s Helena or Schiller in Galicia . . . . . . . . .

15

Nadja Weck Lviv’s Central Railway Station and its Fate after 1914

29

. . . . . . . . . . .

Jagoda Wierzejska The Idea of Galicia in the Interwar Polish Discourse, 1918–1939

. . . . .

51

Ievgeniia Voloshchuk Characters of Eccentrics from Galicia in the German-Language Prose of the Interwar Period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

77

Francisca Solomon Bukovina’s Yiddish Landscape in Habsburg and Post-Habsburg Context: Historical, Cultural, and Literary Interrelations . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

97

Danuta Sosnowska Traces of the Habsburg Heritage: Bohemia’s Multicultural and Multilingual Tradition as a Source of the Multilingual Phenomenon in the Czech Literature in Exile . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 Halyna Witoszynska Public Parks and Gardens of Interwar Lviv in the Autobiographical Discourse after Second World War : Between Habsburg Tradition, National Aspirations, and Private Memories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135

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Contents

Magdalena Baran-Szołtys Traveling to Post-Galicia and Uncovering the Habsburgian Past

. . . . . 155

Larissa Cybenko The Geopoetics of the Habsburg Heritage: Yurii Andrukhovych’s Overcoming of Political Restrictions and Divisions . . . . . . . . . . . . 175 Katarzyna Kotyn´ska From Intellectual Trends to a Business Model: Habsburg Monarchy in Modern Ukrainian Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191 Authors

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205

Index of Persons

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211

Index of Concepts and Locations

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219

Introduction

The history of creation of this volume reaches back to the year 2017, when the Annual Conference of the Austrian Studies Association “Inter-Texts: Correspondences, Connections, and Fissures in Austrian Culture” took place at the University of Illinois at Chicago, March 16–19. The conference was dedicated to exploration of multiple intertexts that inform our readings of the cultural and historical products and sites of modern Austria, the Habsburg Empire, and its former territories. As a part of this academic event we organized a panel titled “Continuities and Discontinuities: The Habsburg Legacy in East-Central European Discourses since 1918.” Although firstly conceived as a small undertaking, it ultimately grew to the size of a four-section-panel, which was attended by eleven scholars from six academic centres, in Austria, the Czech Republic, Poland, Romania, and the USA. Papers given during the panel aroused such an interest of its participants and audience, that we decided to extend the life of the project “Continuities and Discontinuities: The Habsburg Legacy in East-Central European Discourses since 1918” and publish an eponymous collective volume. The volume was being created for more than two years. It consists of ten articles. A few of them had not been presented at the 2017 Annual Conference of the Austrian Studies Association and were originally written for the purpose of this book. These, which had been presented in their initial versions, were later comprehensively revised, expanded, and updated for the publication. Now, the fruit of the authors’ and the editors’ effort is ultimately in the hand of readers. The volume is dedicated to analysis of ways the Habsburg heritage has been undermined and sustained in East-Central European discourses since the collapse of the Habsburg Empire. In 1918, in the wake of World War I, the Danube Monarchy ceased to exist and its crownlands and provinces became parts of the Monarchy’s successor states. Although the foundation of the new states initially resulted in hopes for a triumph of democracy in the region, their democratic governments often failed and they themselves increasingly assumed the character of nation-states, not infrequently of authoritarian character. The regimes of these countries were usually oblivious and / or hostile to remnants of the erst-

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Introduction

while Austrian rule due to ideological reasons: they treated them as traces of a superimposed imperial power and an alien – democratic, pluralistic, liberal – tradition. Such a tendency was marked in the interwar period, when authoritarian tendencies increased in East-Central Europe, and even more so during the Soviet totalitarian domination of the region after World War II. Notwithstanding that fact, erasing the Habsburg Empire from maps of Europe did not entail the entire cancelation of its legacy on the former Habsburg territories. Although officially neglected or suppressed, this legacy made itself felt, overtly or tacitly, in discourses present in the public sphere of the countries that superseded the Monarchy. It never constituted a dominant of those discourses but persisted as a kind of counter-discourse that recalled a broadly understood Habsburg past in order to contest the socio-cultural realties and formal politics of the postHabsburg states. The book highlights two phenomena: the ways in which the Habsburg legacy has been obliterated, as well as manifestations of its continued presence in EastCentral European discourses since 1918 until today. Furthermore, the articles discuss how these phenomena have evolved over the last over hundred years in terms of domination, continuities, and discontinuities. In the center of our interest lie the northern territories of the erstwhile Danube Monarchy, especially Galicia but also Bukovina, Bohemia, and Moravia. The authors aim at analyzing discursive phenomena, first and foremost literary works, in which the Habsburg tradition of these lands has been, on the one hand, supplanted by national and Soviet models of culture, on the other hand, repeatedly reversed or resumed in different ways. They treat literature as a medium in dialog between history, which turned out to be continuative at least to the same extent as discontinuative towards the Habsburg legacy, and popular memory in which both trends followed one another, coexisted or even mixed up. The goal of the publication is to show ideological frames of both of these discursive moves – continuities and discontinuities of the Habsburg legacy in East-Central European discourses since 1918 – and to investigate issues, which relate but are not limited to the following questions: – Why was the Habsburg past to be effaced from the cultural landscape of the successor states? – What forms did such an effacement take? – What were the costs of that phenomenon? – Why did the effacement of the Habsburg legacy turn out to be not entirely possible in East-Central Europe? – Who did sustain it and why? – What were the manifestations of that phenomenon in East-Central European discourses, especially in Polish, Ukrainian, German, and Czech literatures, as well as in Jewish literature written in different languages?

Introduction

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– What political, historical, and aesthetic intertexts – correspondences, connections, discursive fissures – can be found in these manifestations? The text, which opens the volume, is the article by the outstanding expert in the field of Slavic studies, Alois Woldan. His article has a somewhat separate character, because it does not fit into the time framework accepted in the book, after 1918, but, simultaneously, it constitutes a signpost for interpretations carried out in the rest of texts collected in the publication. The article presents an analysis of a drama by the Polish theatre director and translator who lived in Habsburg Galicia, Jan Nepomucen Kamin´ski; an analysis taking into account the work’s literary and non-literary, socio-historical context. The nineteenth century Polish artist used his Polish translation of the drama by the now forgotten German author, Theodor Körner, to create his drama elaboration of the Koliyivshchyna, the so-called 1768 Haidamakas Uprising, which culminated in their sacking of the city of Human´ in central Ukraine. Woldan shows that the setting of Kamin´ski’s drama was deeply inscribed into a Romantic Polish-Ukrainian context, while its presentation and plot fit rather a pre-Romantic German-Italian style. It does not seem to be a coincidence that these two contexts met each other in Galicia as, according to Woldan’s thesis, that former Habsburg province constituted a special space predestined for the encounter of Slavic and Western European currents. A few other East-Central European lands, encompassed with borders of the Habsburg Empire during the time of its existence, had a similar character. Bohemia, Moravia, and Bukovina, just like Galicia, proved their qualities as places of meeting of miscellaneous cultural contexts. For this reason, after 1918, they were not only spaces of development of national ideas, although they became parts of different nation-states, each with severe minority problems. They were rather spaces of clashes of disparate ideas of political, social, and cultural kind. In discourses related to these lands after World War I, various traditions, which had created the Habsburg legacy, were being destroyed, blurred, sustained or abandoned and resumed again after some time. This is the topic the subsequent articles in the volume discuss. The articles follow a chronological order in their analysis of the Habsburg legacy. The first article starts off with its fate in Lviv after 1914, the last one tracks it to the contemporary Ukrainian culture with sources up to the year 2017, so that more than hundred years are examined. The spatial containment allows monitoring the development of a particular region in various discourses over time. In this volume, resulting from the focus of the series “Wiener Galizien Studien,” it rests on Austrian Galicia and especially on the city Lviv. The first article of the historian Nadja Weck studies the Habsburg legacy in this multicultural city from the micro perspective of its central railway station building opened in 1904 and existing, as well as being in use, also nowadays. The

10

Introduction

author chooses an innovative way to analyze the heritage manifested until today in the architectural specifics of the multitude of former Galician cities. Two relevant sources are utilized: a comparison of the architecture of the original main building with the current one and an analysis of memoirs by Alexander Granach and Jjzef Wittlin that describe the station building at length. The article opens a panorama of representations of this Habsburg legacy expressed not only in real space, but also as an intellectual depiction in different discourses and times. Jagoda Wierzejska’s article focuses on the decades shortly after the downfall of the Habsburg Monarchy in 1918 and discusses the concepts of the idea of multinational and transnational Galicia in the Polish discourse between 1918 and 1939, which originated from the Habsburg political culture. She shows that the idea of Galicia was a subject of specific transfers and disassembled in the circumstances of the crisis of democracy and the Second Polish Republic’s hostile policy toward national minorities, especially Ukrainians and Jews. According to the concept of the volume, the article traces the overt destruction and tacit continuation of the Habsburg idea of multinationalism and transnationalism in the former Austrian Galicia, and uses various archival and literary sources. The interwar period is further point of reference for the next article by Ievgeniia Voloshchuk, who examines the character type of eccentrics from Galicia, which has gained popularity in the German-language literature of the interwar period. Voloshchuk works also with concepts and shows that the characters of Galician eccentrics were largely determined by the constructs of Galicia produced within the Galician German-language discourse of the interbellum under the influence of the Habsburg and the Galicia myth and in this sense were crops of the Habsburg legacy. In the next papers new spatial points of reference are taken into account: Bukovina and Bohemia. In Francisca Solomon’s paper Bukovina’s Yiddish landscape is discussed in Habsburg and post-Habsburg context. She argues that a singular “Austrian” constellation crystallized in Bukovina, above all reflected in the strong local patriotism in Czernowitz and the feeling of belonging to the Austrian state. Therefore, the 1918 downfall of the Habsburg Monarchy marked a painful identity-disturbing experience in which the language proved to be a fundamental vehicle that supported and maintained the (Austrian) Bukovinian consciousness with all its historical, cultural, and literary interrelations. The language is also central in the next analyses by Danuta Sosnowska, who examines the influence of Habsburg heritage on the multilingual tradition present in Czech literature created abroad. Some Czech writers in exile, like Milan Kundera, abandoned writing in their vernacular language and have chosen the language of their new host country, some used even both languages. Sosnowska explains this phenomenon in terms of the multilingual tradition in

Introduction

11

the Czech culture and the humanitas austriaca that partly remained in Czech culture along with a multilingual tradition; even when linguistic “nationalism” prevailed in Czech official culture. The next four papers focus again on Galicia, the following two pay particular attention to the complex structure of entangled, sometimes even contested narratives concerning Galicia. Similar to Nadja Weck, Halyna Witoszynska examines spatial elements in the city of Lviv : the Jesuit Gardens, Stryiski Park, and High Castle. These public parks and gardens of interwar Lviv exemplify a space of divided memories and contested national narratives, which this article uncovers through the autobiographical texts written after World War II. She especially points out three of their functions: (1) they evoke the Habsburg traditions of urban development and political representation; (2) they represent contested symbolic space, reflected in the collective historical memory of Ukrainian and Polish residents; (3) they function as sites of individual memory that became parts of personal memories of both national groups. These complex interrelations between Habsburg rule and legacy combined with national narratives are also the focus of the article by Magdalena BaranSzołtys who argues that Habsburg Galicia was a superficial construct that owed its existence to produced depictions and different narratives from historical and literary sources from its beginnings in the eighteenth century. Via a multidisciplinary and transnational approach to the historical space of Galicia, BaranSzołtys shows which concepts, texts, and material heritage are used to construct an image of the Habsburg Galicia in contemporary literary or journalistic texts and what they are used for. As a result, the article illustrates the polyphony of Galician narratives with help of various national literatures and cultures. In the last two articles, the focus shifts to contemporary Ukrainian discourse. Larissa Cybenko analyzes the work of the Ukrainian author Yurii Andrukhovych from the perspective of geopoetics. Using geopoetics, Andrukhovych develops his own geoculturology that become a criticism of Soviet and National Socialist geopolitics of the former Galicia. The geographical conditions, which Andrukhovych presents in his literary essays and novels, allow him to re-read former Habsburg territories in Ukraine and describe the causes, conditions, and forms of extinction of the cultural tradition of the Danube Monarchy. Katarzyna Kotyn´ska investigates the reasons for awakening of interest in the Habsburg era of Galician history in recent fifteen years: chosen elements of the “Habsburg” history entered the resources of popular literature and gained recognition of the wide audience. The article examines two series of modern Ukrainian detective novels by Bohdan Kolomiychuk and Andriy Kokotyukha, showing the ways of transformation of old local stories into a successful market product, attractive for a nationwide audience. With this analysis of reasons of

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Introduction

today’s popularity of Galicia and, thus, establishing its attractiveness for narratives since the eighteenth century, the volume concludes. For the cover of the book we have chosen an old postcard of the Rathaus – the City Hall of Lemberg / Lwjw / Lviv located in the heart of the city in the middle of the Market Square. It was erected in the Habsburg times, in the years 1827–1835, in classicist style, according to the design of the architects Alois Wondraszka, Jerzy Głogowski, Joseph Markl, and Franz Trescher, and has been already the fourth town hall building in the history of the city. It stands at the site of the former town hall which finished its existence on July 14, 1826, when its tower collapsed, destroying a large part of the building and burying eight people under its rubble, including the trumpeter, quite a symbolic tragedy. The history of this building is symptomatic for the history of so many places in East-Central Europe, which constituted parts of the Habsburg Empire. First, built in the years 1827–1835 by the Austrians, then, on November 2, 1848, burned down, as a result of the bombardment of Lviv by the Austrians, in 1851 again reconstructed by the Austrians. Before World War I, it was planned to rebuild the building in the style of the Polish Renaissance, but these plans were not realized due to the outbreak of the war. After the collapse of the Habsburg Monarchy, in the years 1918–1919, Poles and Ukrainians were fighting for national belonging of Eastern Galicia and for whose national colors would decorate the City Hall in Lviv. Ultimately, on September 25, 1921, the Polish White Eagle was unveiled at the top of the Town Hall tower in place of the double-headed Austrian eagle, which was removed on May 3, 1919. In the interwar period, the Lviv City Hall was decorated with the “Lviv Defense Cross” and the plaque in memory of Hugo Kołła˛taj destroyed in 1939 by the Soviets. In post-World War II Lviv, Polish traces on the walls of the City Hall were dismantled. The wall paintings inside the building and portraits of the former Lviv presidents were dismantled either. Nowadays the Ukrainian city administration resides there and has had the attic – the topos of memory par excellence – rebuilt due to a lack of office space. The central entrance has been flanked with sculptures of lions with shields made by the sculptor Yevhen Dzyndra, in the 1940s. The new Lviv City Hall witnessed a lot of historical events. Despite the fact that the center of Lviv’s urban life has shifted from the Main Square to the surroundings of the so-called Hetman Ramparts, the building has always been not only the seat of municipal authorities, but also one of the most expressive symbols of the city and the region that once belonged to the Habsburg Monarchy. *** The publication of this volume would not have been possible without financial support of Austrian and Polish academic institutions, as well as intellectual

Introduction

13

contribution of many persons. First and foremost, we would like to thank the Doctoral Program “Austrian Galicia and its Multicultural Heritage,” affiliated at the University of Vienna and funded by the Austrian Science Fund, and the Faculty of Polish Studies, including the Institute of Polish Literature, at the University of Warsaw, for co-financing the publication. Then we would like to express our great gratitude to all contributors of the volume for their inspiring ideas, which they were willing to forge into articles and share in this form with a wide circle of readers. A special thank goes to the translator of a few articles from German into English and the copy-editor of the whole volume, Mikołaj Golubiewski. Last but not least, we want to thank the reviewers of the volume, who supported the publication of the book and contributed to its high intellectual level. Magdalena Baran-Szołtys, Jagoda Wierzejska Vienna / Warsaw, August 2019

Alois Woldan

Jan Nepomucen Kamin´ski’s Helena or Schiller in Galicia

Abstract The article shows how the Polish theater director and translator Jan Nepomucen Kamin´ski (1777–1855) uses his Polish translation of the drama Hedwig by the now forgotten German author Theodor Körner (1791–1813) to prepare his later drama elaboration of the 1768 Koliyivshchyna. Scholars of the Polish Romantic literature usually associate Kamin´ski’s Helena with Seweryn Goszczyn´ski’s well-known long poem Zamek kaniowski (The Kanijw Castle; 1828). This paper simultaneously references the larger context of this theme like Michał Suchorowski’s drama Wanda Potocka, which Kamin´ski’s treatment has significantly influenced. These literary testimonies also prove that the underlying historical event from central Ukraine saw a great response in Galicia. Keywords: Galicia, Polish literature of the nineteenth century, German influences

Kamin´ski, a Lviv Playwright Jan Nepomucen Kamin´ski (1777–1855) is hardly present in the history of Polish literature, but he is considered a pioneer in the Polish in Galicia, especially its capital city Lviv, in the early nineteenth century, where he had to struggle with a powerful German repertoire. Kamin´ski was a real “Theatermacher :” organizer of traveling acting troupes, director of own and other plays, actor, and – for more than forty years – director of the Polish theater in Lviv.1 We must add here his work as a playwright: he produced more than a hundred – some sources say even 180 pieces2 – of which only a dozen were really own work. The vast part of Kamin´ski’s plays were adaptations of German, English, Italian, Spanish, and French productions, usually not only translated but also “polonized” by him, that is travestied into a Polish environment. Moreover, Kamin´ski wrote nu1 For more about Kamin´ski’s biography, cf. Lasocka 1972, pp. 6–48. 2 Gabrjel Korbut names nearly 180 translations and adaptations (Korbut 1929, p. 365), Bernacki names 3 printed and 115 not printed dramas (Bernacki 1911, pp. 21–23), Wiktor Hahn speaks of 180 dramas, out of which 8 are to be Kamin´ski’s original works (Bernacki 1911, p. 279).

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merous articles for Lviv magazines and poems – a few also in German – especially sonnets and panegyrics. For instance, a poem on the marriage of the young Emperor Franz Joseph with Elisabeth von Bayern (“Sissi”) appeared one year before Kamin´ski’s death.3 According to Wiktor Hahn, Kamin´ski has written 110 plays based on German sources, thirty-nine on French, four each on English and Italian, three on Spanish, one each on Russian and Czech.4 Whereas Barbara Lasocka speaks of about forty adaptations and about eighty translations,5 but the boundaries between the two types of elaboration are fluent. Among the authors that Kamin´ski introduced to the Polish stage, we find not only world literature greats like Shakespeare, Schiller, Goldoni, and Calderon, but also many more playwrights that today are completely forgotten. From German literature, the most popular were Friedrich Schiller – one of the first authors to be translated by Kamin´ski into Polish6 – and August Kotzebue, who is probably better known today because of his murder by the student, Sand. Kamin´ski especially favored Schiller. Besides Schiler’s ballads and poems, Kamin´ski translated his dramas Die Piccolomini (The Piccolomini), Wallensteins Tod (Wallenstein’s Death), and Die Räuber (The Robbers); the most relevant in below considerations. Kamin´ski’s great success partly stemmed from the Polish play Cud mniemany, czyli Krakowiacy i Gjrale (The Presumed Miracle, or Krakovians and Highlanders; 1793), a comic opera by Wojciech Bogusławski to which Kamin´ski wrote a continuation Zabobon czyli Krakowiacy i Gjrale, zabawka dramatyczna ze spiewkami w 3-ch aktach (Superstition, or Krakovians and Highlanders, a Playful Drama with Songs in Three Acts; 1816). Three years later, in 1819, Kamin´ski achieved another great success in Lviv, but also in Cracow, Vilnius, and Warsaw, which is the main focus of this paper : Helena, czyli Hajdamacy na Ukraine. Drama w trzech aktach podług Körnera [Hedwig] przez J. N. Kamin´skiego nas´ladowane i do zdarzen´ w roku 1768 zastosowane (Helen, or Haidamakas in Ukraine. Drama in Three Acts by J. N. Kamin´ski Imitated after Körner’s Hedwig and Applied to the Events of the Year 1768). This piece appeared in print only in 1963,7 whereas the vast majority of Kamin´ski’s plays never saw the printing press. Kamin´ski names his source in the subtitle, which is the 1812 drama Hedwig oder die Banditenbraut (Hedwig, or the Bandits’ Bride) by Theodor Körner (1791–1813). Kamin´ski most likely noticed Hedwig in theater reviews from Vienna, which also appeared in the Lviv newspapers. Moreover, Kamin´ski untypically gives Helena a new setting: in 1768 3 4 5 6 7

Kamin´ski 1854, p. XXVIIf. Hahn 1911, p. 279. Lasocka 1972, p. 13. Korbut 1929, p. 365. Makowski 1963, pp. 19–87.

Jan Nepomucen Kamin´ski’s Helena or Schiller in Galicia

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occurred the so-called Haidamakas Uprising (Koliyivshchyna), which culminated in their sacking of the city of Human´ in central Ukraine, then still part of the Polish Commonwealth. Polish literature only knows an echo of Koliyivshchyna from the ten years younger Goszczyn´ski’s Romantic long poem Zamek kaniowski (Kanijw Castle, 1828), the still younger Słowacki’s drama Sen srebrny Salomei (The Silver Dream of Salomea, 1843), and Taras Shevchenko’s poem “Haidamaky” (1841) in Ukrainian literature. The title and setting of Kamin´ski’s drama is in a Romantic Polish-Ukrainian context, while its presentation and plot in a pre-Romantic German-Italian manner. Both these contexts meet each other in Galicia, a space predestined for the encounter of Slavic and Western European currents.

Körner, a Forgotten German Author Who was the author of Hedwig, Karl Theodor Körner (1791–1813)? Despite his short life of only twenty-four years, Körner’s biography8 is as rich as Kamin´ski’s who lived seventy-eight years. After studies in Freiberg, Leipzig, and Berlin – where Körner gained experience not only as young poet but also as a daring duelist – he moved to Vienna, where he discovered the theater and its protagonists. He composed several short comedies, all very successful, and fell in love with a Viennese actress, whose father was a singer esteemed by Mozart. But not even the unexpected well-paid job offer of an official court theater poet could keep him in Vienna. (Unlike Körner, Kamin´ski received the poorly paid position of a dramatist at the Skarbek Theater in Lviv only in his last years). When Napoleon’s troops on their return from Russia occupied several German cities, Körner joined the famous Lützow Free Corps and not much later received a heavy wound. Barely recovered, Körner returned to his unit only to fall in August 1813, a few weeks before the Battle of Leipzig. During his brief life as a soldier, Körner’s wrote his most famous poems inspired by the pathos of the struggle for freedom. Numerous commemorative plaques, monuments (one in Sobjtka in Silesia), and trees bear witness to the intensity of his heroic legend, which only faded in the twentieth century. Let us return to Hedwig, not the best of Körner’s plays.9 The action takes place in the inhospitable mountains “on the border of Italy”10 near Fiume, which is mentioned once,11 so in the region of today’s Slovenia ore Carinthia, in the castle 8 All information about Körners biography after Auerswald [1911], pp. 3–35. 9 Auerswald 1911, p. 28. 10 Blocking from Hedwig. Ein Drama in drei Aufzügen 1812, in: Körner 1908, p. 146: “an der Grenze von Italien.” 11 Ibid., p. 145.

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of Count Felseck. The text gives no clue about the time of events but is likely to occur at the end of the eighteenth or the beginning of the nineteenth century. In the center of the plot is a love story and a love triangle. Hedwig, a foster daughter in the Count’s family, loves Julius, the count’s son, who loves her as well. However, Hedwig wants to renounce this love, as she knows that class difference makes marriage with the young Count impossible. In turn, Hedwig is loved by the hunter Rudolf, who saved the old Count during a hunt and, as a reward, requests for himself the hand of the foster child Hedwig. This first conflict that stems from the classic love triangle is resolved quickly : after a discussion of the young Count with his father, the latter and his wife give consent to his marriage with Hedwig as, regardless of their aristocratic status, they enlightened people who value the character of their future daughter-in-law more than her middleclass origins.12 Love overcomes class differences in this play, but this is not its actual theme. The too early “happy end” is followed by the dramatic escalation of the second act, in which revenge-seeking Rudolf invades the castle with two robbers in the absence of the Count and his son, to make Hedwig his wife by force. She agrees only to save the life of the old Countess, her future mother-in-law. Nevertheless, Hedwig manages to trap the two robbers in the treasury and beat Rudolf to death with a rifle butt, which is almost her last action in the play, just before she faints to awaken as a purified Hedwig, already after the curtain has fallen. One figure deserves special attention in this configuration of dramatis personae, which is the vengeful Rudolf who is different from what he pretends to be. Behind the unsophisticated hunter Rudolf hides Rudolfo, a nobleman, who was deprived by his guardian of his great inheritance and then charged with treason; innocent, Rudolfo is exiled and declared an outlaw. He then becomes an avenger, outlaw, and bandit who may only return to a normal, morally flawless existence when he finds a wife who loves him unconditionally. The forced renunciation of Hedwig also means for Rudolfo a final loss of the possibility of salvation, as he drastically puts it, he now belongs to hell.13 On the other hand, Hedwig would have opened for him the way to heaven. There is a tragedy in this figure of the avenger, but it does not break through in the course of the plot with its happy ending. The figure of an avenger, who knows no bounds in his revenge but has become an avenger by the guilt of others – not to mention the love story – reminds us of Karl Moor from Schiller’s The Robbers. There are also some similarities in the 12 Makowski considers this twist as an influence of enlightened didactics. Cf. Makowski 1963, p. 10. 13 Körner 1908, p. 177: “Der Hölle bin ich, ihr gehör ich zu, die ist die einzige, die treugeblieben” (I am hell, I belong to hell, it is the only thing that remains faithful to me).

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19

course of action and in the characters, which we could compare with another work. The Italian ingredients in the play, especially the robber names Zanaretto and Lorenzo,14 point to another context. They recall the most famous robbers of the eighteenth century : the eponymous protagonist of Christian Vulpius’ 1798 novel Rinaldo Rinaldini, Heinrich Zschokke’s 1793 Abellino, der große Bandit, and finally the famous Fra Diavolo (in reality, Michele Pezza), who owes his popularity to the Daniel Auber’s 1830 opera. Schiller’s work was undoubtedly known to Körner, as his father was a personal acquaintance of Schiller,15 as was Rinaldo Rinaldini, a success story of Goethe’s brother-in-law. Incidentally, like Rudolfo in Hedwig, Rinaldo is also of high descent.

From “Hedwig” to “Helena” Let us move from Vienna, where Körner wrote his Hedwig, back to Lviv, the capital of Galicia. Kamin´ski’s worship of Schiller came not only from Körner. Kamin´ski’s translation of The Robbers – a proper translation this time – was staged in 1819,16 the same year when Kamin´ski imitated Körner’s drama. Shortly before, Kamin´ski published a translation of Schiller’s Balladen und Gedichten / Ballady i pies´ni (Ballads and Poems; 1818), followed by other of his dramas. Kamin´ski himself played great Schiller roles like the President from Intrigue and Love and Philip II of Spain in Don Carlos in 1829.17 It seems quite possible that the “robber character” of Rudolf / Rudolfo from Körner’s Hedwig was the reason for Kamin´ski’s interest in the play. But Kamin´ski also probably knew the ItalianGerman robber tradition, as he already staged Rinaldo Rinaldini in 1817 – either directly based on the novel or on an already existing dramatization18 – and he prepared Zschokkes’s Abellino for the Polish stage.19 In his adaptation of Hedwig, Kamin´ski replaces the robbers with the haidamakas, travesties the Austrian-Italian setting into the Polish-Ukrainian world of the Commonwealth shortly before the First Partition of Poland, and loosely references the Koliyivshchyna at the level of action. In such way does Kamin´ski strive to position the action of his Helena in history : it is to happen one and a half 14 These are the names of Rudolf / Rudolfo’s accomplices with whom he attacks the Count’s castle: Körner 1908, p. 145. 15 Cf. Auerswald 1911, p. 4. 16 Ga˛ssowski 1984, p. 415. 17 Lasocka 1972, p. 114ff. 18 Hahn 1911, p. 280. 19 Bernacki 1911, p. 62: Abellino straszny bandyta wenecki, drama w 5 aktach z niemieckiego przeloz˙ona w Krakowie 1832 (Abellino, a Fearsome Venetian Bandit, a Five-Act Drama Translated from German in Cracow 1832).

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years after the sacking of Human´,20 thus at the beginning of 1770. Moreover, Kamin´ski also moves the action closer in space to the Hajdamakas Uprising, as the title of one of the characters reads “Starosta na Czechrynie” (Baron of Chechryn), which undoubtedly means Chyhyryn,21 a stronghold on the Dniepr River, confused in blocking note with the Dniestr River : “Rzecz dzieje sie˛ nad Dniestrem w zamku starosty” (The thing happens over Dniestr, in the Baron’s castle).22 This may well be a mistake of the copyist, as Kamin´ski was very familiar with the geography of Eastern Galicia and visited Odessa, so he would hardly confuse these two rivers. Notwithstanding such minor inconsistencies, by such a localization of the plot, Kamin´ski intends to build on a historical event that was evidently also known in Galicia, even though the events happened not on Galician soil or during the time of Galicia, that is before 1772. This attempt to combine a robber play with historical drama, for which Kamin´ski shared a typical Romantic taste,23 becomes clear with a look at the list of characters. The number of robbers was not only doubled – from two robbers in Körner’s play to four haidamakas in Kamin´ski’s – but there also appear two prominent, historically documented figures, namely the leaders of the 1768 Koliyivshchyna: Gonta and Zalizniak. However, as the plot of the play quickly reveals, these figures have virtually nothing in common with their historical prototypes apart from names. Not to mention that, in the time of action, one and a half years after the massacre of Human´, both of them were absent: Gonta was executed and Zalizniak banished to Siberia.24 Despite the historical overcoat, Kamin´ski’s piece remains in an invented robber story true to Körner’s model. What is even more forceful than this attempted historicization of the plot is the rich polonization of the characters and setting. In Kamin´ski’s drama, Count Felseck becomes Starosta, Countess – Staros´cina, Julius – Wacław (ten years later, Malczewski gives his protagonist of the poem Maria the same name). Finally, the eponymous heroine changes from Hedwig to Helena, as the Polish variant of Hedwig – Jadwiga – apparently sounded insufficiently eastern. Polish motifs appear in such dialogs as that about the love of the motherland or the proper education of the youth. In Kamin´ski’s drama, the Count’s future daughter-in-law can not only embroider or play a harp but also knows Polish language and

20 Gonta recalls before the attack on the castle: “Be˛dzie temu około pjltora roku, jakies´my sobie na Human´ ze˛by ostrzyli” (It was nearly a year and a half ago that we planned to attack Human´): Makowski 1963, p. 62. 21 Makowski 1963, p. 19. 22 Makowski 1963, p. 19. 23 Cf. Lasocka 1972, p. 46f. 24 Makowski 1963, p. 9: “Kamin´ski never aspired to historical precision. He presents Gonta i Z˙elez´niak as active long after the Human´ events.”

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history, and she favors the beauty of our, that is Polish, poets.25 Otherwise, however, Kamin´ski changed little in Körner’s original. The former converts some scenes26 but for the most part closely follows the original story along with most of the original dialogs. The term “nas´ladowanie” (imitation), which Kamin´ski himself uses in the subtitle of his version of Körner’s drama, seems to suit this way of dealing with the original. The contemporary Polish critics liked this approach, they praised the qualities of Kamin´ski’s piece, while later Ukrainian gave it only bad press.27 Nevertheless, one thing is beyond doubt: Kamin´ski’s Haidamakas remained robbers who only seek prey and, in one case only, revenge for injustice they suffered. We find in the Haidamakas no trace of the historically true social, national, or religious concerns, namely their fight against the unjust upper class, the Polish overlords, and everything that is not Orthodox. The allusions to the historical events seem all in place, what lacks is a corresponding historical background. Kamin´ski’s Helena appears as an attempt to combine Schillerian characters with Polish history. Kamin´ski’s Horejko again embodies the figure of the noble robber – unjustly deprived of his beloved bride and paternal inheritance – who in revenge becomes an outlaw, until he succumbs to the dynamics of violence that he unleashed, as Karl Moor does in The Robbers. However, in contrast to Körner’s Rudolf, Horejko’s historical background involves him in a historical movement, Koliyivshchyna, which he joins to avenge the injustice that befell him, much like Nebaba in Goszczyn´ski’s Zamek kaniowski or Jarema in Shevchenko’s Hajdamaky. But Schiller himself offers in his dramas a whole range of historical heroes, who combine individual fate with a more comprehensive historical event, from Wallenstein through Don Carlos to Maria Stuart. In this respect, Schiller also offers plenty of ideas for the reworking of Slavic Romanticism and national history in drama.

Koliyivshchyna as a Problem of Historic Memory Koliyivshchyna is indeed part of national history, but not regional, Galician. It belongs to central Ukraine and is only mentioned by authors who belong to the “Ukrainian school” of Polish Romanticism: Michał Czajkowski, Seweryn Goszczyn´ski, Juliusz Słowacki. As far as the “outlaws” are concerned, Galicia has something else to offer – opryszki – the Hutsul robbers who appear even more 25 Staros´cina characterizes her future daughter-in-law as follows: “to thoroughly know national history and language, read with ardour and feel the beauty of our poets”: Makowski 1963, p. 54. 26 For a precise scene after scen comparison, see Bryk 1920, p. 125f. 27 Cf. Bryk 1920, p. 130f.

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frequently in the literature of Galicia than the Haidamakas in the “Ukrainian school.” They also briefly appear in Bogusławski and, after him, in Kamin´ski. We notice the Hutsuls in Krakowiacy i gjrale, behind the Highlanders who attack the Cracovians. This tradition also has a historical core in the person of Oleksa Dobosz. Thus, opryszki would be much better suited as a counterpart to Körner’s robbers than the Haidamakas when transferring his drama into the Polish setting. Körner’s text speaks of remote inhospitable mountains, which is exactly the living space of opryszki, but not the Haidamakas who operate in the planes. Then, why is it that Kamin´ski resorts to a tradition foreign to Galicia? The famous French historian Daniel Beauvois proposed in 1999 an interesting thesis about the Koliyivshchyna.28 Much has been done after the Uprising to banish the atrocities of 1768 from Polish historical memory. Szcze˛sny Potocki, possessor of the city of Human´, created a magnificent park named after his wife Sofia – Sofijwka – at the site of the massacre in Human´. He had the poet Stanisław Trembecki compose an idyll on Sofijwka in the eponymous 1804 poem, but without a word about the dramatic past of the site. However, according to Beauvois, this fiction could not have been sustained in the long run, as Romanticism and its interest in local history began to recount the events of 1768; for the first time with Goszczyn´ski’s Zamek kaniowski (1828). Kamin´ski’s Helena was not known to Beauvois, which would require him to modify his idea. These were not only the Romantics who disagreed with the concealment of the sensitive moments from the history of Polish-Ukrainian relationships but also Kamin´ski – already ten years earlier – touched on the veil of silence covering the Koliyivshchyna. Kamin´ski again proves to be a forerunner of Romanticism,29 which positions his Helena more in the early Romantic than classical paradigm.30 Kamin´ski could obviously also presuppose the knowledge of the 1768 events among his Galician contemporaries, a minor innuendo in the text was enough to remind them of the events. The Koliyivshchyna left its mark in later East Galicia because a group of Haidamakas was brought to Lviv for execution, four years before the city became Austrian. Many certainly remembered the event forty years later, when Kamin´ski staged his play. The piece was very successful, as it was very often performed and remained in the repertoire of the Lviv Polish Theater for more than twenty years.31 The success indicates that the Galician audience knew about the Haidamakas and was interested in this side of the story. 28 Beauvois 1999, pp. 80–92. 29 Lasocka 1972, p. 102: “Kamin´ski was probably the one who prepared the works of others. He discovered Schiller before Mickiewicz and Krasin´ski; before Słowacki – Shakespeare, Calderon, and the beauty of Podolia and Ukraine.” 30 Cf. Makowski 1963, p. 10. 31 Cf. Hahn 1930, p. 483.

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Kamin´ski is also a forerunner of the Romantics in another respect: he undoubtedly influenced Słowacki. His most important Haidamaka is Horejko, exactly as one of Słowacki’s protagonists in Sen srebrny Salomei (1843). In both cases, Horejko is a character with a double identity. Before his service for Starosta, Kamin´ski’s Horejko was named Tymenko – involved in the massacre of Human´ – whereas Słowacki’s Horejko transforms from a valiant valet to a bloodthirsty leader who now calls himself Tymenko, as soon as the Koliyivshchyna breaks loose. Both characters are in love affairs in which their masters are their rivals. Kamin´ski’s Horejko loves the eponymous Helena who nevertheless prefers Starosta’s son, Wacław. Whereas Slowacki’s Horejko loves the eponymous Salomea, but she prefers Leon, the son of Regimentarz. Wiktor Hahn pointed out this dependency for the first time in 1930, when he also explained that Kamin´ski’s piece several times appeared in Vilnius, where Słowacki may have seen it.32 On the other hand, we should not overestimate this influence as Słowacki’s drama undoubtedly attempts to address the Polish-Ukrainian relationship history and ask questions about their future after the November Uprising. What testifies to this approach is the figure of Wernyhora which – apart from M. Czajkowski’s novel Wernyhora – appears only in Słowacki’s work. Kamin´ski’s Helena completely neglects the historiosophic perspective of PolishUkrainian relationships and, instead, concentrates on the melodramatic love story, which loosely ties in with the events of 1768. However, Kamin´ski’s Helena might well have been a stimulus for Słowacki’s idea of the theater along with his preference for horror stories and horror scenes.

“Helena’s” Echo: “Wanda Suchorowska” What also shows the influence of Kamin´ski’s work, and simultaneously the interest in a historical tradition that links Haidamakas with Lviv, is another drama that recalls Helena in many ways. In 1832, the Lviv publishing house of brothers Piller published the drama Wanda Potocka, czyli Schronienie w Lasku ´s. Zofji, wielke melodrama wojenne, ze ´spiewkami i tan´cami (Wanda Potocka, or Refuge in the Forest of Saint Sophia, a Great Wartime Melodrama with Songs and Dances) by Michał Suchorowski who also composed the musical score. Suchorowski is so much forgotten that even most works of reference do not mention him,33 with the exception of Wurzbach’s Biographisches Lexikon des 32 Cf. Hahn 1930, p. 484. 33 He is not mentioned in Polski Słownik Biograficzny, vol. XLV, or Bibliografia Literatury Polskiej Nowy Korbut, vol. 6, part 1 (Os´wiecenie: personal entires P-Z˙, addendum) or vol. 9 (Romantyzm: personal entries P-Z˙, suplements). Cf. Romanowski et al. 2007/2008, Aleksandrowska et al. 1970.

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Kaiserreichs Österreichs (Biographical Lexicon of the Austrian Empire) and Orgelbrandt’s Encyklopedia Powszechna (Universal Encyclopedia).34 Vasyl Shchurat – a famous Galician philologist and author – not only discovered this drama but also reconstructed Suchorowski’s adventurous biography,35 which we have to omit from this article. Also, we cannot determine whether Lviv theaters ever performed Wanda Potocka.36 Already in the preface, Suchorowski emphasizes the historical character of his play and points to the events of 1769. According to him, the remnants of Haidamakas vanquished under Human´ tried to attack Lviv in June 1769 to liberate their comrades and save them from execution. But to get into the city unrecognized, they disguised themselves as Bar Confederates and so deceived the defenders. However, a brave girl, the eponymous heroine, uncovered this scam, which allowed the defenders to beat the attackers and execute the captured Haidamakas.37 There is a considerable amount of historical truth to this affair. In fact, the Bar Confederates invaded Lviv in 1769 and were only removed after hard fighting that severely affected the southern suburb.38 However, the fact that these were the Hajdamakas disguised as Confederates was entirely authorial fiction, which is perhaps based on a legend of a heroic virgin, which is the central link to Kamin´ski’s Helena. The first connecting moment is the scene in the Forest of Saint Sophia near Lviv, which is mentioned in the subtitle of Suchorowski’s drama. There the disguised Hajdamakas gather under their leader Szwaczka;39 Suchorowski knows that Gonta was killed and Zalizniak is exiled at the time, so he introduces a figure who is still free before the raid on the city. In the forest, the Haidamakas not only deceive the beautiful miller Jagusia and her half-witted husband Gapiełło, the eponymous heroine Wanda also appears in the forest to intervene for the first time: she replaces the poison cup that Haidamaka Mykoła prepared for Gapiełło to molest his wife. In contrast to Helena, Suchorowski’s Wanda is deaf and dumb, can only communicate with gestures and written messages, and does not kill with own hands, but only by exchanging the cups. But she also becomes the savior of those threatened, just like Helena. The forest is reminiscent of the mountainous wasteland in Körner’s Hedwig, which Kamin´ski replaced by an equally remote steppe landscape. Salvation of Lviv also comes from the forest, not only in the person of 34 Cf. Shchurat 1910, p. 13. 35 Cf. Shchurat 1910, pp. 12–15. 36 The author of a very detailed information about Lviv theater repertoire, Jerzy Got, knows neither the name of the author nor the play. Cf. Got 1997. 37 Suchorowski 1832, “Przemowa” [sic!]. 38 Cf. Zubrzycki 1844, qtd. after the Ukrainian translation: Zubrytskyy 2006, p. 437. 39 Szwaczka appears in Goszczyn´ski’s Zamek kaniowski, Suchorowski knew Goszczyn´ski’s poem, published four years earlier, as evidenced in a footnote with sources. Cf. Suchorowski 1832, “Przemowa.”

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Wanda, who gains access to the Commander-in-Chief in the disguise of a Confederate, but also Jagusia who, after having learned from Wanda about the true character of the Confederate guests, manages to lock them and render harmless; Kamin´ski’s Helena also imprisoned Horejko and his bandits. A second important parallel between Kamin´ski’s and Suchorowski’s dramas is the eponymous female protagonists, Helena and Wanda. While Kamin´ski’s Helena only becomes a murderer out of self-defense, Suchorowski presents Wanda as a heroic maiden who understands enemy plans and, thus, saves not just a single person but the entire city. The young woman who can only do her great work in male clothes reminds us of both Schiller’s The Maid of Orleans40 and Mickiewicz’s Graz˙yna. Wanda Potocka’s name recalls Maria Potocka of Mickiewicz’s Crimean Sonnets. Suchorowski doubles and then even triples his female protagonist toward the end of the drama. The coy miller Jagusia becomes a fighter under the influence of Wanda, in the final battle reinforced by Bronisława, daughter of the Commander-in-Chief. The last scene happens without words, it consists entirely of gestures and music, as the three heroic virgins appear in an apotheosis, carried on the shoulders of male soldiers. The last common feature between the dramas is that both elaborate the story of Hajdamakas, which they moreover imbue with a melodramatic character. While Kamin´ski’s Helena introduces these elements from the plot’s character and conflict’s resolution, Suchorowski’s Wanda Potocka is a real melodrama, which consists of dramatic and musical parts. The plot is often interrupted by songs and dances, which alludes to idyllic remains from pre-Romantic pastorals. Like Kamin´ski, Suchorowski tries to attach his melodrama in history, thus employing it with a tragic dimension. Today, Jan Nepomucen Kamin´ski is rather forgotten,41 while his “successor” Michał Suchorowski is even less known. Kamin´ski’s pieces are difficult to access, mostly available as stage manuscripts in archives. What remains from Suchorowski’s dramas are only Zabawki dramatyczne (Drama Playthings, Vienna 1831) along with one book of poetry and some textbooks. However, the theatrical activity of both authors represents a fragment of history that has hardly any equal, which is still poorly understood. It does not seem to be a coincidence that the network of these relationships developed in Lviv, the capital of Galicia, which once again proves its qualities as a meeting place. Translated from German by Mikołaj Golubiewski 40 To assess how strongly was Suchorowski influenced by Schiller would require the examination of the former’s entire oeuvre, which is not the goal of this article. 41 There is an excellent sketch on him in the recently published book by Markus Eberharter. Cf. Eberharter 2018.

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Bibliography Primary Literature Körner, Theodor : Hedwig. Ein Drama in drei Aufzügen 1812, in: Körners Werke in zwei Teilen. Auf Grund der Hempelschen Ausgabe neu herausgegeben … von Augusta Weldler-Steinberg, Zweiter Teil, Berlin – Leipzig – Wien et al. 1908, pp. 145–191. Makowski, Stanisław: Jana Nepomucena Kamin´skiego “Helena, czyli Hajdamacy na Ukraine”, in: Zgorzelski, Czesław (ed.): Miscellanea z lat 1800–1850,Wrocław 1963, pp. 19–87. Suchorowski, Michał: Wanda Potocka, czyli Schronienie w Lasku s´. Zofji, wielke melodrama wojenne, ze ´spiewkami i tan´cami, Lwjw 1832.

Secondary Literature . Aleksandrowska, Elzbieta et al. (eds.): Bibliografia Literatury Polskiej Nowy Korbut, Os´wiecenie, Vol. 6, part 1, Warszawa 1970. Auerswald, A. v.: Körners Leben und Werke, in: Theodor Körners sämtliche Werke in zwei Bänden, Vol. I, Berlin n. d. [1911], pp. 3–35. Beauvois, Daniel: Rzez´ human´ska pocza˛wszy od ‘Sofijwki,’ poprzez ‘Hajdamakjw’ az˙ do ‘Snu srebrnego Salomei,’ in: Twjrczos´c´ 10 (1999), pp. 80–92. Bernacki, Ludwik: Jan Nepomucen Kamin´ski (1777–1855), Materyały do biografii Kamin´skiego i dziejjw Teatru polskiego we Lwowie, in: Stulecie Gazety Lwowskiej 1811–1911, Vol. I, Lwjw 1911, pp. 14–70. Bryk, Ivan: Drama z Kolyiyivshchyny na osnovi dramy Kernera, in: Zapysky Naukovoho Tovarystwa imeny Shevchenka, Vol. CXXX, Lviv 1920, pp. 121–131. Eberharter, Markus: Die translatorischen Biographien von Jan Nepomucen Kaminski, Walenty Chledowski und Wiktor Baworowski. Zum Leben und Werk von drei Literaturübersetzern im 19. Jahrhundert, Warszawa 2018. Ga˛ssowski, Szczepan: Kamin´ski, Jan Nepomucen, in: Krzyz˙ anowski, Julian et al. (eds.): Literatura Polska. Przewodnik encyklopedyczny, Vol. I, Warszawa 1984, p. 415. Got, Jerzy : Das österreichische Theater in Lemberg im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert: aus dem Theaterleben der Vielvölkermonarchie, Vols. 1–2, Wien 1997. Hahn, Wiktor : Przyczynki do twjrczos´ci Jana Nepomucena Kamin´skiego, Dominika Jakubowicza i Sze˛snego Starzewskiego, in: Pamie˛tnik Literacki. Czasopismo kwartelne poswie˛cone historyi i krytyce literatury polskiej X, Lwjw 1911, pp. 276–281. Hahn, Wiktor : Sen srebrny Salomei Juljusza Słowackiego i Helena czyli Hajdamacy na Ukrainie J. N. Kamin´skiego, in: Pamie˛tnik Literacki. Czasopismo kwartelne poswie˛cone historyi i krytyce literatury polskiej XXVII, Lwjw 1930, pp. 483–485. ´ ski, Jan Nepomucen: Głos rados´ci!, in: Truska, Heliodor (ed.): Österreichisches Kamin Frühlingsalbum 1854, Wien 1854, pp. XXVII–XXVIII. Korbut, Gabrjel: Literatura Polska od pocza˛tkjw do Wojny S´wiatowej. Od wieku XVIII do r. 1820, Vol. I, Warszawa 1929. Lasocka, Barbara: Jan Nepomucen Kamin´ski, Warszawa 1972.

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Romanowski, Andrzej et al. (eds.): Polski Słownik Biograficzny, Vol. XLV, Krakjw 2007–2008. Shchurat, Vasyl: Koliyishchyna v polskoyi literaturi do 1841 r., Lviv 1910. S´liwin´ska, Irmina / Stupkiewicz, Stanisław et al. (eds.): Bibliografia Literatury Polskiej Nowy Korbut, Romantyzm, Vol. 9, Warszawa 1972. Zubrzycki, Denys: Kronika miasta Lwowa, Lwjw 1844, quoted after the Ukrainian translation: Zubrytskyy, Denyz: Khronyka misto Lvova, Lviv 2006.

Nadja Weck

Lviv’s Central Railway Station and its Fate after 19141

Abstract To address the issue of what remained of Galicia when Habsburgian rule came to an end, we should analyze the architectural heritage specific of the multitude of former Galician cities until today. This paper focuses on the central railway station building of Lviv, the former capital of the Galician crownland. To answer what remained of the former central station building opened in 1904, this paper utilizes two relevant sources: a comparison of the architecture of the original main building with the current one and an analysis of memoirs that describe the station building at length. Keywords: Lemberg / Lviv / Lwjw, Galicia, railway station, architecture, memoirs, World War I, World War II

Introduction Prestigious buildings, monuments, and building ensembles are stone witnesses of the past. They belong to the tangible heritage of previous times and shape the surrounding space, whether desired or undesired. They outlast centuries and, therefore, qualify to render continuities and discontinuities visible in actual space through the course of time. In my contribution, I focus on the railway station building of Lviv, the former capital of the Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria. The station building dates back to Habsburgian times and is exemplary for the architecture of this time, which has given cities and towns in this region their typical character until today. In the subsequent three decades following the outbreak of the First World War, Lviv’s central railway station building was badly damaged a few times. It became a contentious object in the Polish-Ukrainian War, was a temporary accommodation for troops stationed in Lviv, and the starting point of deportations and 1 “Lviv” is the currently used form of the city. During the Habsburg period its German name was “Lemberg” and during the Polish interwar period its name was “Lwjw.”

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resettlements. Although Lviv’s station building several times suffered damage, it still stands in the same place where it was erected in 1861, the year Lviv was connected with the Habsburgian railway network. In 1904, a new railway building was opened in the same place. Comparing photographs from this time with the current railway station, we find similarities between the two buildings. This contribution considers what remains of the station building from the Habsburg times, as it was conceptualized and opened in 1904. How can we ascertain what remained of the former railway station? Initially, by comparing the exterior shape of both railway stations. On the basis of images, we will first compare the architecture and faÅade design of the former main building with the current one. As already mentioned, the station building was several times refurbished due to war damage. Which parts of the building survived or fell victim to reconstruction works? Did an attempt to preserve the station building in its former appearance exist and what does this tell us about dealing with the architectural heritage of the Habsburg era? The printed memoirs of former Galicians may offer insight into the everyday of the station building and the people who spent their time there. Beside architectural comparison, the works of Alexander Granach and Jjzef Wittlin serve as sources of what remained after the Habsburg period officially ended. The central question is what does the station building stand for in the memoirs of Granach and Wittlin, both born and raised in Habsburg Galicia to later emigrate to the West.2 Lviv’s station building was a significant place during the Habsburg Monarchy. This is apparent from its architecture, but also from the relevance it acquired in works of Galician-born authors. This paper considers whether the importance of the station building of Galicia’s former capital is still visible. Station buildings function as popular research objects for a long time now. Art history focuses on architectural and technical aspects of railway stations to describe them as “modern city gates” or “traffic cathedrals.”3 For quite some time, studies on urban history also ask for the symbolic meaning and representative function of public buildings like railway stations.4 Most recently, station buildings are also described as social microcosms, in which one may observe the social constitution of society.5 2 In Karl Emil Franzos’ text “Von Wien nach Czernowitz” (From Vienna to Czernowitz) Lemberg’s railway station also plays an important role. An analysis of this texts is not possible in the framework of this paper, cf. Franzos 1876. 3 A “classic” of the architectural analysis of train station is Meeks 1956. In their rich illustrated book, Gerhard Trumler and Christoph Wagner concentrate on Austria’s former train station architecture, cf. Trumler / Wagner 1986. 4 Rodger 1992, p. 19f. 5 Schenk 2007, pp. 141–157.

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Fig. 1: The second railway station (opened 1904) from a bird’s eye view. [Source: Purchla 1997, Fig. 228 / illustration credits: Instytut Sztuki PAN]

Devastation of Lviv’s Central Railway Station during the War The immense station at Lemberg – or Lvov [sic!] in Polish – was choked with troops running and calling, with soldiers asleep on the filthy floor, with stupefied refugees vaguely wandering around. No one questioned or stopped us, though Lemberg was one of the forbidden places.6

The author of these lines was the US-American journalist John Reed, who ended up in Lviv in 1915 during his reportage journey through Europe shaken with the First World War. When Reed, accompanied by the illustrator Boardman Robinson, arrived at Lviv’s central railway station, Galicia’s provincial capital was currently occupied by Russian troops. In wartime, the possession or loss of railway stations and tracks deeply influenced further course of action. Railway stations became the scene of all those events that Hobsbawm’s The Age of Extremes stands for. To a certain extent, escape, expulsions, forced resettlement, and deportation were only possible with the help of modern communication and transportation systems. In the twentieth century, the new possibilities of fast and efficient traffic revealed another facet.

6 Reed 1916, p. 161.

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By means of railway, troops and military equipment could arrive at battle zones faster than ever before.7 Between 1914 and 1945, Lviv’s railway stations also came under attack several times. The central railway station was considered a strategically important point and, therefore, Russian troops sought to capture the station as soon as they invaded Lviv on June 20, 1915. During the invasion, the main hall and the train shed received only minor damage, whereas the frescoes in the vestibule and the interior decoration in the waiting rooms were almost completely destroyed.8 In 1918, the civilian population used the railway and the railway station as a form of pressure. Lviv railwaymen went on strike because of the catastrophic situation of supplies at the end of the war. In April 1918, the Galician Viceroy’s office (galizische Statthalterei) informed the interior ministry in Vienna about “railway-workers taking industrial action.”9 Not without good reason was Vienna afraid that the walkouts in some of Galician cities could spread all over Austria. As we read in the telegram from the April 23, 1918: On this occasion [a meeting of Lviv’s railway workers on April 22, 1918] some raised the issue of a general railway strike in whole Austria. The implementation of such a strike depends on the consent of railway workers from the western crownlands and industrial action would only be allowed at the sign from the central organization.10

After the official end of the First World War and the dissolution of the Habsburg Monarchy, there occurred armed conflicts for supremacy in the area. Initially, Lviv and Eastern Galicia were under the control of Ukrainian troops, though the Polish army prevailed soon after. Crucial for the defeat of the Ukrainians were the loss of Lviv’s railway station and some other stations along the railway line Lviv – Przemys´l.11 After taking possession of Lviv by the Poles, the West Uk7 The “Traffic in the Age of Catastrophes” is examined by various contributions in the collection of articles in the volume Neue Wege in ein neues Europa: Geschichte und Verkehr im 20. Jahrhundert (New Paths to a New Europe: History and Transportation in the 20th Century), cf. Roth / Schlögel 2009. 8 Kotlobulatova 1996, p. 17. 9 Original in German: “in Ausstand getretene Werkstättenarbeiter,” in: Derzhavnyi Arkhiv L’vivskoi" oblasti (DALO), found (f.) 350, opis (op.) 2, sprava (spr.) 4044, arkush (ark.) 37: Telegram from the Galician Viceroy’s office to the interior ministry in Vienna, 23. 04. 1918. All translations, if not stated otherwise, are by the author of this article Nadja Weck. 10 Original in German: “Es wurde ferner bei dieser Gelegenheit [einer Versammlung der Lemberger Eisenbahner am 22. April 1918, N. W.] die Frage eines allgemeinen Eisenbahnerstreiks in ganz Österreich erörtert. Die Veranstaltung eines solchen Streiks ist von der Zustimmung der Eisenbahner westlicher Kronländer abhängig und dürfte ein allgemeiner Ausstand erst auf ein von der Zentralorganisation gegebenes Zeichen beginnen,” in: DALO, f. 350, op. 2, spr. 4044, ark. 37: Telegram from the Galician Viceroy’s office to the interior ministry in Vienna, 23. 04. 1918. 11 Prochasko / Prochasko / Błaszczuk 2007, p. 99.

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rainian People’s Republic (ZUNR), founded in 1918, also ceased to exist. Whereas in 1915 the central railway station suffered only a little damage, it was considerably more affected during the struggle for supremacy of Lviv in November 1918. After the Polish army captured the station, it was initially under permanent bombardment of the Ukrainian artillery and air force, though the central station suffered the biggest damage on March 5, 1919. On the same day, the neighboring Chernivtsi Station, called after Bukovina’s crownland capital Chernivtsi (Czernowitz / Czerniowce / Cerna˘ut¸i), was completely destroyed.12 The main station building was entirely rebuilt in the interwar period. Renovations lasted until 1930 on the basis of the construction plans by the Polish architect and engineer Henryk Zaremba. Following his plans, the main building received another, second floor. The frescoes by the sculptor Piotr Wjjtowicz – destroyed during the war – were also newly installed on their originally places.13 During the First World War, the authorities considered Lviv’s expansion and even tendered competition for the development and restructuring of the city : “Konkurs na plan rozbudowy i przebudowy miasta.”14 In 1924, two Polish architects Ignacy Drexler and Tadeusz Tołwin´ski submitted their proposals for the creation of “Greater Lviv” (“Wielki Lwjw”). One important aspect of their entries was the redevelopment of the urban transportation network. They planned a restructuring of railway tracks with the relocation and new construction of the railway station building. Although their plans for the reshaping of the longdistance and local traffic never saw implementation, city planners broadly followed some of Drexler’s and Tołwin´ski’s proposals in the later phases of urban development.15 Only a few years after its reconstruction, Lviv’s central railway station building suffered bomb damage during air strikes on September 1, 1939. Metal works from the hard-hit train shed dropped on platforms and tracks, the pedestrian tunnels collapsed. Despite such massive damage, Lviv’s railway station remained in use throughout the Second World War.16

12 13 14 15

Kotlobulatova 1996, p. 17. Kotlobulatova 2010, p. 383. Bogdanova 2004, p. 167. For more information about the plans for the expansion of Lviv, proposals for the reorganization of traffic systems, and reasons for the slow implementation of Drexler’s and Tołwin´ski’s plans, see Weck 2017. 16 Kotlobulatova 1996, p. 17.

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Reconstruction after the Second World War During the reconstruction works that lasted until 1957 the station building lost its original appearance. Most of the artistic objects that once decorated the platforms was completely destroyed and never replaced.17 For the architectural design of the interior of the two-floor main building the authorities acquired renowned Ukrainian artists.18 In 2003 celebration of its centenary, the station building was renovated again.19 During the tenure of Heorhiy Kirpa, the director of Lviv’s railway company in the 1990s, later president of Ukrainian Railways and transport minister under Leonid Kuchma, a great number of station buildings were renovated beside Lviv’s. The modernized stations dissatisfied many. The Ukrainian writer and essayist Jurko Prokhasko comments on the matter in his History of Railways on the Edge of Europe: “The biggest station buildings on the main lines were […] renovated beyond all recognition, at the same time many of the smaller stations […] were abandoned or demolished.”20 Could one agree with Prokhasko’s assessment? Was Lviv’s station building indeed “renovated beyond all recognition?” The comparison of an image of the present station building (Fig. 3) with the photography of the historical one (Fig. 2) should answer this question. At first appearance, we cannot establish drastic differences. Despite enormous construction works during Soviet times and the early 2000s, we still recognize the original form of the old station building. The crucial distinction from the 1904 building, once designed by the young Galician architect Władysław Sadłowski, appears in the second floor that was already added during the interwar period. Its monumentality and the utilization of new architectural and technical achievements – like art nouveau objects and steel-glass construction of the station hall – during the construction of the old station building once exhibited that it is a building with an important representative function. As one of the biggest railway stations in Central Europe,21 Lviv’s 1904 station building was to meet the expectations of the city’s elites during Habsburg times. The station building became representative not thanks to its newly erected main building (Aufnahmsgebäude) but its railway shed that spanned over ten tracks. Beside the innovative steel-glass construction, Lviv’s railway station followed the newest technical standards also in 17 18 19 20

Kharchuk 2010, p. 30. Kotlobulatova 1996, p. 17. Kotlobulatova 2010, p. 383. Prochasko 2007, p. 118: “Die größten Bahnhofsgebäude an den magistralen Strecken wurden durch die falsch verstandene Modernisierung bis zur Unkenntlichkeit renoviert, gleichzeitig wurden viele der kleineren Stationen auf den mitunter außer Betrieb gesetzten Linien aufgelassen oder abgerissen.” 21 Rymar 2009, p. 99.

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Fig. 2: Lemberg’s second railway station (opened in 1904), main pavilion with allegoric figures. [Source: Purchla 1997, Fig. 43 / illustration credits: Architekt, Vol. 5, 1904, 7, panel XXXIV]

equipment such as heating, electric lighting, or automatic ventilation. Planners located over seventy clocks in many of its different rooms.22 We may call railway stations innovative and modern for their technical and urban functionality. However, in light of their architectural form, this is only true for but a few examples.23 Architectural modernity entered railway construction late, so the period 1870s–1930s offers very few examples of truly avant-garde and experimental station architecture.24 Although Lviv’s new main station building was not very innovative, it met the expectations one had of contemporary ar22 Ibid., p. 122. 23 Gottwald 2005, p. 21. 24 Ibid., p. 22. As examples of avant-garde station architecture in Europe Gottwald mentions buildings in Helsinki, Amsterdam Amstel, Hradec Kr#lov8 (Königgrätz), and Milan (Milano).

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Fig. 3: Main pavilion Lemberg’s second railway station, Current central railway station of Lviv, 2010. [Source: own photography]

chitecture at that time. There are parallels between Lviv’s 1904 main station building and Vienna’s imperial architecture. Those monumental buildings along Vienna’s Ringstraße and especially the 1882 Museum of Art History and the 1883 University building seem to have acted as models for the new main building. Otto Wagner’s Stadtbahnpavillons Karlsplatz are interpreted as model for the entrance of the main pavilion.25 However, we should also account for the regional connections visible in d8cor and architecture of the Lviv station building. Its model were the Lviv town palaces erected during the Habsburg times. The faÅade design also showed that the original station building was an important urban object, and it had a long tradition in Lviv that one finds on several important buildings in the city. Those artfully decorated faÅades and allegoric figures also appear on buildings that originated in Baroque, Rococo, and classicism.26 At the time of the station building’s construction, Lviv built other representative structures underlined by decorative faÅade design or carved stoneworks.

25 Birjulov 2008, p. 455. 26 Rymar 2009, p. 183.

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A close look at the image with the present railway station of Lviv shows ensembles of statues grouped around the main entrance to the main pavilion. The group of figures situated above the glass entrance door in front of the cupola of the main pavilion (Fig. 4) was once created by the sculptor Piotr Wjjtowicz. The male figure that rests on the lying lion represents the city of Lviv, the female figure symbolically represents commerce and communication. The two stone figures rest on Lviv’s municipal coat of arms.

Fig. 4: Ensemble of statues above the main entrance, Main pavilion, current railway station, sculptor : Piotr Wjjtowicz. [Source: own photography]

The sculptures situated on the left and right of the entrance door are in neoRenaissance style and are equipped with objects that personify them as allegories of trade (the female figure, Fig. 5) and industry (the male figure, Fig. 6). The author of these two sculptures was the Polish sculptor Antoni Popiel, who created several other sculptures and monuments for Lviv. The figures allow us to conclude that Lviv’s connection to Habsburg’s railway network was seen as an important precondition for the further development of the city.27 The preservation of the ensembles of statues, which already decorated the 1904 station building, shows that the authorities intentionally protected Lviv’s Habsburg architectural heritage, which reveals the lasting importance of the station building as a symbol of Lviv. This fact is also apparent from the com27 For more detailed information about the faÅade design and the sculptures, see Rymar 2009, p. 182; Birjulov 2008, p. 455–458.

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Fig. 5: Allegoric sculpture “Trade”, main pavilion, current railway station, sculptor: Antoni Popiel. [Source: own photography]

Fig. 6: Allegoric sculpture “Industry”, main pavilion, current railway station, sculptor : Antoni Popiel. [Source: own photography]

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memorative plaque on platform one, which was placed there in 2011 in remembrance of the 150th anniversary of Lviv’s first railway connection in 1861 (Fig. 7). In conclusion, we see that despite reoccurring damage and reconstruction, the current station building reveals astonishingly many parallels to its historical original. The exceptional technical and architectural masterpiece is still noticeable in the train shed. The corpus of the historical station building remained and – although none of the art nouveau elements did – the statues still stand in the same places as one hundred years ago. After the repeated devastation of Lviv’s railway station, it would be pragmatically reasonable to completely demolish it and build a new one. From an architectural point of view, the lack of demolition and maintenance of the historical building shows that the competent authorities wanted to preserve memory of its Habsburg heritage.

Fig. 7: Commemorative plaque on platform 1, erected in the year 2011 in remembrance of the 150th anniversary of Lviv’s first railway connection in 1861. [Source: own photography]

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Lviv’s Railway Station in Literature Beside the visible and tangible remains of Lviv’s former railway station, the structure continues its existence in the works of Galician authors. According to Henri Lefebvre’s definition of the production of space, writers play an important role in the creative output of space. In his 1974 The Production of Space (English translation from 1991), Lefebvre describes the production of representational spaces: Representational spaces: space as directly lived through its associated images and symbols, and hence the space of ‘inhabitants’ and ‘users’, but also of some artists and perhaps of those, such as a few writers and philosophers, who describe and aspire to do no more than describe. This is the dominated – and hence passively experienced – space which the imagination seeks to change and appropriate, it overlays physical space, making symbolic use of its objects. Thus representational spaces may be said […] to tend towards more or less coherent systems of non-verbal symbols and signs.28

In the works of Alexander Granach and Jjzef Wittlin, the railway station functions as a symbol for their varying experiences. Both authors approach the station building from different viewpoints and moments in time. The below analyses of Granach’s and Wittlin’s fragments shows the different meanings of Lviv’s central station. Moreover, the analyses will allow us to notice that literary texts can give us an impression about what happened at such historical places as a railway station.

Alexander Granach’s Autobiography Da geht ein Mensch / There Goes an Actor29 (1945): Lviv’s Railway Station as a Symbol of Awakening and Emancipation In 1905, the fourteen-year-old Alexander Granach and his elder brother arrived at Lviv’s railway station for the first time. Granach’s train approached from Horodenka, a small-town near Kolomyia in the Southeast of the province. Granach describes the arrival very positively. Alexander was born as the youngest of nine children in the village Wierzbowce30 in Eastern Galicia. He

28 Lefebvre 1991, p. 39. 29 Granach’s autobiography was first published in German as Da geht ein Mensch. Roman eines Lebens in 1945. The English title of his autobiography is There Goes an Actor, also published in 1945. It was republished in 2010 under a new title From the Shtetl to the Stage: The Odyssey of a Wandering Actor (2010). 30 Wierzbowce (Polish), Werbowitz (Jiddisch), Werbiwzi (Ukrainisch). Granach used the Ukrainian name Werbiwzi, because there lived mostly Ukrainian families (around 140) in

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wrote his memoirs in Hollywood in the 1940s. However, Granach did not witness the publication of his autobiography, as he died in New York from a pulmonary embolism following an appendectomy in 1945. According to his memoirs, those fifty-five years from his birth as Jessaja (Szajko) Gronach31 – his original name – until the death as the celebrated actor Alexander Granach passed quickly. At the age of six, Granach began work at his father’s bakery, at twelve he left his parents’ home and went as a fourteen-yearold to Lviv, only to leave as a sixteen-year-old to Berlin, where he became a drama student of Max Reinhardt. At the age of twenty-four, Granach was called up for military service in the First World War. In 1938, he had to leave Europe because of his Jewish background and political attitude. In the USA, he continued work as an actor. Among other films, Granach starred in movies directed by Ernst Lubitsch (Ninotchka, 1939) and Fritz Lang (Hangmen Also Die, 1943). In 1905, Granach’s elder brothers already lived in Lviv for some time, so they met him at the central station. Granach describes his arrival at Lviv in the following way : Suddenly it was no longer trees and telephone poles that were rushing past the window. It was houses. And my elder brother put on his derby and his topcoat and said, ‘We’re almost there.’ And we drew into the great railway station. We were in Lemberg, Lwow, the capital of Galicia. The noise and confusion were immense. Hundreds of people were getting on and off trains, pushing, calling to porters with trucks and luggage, engines breathed, puffed, blew, squealed, whistled, screamed. People rushed busily in all directions – and, lo, out of all confusion a group approached, laughing and waving, and came to greet us! It was my elder brother Abraham, elegantly dressed, with his wife and his grown children, Leibzi’s ash-blond Sheindele was here too. Everyone fell on me, hugged me.32

In this scene, the hustle and noise of the railway station represent the dynamics of the metropolis. Granach especially employs sounds and tones to describe the situation at the station and the life of the city. “Noise and confusion” dominate this village, among them also four Jewish families. The Gronich family was one of them. Cf. Granach 2007, p. 20. 31 He kept his birth name Jessaja (Szajko) Gronach until 1912, and renamed himself later first as Hermann Gronach and later as Alexander Granach. 32 Granach 1945, p. 119f.; Granach 2007, p. 172: “Plötzlich waren es nicht mehr Telefonstangen und Bäume, die an unsern Fenstern am Zug vorbeisausten. Es waren Häuser. Und mein Bruder zog den Mantel und Hut an und sagte: ‘So, wir sind gleich da.’ Und wir fuhren ein in die große Bahnstation Lemberg-Lwow, die Hauptstadt von Galizien. Das ist ein Riesenlärm und Geschrei. Hunderte von Menschen steigen aus und ein, drängen sich, rufen Gepäcksträger mit Wagen und Koffern. Lokomotiven atmen, pusten, blasen, quietschen, pfeifen. Menschen in allen Richtungen sausen geschäftig – und da!, mitten in diesem Durcheinander, nähert sich eine Gruppe, lacht und kommt uns entgegen. Es ist mein älterer Bruder Abrum, auch elegant angezogen, mit Frau und erwachsenen Kindern, Leibzis hellblonde Schejndele ist auch da. Alles überfällt mich, knutscht mich ab.”

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the station, strengthened by the engines that “breathed, puffed, blew, squealed, whistled and screamed.”33 Every day there was the same tumult, and the more I was reminded of Horodenka. It was bigger – ten times – a hundred times – but I found nothing that surprised me, nothing to make me wonder. The difference between the village Werbiwci and the little town of Horodenka was much greater than the difference between Horodenka and the capital city of Lemberg.34

Although Granach already learned the differences between rural and urban live in Horodenka, his life in Lviv means the beginning of a new stage of life. The metropolis Lviv symbolizes a farewell to tradition, childhood, and village. In Galicia’s capital, Granach begins a new chapter in his life and becomes a “new person.” In Granach’s autobiography, Lviv’s station building appears as a place full of promises. Someone who managed to come to Galicia’s capital would also be able to go to all the other places in the world. In Lemberg, where Granach initially works in a bakery, he discovers his passion for theatre while visiting a performance in a Yiddish theatre. Two years after arriving in Galicia’s metropolis, Granach jumps to an even larger metropolis: the Wilhelmine Berlin. Granach devotes this extensive description solely to the arrival at Lviv’s central station. Even though his move from Wierzbowce to Horodenka – from the village to a town – meant the most impressive change in his life, even though he already experienced several arrivals in other small Galician towns, and even though his move to Berlin posed a real challenge, Granach of all these memories decides to describe his arrival at Lviv’s railway station in minute detail. One of the reasons for such situation is that – contrary to his former arrivals at other Galician towns – Granach arrived at Lviv by train and not by a horse-drawn vehicle. That is, Granach saw Lviv’s station as appropriate to describe his new beginning in life not least because of the stations’ splendor.

33 Granach 1945, p. 119f.; Granach 2007, p. 172: “ein Riesenlärm und Geschrei;” “Lokomotiven atmen, pusten, blasen, quietschen, pfeifen.” 34 Ibid., p. 120f.; Granach 2007, p. 173: “Jeden Tag derselbe große Lärm, und so sehr ich von allem beeindruckt war, so erinnerte mich doch alles an Horodenka. Viel größer – verzehnfacht – verhundertfacht, aber keine Überraschung, kein Wunder. Der Unterschied zwischen dem Dorfe Werbiwzi und dem Städtchen Horodenka war viel größer als der Abstand vom Städtchen Horodenka zur Hauptstadt Lemberg. ”

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Józef Wittlin’s Mój Lwów (1946) / My Lwów (2016): Lviv’s Railway Station as Refuge Lviv’s railway station plays an important role in the memoirs of another Galician author, Jjzef Wittlin. Looking back at the time of his childhood and youth in Lviv, Wittlin makes the station building a symbol of events that had a fundamental influence on his entire life. Born in 1905 as the son of a Jewish tenant farmer on the Podolian estate Dmytrjw near the Volhynian border, Wittlin recounts his life when fifty years old. Written in Polish and published in 1946 in New York as Mjj Lwjw,35 his memoirs show that Lviv played an important role in Wittlin’s life. When his book was first published in 1946, he last saw Lwjw two decades ago. Meanwhile, it became Lviv, a city on the Western periphery of the Soviet Union. In the following passage, Wittlin explains why Lviv became his place of belonging: My Lwjw! Mine, although I wasn’t born there at all. After some precise calculation I can say that I spent a total of eighteen years in Lwjw. Not so very much for a man who, rightly or not, is regarded as a Lvovian and takes pride in the fact. In truth, they were the years of my boyhood and early adulthood, and thus decisive for the whole of my later life.36

Wittlin imbues Lviv’s station building – “the pride of every Lvovian” – with specific meanings at different stages of his life. His family moved to Lviv a few years after Wittlin’s birth. In the passage below, he describes his visits at the railway station with his bonne at the beginning of the twentieth century. The little boy was especially fascinated by the construction works ongoing since 1901 and the technical facilities: The Main Station was the pride of every Lvovian. I have a perfect memory of it being built at the beginning of our beloved twentieth century. As a small tot I used to go in the company of my so-called bonne to inspect the work involved in erecting this miracle of engineering and architecture, which was to eclipse even the Racławice Panorama itself. And so it did. For in all contemporary Galicia and Lodomeria with the Grand etcetera, there was no other building as richly and brilliantly illuminated.37 35 Wittlin 2016, p. 13–87. “My Lwjw” was first published in Polish as “Mjj Lwjw” in New York 1946. 36 Wittlin 2016, p. 17; Wittlin 2017, p. 13: “Mjj Lwjw. Mjj, chociaz˙ wcale sie˛ tam nie urodziłem. Z dokładnych obliczen´ wynika, z˙e spe˛dziłem we Lwowie osiemnas´cie lat. Nie tak wiele, jak na człowieka, ktjry słusznie czy niesłusznie uchodzi za lwowianina i sam sie˛ tym chlubi. Co prawda, były to lata chlopie˛ce i lata pierwszej młodos´ci, a wie˛c decyduja˛ce o całym pjz˙niejszym z˙yciu.” 37 Wittlin 2016, p. 20f.; Wittlin 2017, p. 15f.: “Dworzec Głjwny był chluba˛kaz˙dego lwowianina. Doskonale pamie˛tam, jak sie˛ budował na pocza˛tku naszego kochanego dwudziestego stulecia. Pe˛drakiem chodziłem w towarzystwie tzw. bony dogla˛dac´ robjt przy wznoszeniu tego cudu techniki i architektury, ktjry miał zac´mic´ sama˛ nawet Panorame˛ Racławicka˛. I zac´mił.

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From 1906 to 1914, Wittlin attended the classical gymnasium in Lviv. This is when the central railway station building gained a new meaning for Wittlin, as it was located near his school. It became the place where schoolboy Wittlin could play truant undisturbed: In later years the Main Station served me many a time as a refuge from mathematics and physics. We are plainly refugees throughout our lives: […] In those days I was just bunking off school, or to put it in a more Lvovian way, I was ‘going hinter’ […] and, instead of getting a second-rate mark in class at the Royal-Imperial VII gymnasium on Sokjł Street, I would spend a very pleasant morning in the smart second-class waiting room. It wasn’t a waiting room-it was a veritable drawing room, full of candelabras, mirrors, gilding, and soft sofas and couches upholstered in fragrant leather. On the top of that, it carried a scent of the world far away, the magic of foreign lands. One waited here not only for one’s train to depart, but as for happiness itself […]. And so, in the second-class waiting room, under a guardian, life-size portrait of Archduke Karl Ludwig wearing a fair beard and the parade uniform of an officer of Uhlans, I used to read so-called Sherlocks; in other words, periodical editions of the masterpiece of detective fiction.38

The modern reader gets an impression how lavishly furnished was the second class waiting room in Wittlin’s precise description. At this time, station buildings were regarded as places where one should feel comfortable. Wittlin, the author of the novel Sjl ziemi (Salt of the Earth; 1935), is also known for his expressionist poems. In his description of Lviv’s station building, he also relies on expressionist stylistic devices. His detailed descriptions reproduce the special atmosphere of the place; Wittlin mentions how something smelled, sounded, or looked. His words describe a positive image of Lviv and the station building’s waiting room, with its sofas and couches that smell of leather or the mirrors and candelabras that glitter with gold, which emanates with an impression of safety and elegance. Wittlin is aware of his nostalgic view of the city of his boyhood and early adulthood. He knows that the glorified image of the past emerges bright on the Bo w całej jwczesnej Galicji i Lodomerii z Wielkim itd. nie było rjwnie bogato i rze˛sis´cie os´wietlonego gmachu.” 38 Wittlin 2016, p. 20ff.; Wittlin 2017, p. 16f.: “W pjz˙niejszych latach Dworzec Głjwny słuz˙ył mi nieray za refugium przed matematyka˛ i fizyka˛. Jestes´my snadz´ refugee przez całe z˙ycie: […] Podjwczas wiałem tylko ‘poza szkołe˛’, lub wyraz˙aja˛c sie˛ bardziej po lwowsku: chodziłem hinter […], zamiast brac´ dwjje w ktjrejs´ tam klasie c.k. VII gimnazjum przy ulicy Sokoła, spe˛dzałem bardzo mile poranne godzinny w wytwornej poczekalni II klasy kolejowej. Nie była to poczekalnia, lecz istny salon, pełen kandelabrjw, luster, złocen´ oraz mie˛kkich, pachna˛ca˛ skjra˛ obitych kanap i kozetek. Pachniała ponadto dalekos´cia˛ ´swiata, czarem obczyzny. Czekało sie˛ tu nie tylko na odejs´cie pocia˛gu, lecz jak gdyby na samo szcze˛´scie […] A zatem w poczekalni II klasy pod opiekun´czym, naturalnej wielkos´ci portretem arcyksie˛cia Karola Ludwika w paradnym mundurze oficera ułanjw i z blond broda˛ czytałem sobie tzw. szerloki, czyli zeszytowe edycje arcydzieła pis´miennictwa detektywnego.”

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background of the events to follow – departure, escape, and expulsion – and reflects upon this in his texts. With the parenthesis “We are plainly refugees throughout our lives,” Wittlin points out to all what should happen later, although now he describes the homely safe haven of his childhood. Wittlin earns his matura in 1915 in Vienna. Here, he also enrolls for philosophy at the university and takes part in the city’s intellectual and cultural life. The connection to Lviv does not stop completely because Wittlin regularly visits the city : Later on, I went back here at least once a year for a happy visit. And I’d go with a pounding heard (inasmuch I have such a thing at all), like an old-style bridegroom to his wedding. I would watch impatiently for the suburban woods to appear in the carriage window, and then for the towers to jump out of the undulating greenery, one after another, so dear to my heart (inasmuch I have one) of St George’s, St Elizabeth’s, the Town Hall, the Cathedral, the Korniakt and the Bernardine. And the cupola of the Dominican Church, and the cupola of the City Theatre, and the Union of Lublin Mound, and the bald Piaskow [Sandy] Hill. […] I was rarely conscious, as the train decelerated and triumphantly drove into one of the twin entrance halls, clinging together like Siamese sisters-one of those semi-circular, harmoniously vaulted glass halls of the Main Station. […] I have pulled in at many a station, but none of them, except perhaps for the Garde du Nord in Paris, has ever prompted such excitement in me, such ‘metaphysical shivers’.39

Again, the station building – in this passage present mainly by the glass halls – especially fascinates Wittlin. However, not only because of the entrance halls – comparable Paris’s Gare du Nord – but especially because of the fond memories that overwhelm Wittlin when he arrives at Lviv. After the First World War, in which he volunteered as a soldier, Wittlin returned to Lwjw temporarily. He continued to study philosophy and additionally enrolled for Polish philology but dropped out before finishing to work as a teacher, publicist, and writer. In 1922, Wittlin left Lwjw to work as theater director in Łjdz. In his memoirs, he quarrels with his decision to leave Lwjw:

39 Wittlin 2016, p. 20; Wittlin 2017, p. 15: “Pjz˙niej, co najmniej raz w roku, przyjez˙dz˙ałem tam w radosna˛gos´cine˛. A jechałem z bija˛cym sercem (o ile cos´ podobnego w ogjle posiadam), jak staromodny oblubieniec do ´slubu. Niecierpliwie wyczekiwałem w oknie wagonu, az˙ ukaz˙a˛sie˛ podmiejskie lasy, a potem z falistej zielonos´ci wyskocza˛jedna za druga˛tak bliskie sercu (o ile je posiadam) wiez˙e s´w. Jura, ´sw. Elz˙biety, Ratuszowa, Katedralna, Korniatowska, Bernardyn´ska. I kopuła Dominikanjw i kopuła Teatru Miejskiego i Kopiec Unii Lubelskiej i łysa Piaskowa Gjra. […] Rzadko bywałem przytomny, gdy pocia˛g zwalniał pe˛du i triumfalnie wjez˙dz˙ał do jednej z bliz´niaczych, jak syjamskie siostry, przywartych do siebie hal wjazdowych – do jednej z tych pjłkolis´cie i bardzo harmonijnie sklepionych, szklanych hal Dworca Głjwnego. Na wiele juz˙ stacji zajez˙dz˙ałem […] lecz z˙adna, z wyja˛tkiem Gare du Nord w Paryz˙u, nie budziła we mnie takiego podniecenia, takich ‘metafizycznych dreszczjw’ […].”

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But let us go back to returning from ‘the world outside’ to the Main Station, which apparently no longer exists. After 1922, a watershed year in my life, the relatively long journey from the station to Łyczakjw was like the path of atonement for me. The whole length of this path was nagged by self-reproach: how could I have moved away forever from such a beautiful, friendly city?40

Although Wittlin several times visited his hometown – after the foundation of the Republic of Poland in 1918 was officially called “Lwjw” – he never remained there for long. Until the outbreak of the Second World War, he lived in various European cities in Poland, Italy, and France, but always for a short time. He was in France when the Second World War broke out in 1939. In 1940, Wittlin and his family escaped first to Portugal and then, in 1941, to the United States of America, where Wittlin lived and worked until his death in 1976 in New York City. He was never to see Lviv again for the rest of his life. His exile explains the unmistakable nostalgic undertone of his portrayal of the city of his childhood and youth. His memories of Lviv are never only cheerful. That is, as an important personal place of remembrance, Wittlin’s descriptions of the station building always resonate with a wistful and painful tone.

Granach’s vs. Wittlin’s Station Building For Granach, Lviv’s station building represents an escape from the rural surroundings of his childhood and departure into the big world. Granach describes his career from the ninth child of a poor Jewish family to a famous Hollywood actor. Lviv’s station building was merely an interchange point from a Ruthenian village to Berlin and, later, Hollywood. His history exemplifies the migration of countless Galicians who – sooner or later – escaped from the province to the wider world like Granach. In Wittlin’s work, the station building becomes the epitome of what is irretrievable in his life: childhood and youth. Simultaneously, Wittlin presents the place as “apparently no longer existing,” so its destruction also symbolizes the disappearance of a whole culture, which had developed in this region of Europe over the centuries. What disappeared for good is the imperial pomp of the Habsburg Empire, with its fragrant leather armchairs and gilded candelabras, which emanates from the second class waiting room of Lviv’s station building. For Wittlin, the Polish intellectual expelled from Europe, Lviv’s station building 40 Wittlin 2016, p. 23; Wittlin 2017, p. 17: “Lecz wrjc´my do naszych powrotjw ze ‘s´wiata’ na Dworzec Głjwny, ktjry ponoc´ juz˙ nie istnieje. Po przełomowym w moim z˙yciu roku 1922 długa stosunkowo droga z dworca na Łyczakjw była mi jak gdyby szklakiem pokuty. Wzdłuz˙ tego szlaku gryzły mnie wyrzuty : jak moz˙na było wyprowadzac´ sie˛ na stałe z tak pie˛knego i przychylnego miasta?”

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represents his voluntary farewell to the happy childhood and youth and the place of belonging.

Summary Lviv’s current railway station building is a place where we witness both continuities and breaks with the Habsburg legacy. Of course, Lviv’s station building lost its status as a prestigious building along with most of the other nineteenthcentury central railway stations. Its splendor disappeared not only due to material destruction during wars but also the increasing acceleration and everexpanding frequency of traffic in the twentieth century, which resulted in the degradation of railway station buildings into places that only serve for a quick transfer site between city and train. Nevertheless, Lviv’s station building did not become a non-place (non-lieu), as Marc Aug8 describes places without history and identity, that would only serve quick transfer, because its reconstructed version preserved much of its spirit. There are several reasons why Lviv’s station building appears as if the Habsburg Empire continued undisturbed. Initially, its preservation was probably due to practical and financial considerations, as the old station was not completely destroyed after the Second World War, so its exterior shape survived. The preservation of decorative elements – typical for the Habsburg period and still visible today – reminds of its former glory. Today, we cannot precisely fathom to what extent the decision to rebuild the historic building was conscious. What remains controversial is whether the reconstruction was made well, properly, and in agreement with the remains of the original building. Nevertheless, the current railway station allows us to perceive it as a building from a bygone era. In the age of civil and world wars (1914–1945), railway stations suffered one characteristic fate, which distinguished them in “the railway age.” They were also conceptualized as places where waiting should be as comfortable as possible that would allow us to escape daily routine. The magnificent railway stations became witnesses to battles, deportations, and expulsions. The generation born before the world wars experienced station buildings as “places of comfort,” and then described their memory of the sites once they lost this meaning due to war, escape, and deportations. In the texts of Alexander Granach and Jjzef Wittlin, the station building represents emancipation and departure, but also the loss of home and childhood. Lviv’s station building serves Wittlin to explain the break in two ways. By describing the railway station of the two first decades of his life, Wittlin makes the following break with civilization even more obvious. This break directly impacted Wittlin’s life, as it meant forced

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exile and, therefore, the deepest cut in his life. Both authors give a good impression of the social microcosm of station buildings and their importance of the early twentieth century. The lasting popularity of both authors – their books were already republished several times – vividly reveals that Lviv’s station building prevailed in physical and memory form until today.

Bibliography Sources and Primary Literature Derzhavnyj Arkhiv Lvivskoi Oblasti (DALO) – Fond 350, opis 2, sprava 4044, arkush 37: Telegram from the Galician Viceroy’s office to the interior ministry in Vienna, April 23, 1918. Franzos, Karl Emil: Von Wien nach Czernowitz, in: Franzos, Karl Emil: Aus Halb-Asien. Culturbilder aus Galizien, der Bukowina, Südrußland und Rumänien, Leipzig 1876, pp. 93–113. Granach, Alexander : There Goes an Actor, transl. by Willard Trask, Garden City, New York 1945. Granach, Alexander : Da geht ein Mensch, Augsburg 2007. Wittlin, Jjzef: Mjj Lwjw, Wrocław 2017. Wittlin, Jjzef: My Lwjw, transl. by Antonia Lloyd-Jones, in: Wittlin, Jjzef / Sands, Philippe: City of Lions, London 2016.

Secondary Literature Birjulov, Jurij: Arkhitektura pochatku XX. St (1900–1918) / Transportni sporudy, in: Birjulov : Arkhitektura Lvova. Chas I styli XIII–XXI st., Lviv 2008, pp. 454–458. Bogdanova, Yulia: ‘Velykyj Lviv’ – Fantazija Realnosti chy zdijsnena khymera?, in: Lviv Polytechnic National University Institutional Repository, Lviv 2004, pp. 164–173, http://ena.lp.edu.ua:8080/bitstream/ntb/9607/1/22.pdf [14. 01. 2019]. Gottwald, Alfred: Der Bahnhof, in: Geisthövel, Alexa / Knoch, Habbo (eds.): Orte der Moderne. Erfahrungswelten des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts, Frankfurt a. M. – New York 2005, pp. 17–26. Kharchuk, Krystyna: Debarkader zaliznychnoho vokzalu, in: Entsyklopedija Lvova, Vol. 1, Lviv 2010. Kotlobulatova, Iryna: Zaliznychni vokzali, in: Entsyklopedija Lvova, Vol. 1, Lviv 2010. Kotlobulatova, Iryna: Lvivskyi vokzal. Sporuda druha, in: Halycka Brama, no. 14, Lviv 1996. Lefebvre, Henri: The Production of Space, transl. by Donald Nicholson-Smith, Oxford 1991. Meeks, Carroll: The Railroad Station. An Architectural History, New Haven 1956.

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Prochasko, Jurko / Prochasko, Taras / Błaszczuk, Magdalena: Galizien-BukowinaExpress. Eine Geschichte der Eisenbahn am Rande Europas, Wien 2007. Prochasko, Jurko: Westukraine – die Entgleisung aus der Moderne, in: Prochasko, Jurko / Prochasko, Taras / Błaszczuk, Magdalena: Galizien-Bukowina-Express. Eine Geschichte der Eisenbahn am Rande Europas, Wien 2007, pp. 87–120. Purchla, Jacek: Lemberg und seine Architektur im 19. Jh., in: Purchla, Jacek (ed.): Die Architektur Lembergs im 19. Jahrhundert, exhibition catalogue, Krakjw 1997. Reed, John: The War in Eastern Europe, New York 1916. Rodger, Richard: Urban History : prospect and retrospect, in: Urban History 19/1 (1992), pp. 1–22. Rymar, Marta: Architektura dworcjw Kolei Karola Ludwika w latach 1855–1910, Warszawa 2009. Roth, Ralf / Schlögel, Karl (eds.): Neue Wege in ein neues Europa: Geschichte und Verkehr im 20. Jahrhundert, Frankfurt a. M. 2009. Schenk, Frithjof Benjamin: Bahnhöfe: Stadttore der Moderne, in: Ackeret, Markus / Schenk, Frithjof Benjamin / Schlögel, Karl (eds.): Sankt Petersburg. Schauplätze der Moderne, Frankfurt a. M. 2007, pp. 141–157. Trumler, Gerhard / Wagner, Christoph: Stationen der Erinnerung. Kultur und Geschichte in Österreichs alten Bahnhöfen, Wien 1986. Weck, Nadja: Obstacles on the Path to Urban Greatness: Competing Plans for the Creation of Greater Lviv (‘Wielki Lwjw’), in: Journal of Urban History 43/3 (2017), https://doi. org/10.1177/0096144217705351 [24. 07. 2018].

Jagoda Wierzejska

The Idea of Galicia in the Interwar Polish Discourse, 1918–1939

Abstract The paper discusses the ways to conceptualize the idea of multinational and transnational Galicia in the Polish discourse between 1918 and 1939, which originated from the Habsburg political culture. In the first half of the nineteenth century, the idea of Galicia functioned as a transcendent political concept, which opened the possibility of transnational convergence within the heterogeneity of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. In the second half of the nineteenth century, this heterogeneity represented a multinational coexistence in a situation of the irrevocability of national divisions and in the face of growing nationalist tendencies. In the Polish discourse of 1918–1939, the idea of Galicia was a subject of specific transfers: sometimes continuative, but usually deconstructive. This idea was disassembled under conditions of a crisis of democracy, as well as the Second Polish Republic’s anti-Semitism and hostile policy toward national minorities, especially the antagonism between Poles and Ukrainians. Whereas the exclusive Polish viewpoint ideologically used the components of Habsburg political culture by referring to a revised political context to strengthen the representation of reality. The paper is dedicated to the analyses of both phenomena: the overt destruction and tacit continuation of the Habsburg idea of multi- and transnationalism in the former Austrian Galicia. The article examines these phenomena on the basis of interwar Polish literature – among others, by Helena Zakrzewska, Karol Makuszyn´ski, Jjzef Wittlin – and other forms of discourse like journalism and archival documents pertaining to the Polish-Ukrainian War (1918–1919) and the two following decades. Keywords: Galicia, Polish discourse, multinationalism, nationalism

Introduction: The Idea of Galicia The Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria, commonly referred to as Galicia, was a great area of East-Central Europe that extended north from the Carpathian Mountains. Between 1772 and 1918, Galicia constituted a province of the Habsburg Empire. For most of its existence it embraced the lands seized by

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Austria at the expense of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the wake of its first in 1772.1 The new territorial acquisition distinctively differed from the Habsburg Empire in almost all terms, from socio-political circumstances to ethno-religious realities. As Austria’s north-eastern borderland with Russia, Galicia drew the interest of tsars in a way that seriously bothered the Habsburgs. Moreover, the province was inhabited by a multiplicity of people of disparate cultural backgrounds. Its three main groups of inhabitants were Poles, Jews, and Ruthenians, who considered themselves Ukrainians from the second half of the nineteenth century onwards. Although the Habsburg authorities manipulated census data to suit their own political purposes,2 we can conclude, that in 1910 Galicia had 7.9 million inhabitants: 45.4 % Poles, 42.9 % Ukrainians, and 10.9 % Jews. However, Ukrainians formed the majority of 62 % of the population of Eastern Galicia, with 25.5 % Poles, and only 8.2 % Jewish. Other groups present in Galicia were Austrians, Germans, Armenians, Lemko-Rusyns, and Russians.3 Such an immensely heterogeneous province of an uncertain position in the Habsburg Empire until 1815 – a clearly discernible fact during the Napoleonic interlude – needed a strong connection with the rest of the state for the maintenance of its boundaries. What served this purpose was the specific Habsburg political culture. Larry Wolff describes the Habsburg political culture with the notion of the idea of Galicia4 that was to aim at presenting the province as a common and coherent territory, with which all its inhabitants could identify regardless of nationality. Wolff comments on this phenomenon as follows: At the beginning of the nineteenth century, when modern nationalism was still a new and unevenly experienced phenomenon, the construction of provincial identity appeared as a plausible cultural vehicle for reconciling ethnographical, linguistic, and religious heterogeneity. The uncertain idea of Galicia, especially in the early nineteenth century, could function as a transcendent political conception, encouraging the possibility of transnational convergence, while in the latter half of the century it would come to represent multinational coexistence premised upon the distinctive persistence of national differences.5

1 Austria did not participated in the second patition of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. The lands acquired by Austria in the wake of the third partition, in 1795, formed a new province called New Galicia. In 1809 they were incorporated in the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, then the Congress Kingdom of Poland, while Cracow nominally retained its independence as the Free City of Krakjw until 1846, when it was incorpareated into Galicia. 2 Magocsi 2005, p. 7. 3 Magocsi 1983, p. 225; Magocsi 1996, pp. 423–424; Magocsi 2005, pp. 7–8. 4 Wolff 2010. 5 Wolff 2008, p. 278.

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Therefore, the idea of Galicia served to reconcile the Polish, Ruthenian / Ukrainian, Jewish, and German elements within the province. This idea engendered the creation of Galician identity, which emerged among its inhabitants during the course of the nineteenth century. Galician identity was not non-national in a sense of entire lack of national aspects. However, we may regard it as supranational, because it involved other sentiments contradictory to the national dimension: (1) the provincial element that connected individuals with the particular crownland and made them Galicians, and (2) the imperial element that bound Galicians with the Habsburg Empire and made them Austrian subjects.6 Over time, Polish, Ukrainian, and Jewish national movements increasingly undermined the idea of Galicia and Galician identity. Beginning in the 1860s, Polish and Ukrainian patriots perceived Galicia as a “Piedmont,” a province with national separatist potential. For Poles, it became a place entrusted with the task of preserving Polish culture during the political nonexistence of the state.7 For Ukrainians, it was a space of a national mission conceived as resistance to Russians, who ruled over the territory of today’s Eastern Ukraine, Austrians, who reduced the support for their “Ruthenian allies” after the settlement with Poles (1866–1869), and Poles, dominating in autonomous Galicia.8 For Jews, generally loyal to the Habsburgs, the province was a place of development of many modern political and cultural movements, including Zionism. Zionists perceived Galicia as a land they should abandon to reach the Promised Land of Palestine, albeit an action postponed into the distant future.9 Moreover, the Habsburg administrators of Galicia – responsible for suppressing the national differences between Galicians – sometimes themselves helped to promote nationalisms, a phenomenon deeply investigated by the historian Iryna Vushko.10 Although the administrators put a lot of effort toward the benefit of the Habsburg Monarchy, few met the expectations placed upon them by their Viennese superiors. Many Austrian bureaucrats, who served in Galicia, fell under the charm of its traditional society and succumbed to national impulses. We should also remember that it was the bureaucracy that enabled the modern national administration of the province.11 Nevertheless, neither the development of national movements nor the involvement of Austrian bureaucrats in the Polish or – less frequently – Ukrainian national project brought about the disappearance of the idea of Galicia from the political and cultural imagination of the Habsburg authorities and Galician 6 7 8 9 10 11

Ibid., pp. 280, 291–293; Wolff 2010, pp. 99–110, also 188–230. Buszko 1989. Magocsi 2002. Wolff 2010, pp. 308–331; Shanes 2012. Vushko 2015. Ibid., p. 11.

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population. The 1908 assassination of the Polish count and governer Andrzej Potocki by the Ukrainian nationalist Miroslav N. Sichynskyi dealt a serious blow to the idea of Galicia. Yet the Polish-Ukrainian compromise of 1914 and the beginning of Ukrainian-Jewish rapprochement might have laid the foundations for the reasonably peaceful coexistence in the province – if there was no First World War.12 Therefore, Vushko seems right when she maintains that the description of Galicia in terms of conflict between national groups is only partly applicable and rather to the second half of the nineteenth century than to the first one.13 Galicia remained multinational and transnational: although relations between national groups sharply deteriorated after 1848, and especially after 1867, it remained relatively fluid up until the First World War. Only the disintegration of the Habsburg Monarchy (1918) and the Polish-Ukrainian War (1918–1919) entailed the collapse of that world. The article discusses an issue of what happened with the idea of Galicia after the province as a territorial unit of the Habsburg Monarchy ceased to exist and Poles and Ukrainians began fighting for its Eastern part. I concentrate on the Polish discourse on the former Eastern Galicia, which developed in the interwar period. There are a few reasons for making that discourse a focus of interest in the article. First, contrary to the Western part of the province, Eastern Galicia with Lviv was a bone of contention between Poles and Ukrainians. When the Habsburg Monarchy collapsed, the leading Galician nationalities had clear but opposed visions for the region. Polish patriots perceived the city and the surrounding lands as an integral part of reestablished Poland, while Ukrainian patriots claimed Lviv as a capital of the rising Western Ukrainian state or even a regional center of the future united Ukraine. This is why the Polish-Ukrainian War of Eastern Galicia constitutes a particularly suitable background for studying the transformations of the concept of multinational and transnational coexistence of erstwhile Galicians. Second, the Polish discourse about Galicia was the one that prevailed during the period between the late 1910s and the late 1930s. Poles won the PolishUkrainian War and gained control of the area known after the war as Eastern Lesser Poland.14 Therefore, they had a clear advantage in creating a vision for the region and reworking the idea of Galicia over Ukrainians and Jews, whose dis-

12 Kuzmany 2013; Himka 1999, p. 48. 13 Vushko 2015, p. 155. 14 At the beginning of the 1920s, the name “Galicia” in the official Polish nomenclature was superseded by the term “Eastern Lesser Poland.” The term was introduced to legitimate the new administrative division and underline the exclusively Polish character of the region; see Hibel 2014, pp. 254–256.

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courses the Second Polish Republic suppressed. This article considers Ukrainian and Jewish voices as contexts for the Polish discourse. Third, the Polish discourse of power about the former Eastern Galicia developed only in 1918–1939. The abolished Galicia of 1918 was demolished after 1939, that is, deprived of Jews murdered in Holocaust, afflicted by the resettlement of Polish and Ukrainian population, and divided between Poland and Soviet Ukraine. The annexation of the Eastern part of the region by the USSR opened an entirely new chapter in Galician history. This article seeks to highlight that – after the collapse of Galicia and its incorporation into the Second Polish Republic – the idea of Galicia came under fundamental threat. I intend to prove that the Polish 1918–1939 discourse subjected the idea of Galicia to specific transfers: sometimes continuative, though usually transformed and subverted. Under conditions of the crisis of democracy and the Second Polish Republic’s anti-Semitism and hostile policy toward national minorities, especially the antagonism between Poles and Ukrainians, the concept of multicultural coexistence in Galicia slowly dissolved. Its components were ideologically repositioned to reinforce the exclusive Polish viewpoint and secure its hegemonic status. The following part analyzes the conversion stages of the idea of Galicia into the idea of Polishness. Then I will show how the latter idea was established in the Polish discourse and what ideological role it played. Finally, I will raise the question whether any remnants of the idea of Galicia persist in the analyzed discourse of Polishness.

Initial Disintegration of the Idea of Galicia: The Contested Brotherhood The Polish discourse on the Polish-Ukrainian War tellingly presents the progressive decay of the multinational community of Eastern Galicia. Thus, it provides comprehensive material for analyses of the transformations of the idea of Galicia into the idea of Polishness. Already in 1918, the Lviv Polish newspapers Pobudka (The Reveille) and Placjwka (The Post) started publishing mostly poetic texts that called to fight for Lviv, which lasted from to November 1–22, 1918. This fight became known in the Polish national discourse as “Obrona Lwowa” (the Defense of Lviv ; in English known as Battle of Lemberg) against the Ukrainian usurpation. The majority of these works subsequently appeared in the anthology Lwjw w pies´ni poetjw lwowskich (Lviv in the Poetry of Lviv Poets) in 1919.15 The next years brought hundreds of Polish publications on the Polish-

15 Bukowski 1919.

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Ukrainian strife, especially the Battle of Lemberg, from literary to historical to popularizing texts. They had various artistic status, from simple propagandist brochures to complicated poems and novels, and they targeted diverse social circles, from pupils to refined adult public. Although the first decade of the interwar period was a time of the greatest popularity of these publications, they enjoyed considerable interest among Poles until the Second World War.16 The first stage of conversion of the idea of Galicia into the idea of Polishness in the interwar Polish discourse was a peculiar assumption. According to this assumption, the most natural change of sovereignty in Eastern Galicia would occur, if Austrians relinquished control over the territory to Poles with the peaceful approval of all Galicians, first and foremost, Ukrainians. Such a belief was based on two arguments. The first argument refers to the Polish past and present character of the region in terms of policy, economy, and culture. The Polish authors of publications devoted to the Polish Ukrainian War of 1918–1919 argue that Eastern Galicia, historically Red Ruthenia, was a Polish territory from the dawn of history, while its conquest by the Polish king Casimir the Great had constituted a civilizing mission in the wilderness.17 Helena Zakrzewska, the author of the duology Dzieci Lwowa, writes in a commentary to her literary work: “The Lion borough was founded on the eternally Polish borderlands, which the prince of Kiev from the Norman tribe seized from the ‘Lechites’ in 981. […] Polish Lviv owes its origin to Casimir the Great.”18 Just like Zakrzewska, Polish writers willingly describe Lviv as a “borderland town,” although no one considered Eastern Galicia a part of Borderlands (Kresy) before the First World War.19 The writers use phraseology that presents Lviv as a gateway to further lands marked by castles and ruins, 16 Uliasz 1995. In the Polish People’s Republic – after incorporation of the former Eastern Galicia into the USSR, sealed in Yalta (1945) – the vast majority of the publications in question were censored and, consequently, fell into oblivion. Only very few were recalled due to new underground editions, e. g. the collection of short stories Orle˛ta (Eaglets) by Artur Schroeder, one of the most popular literary work in the interwar Poland, first issued in 1919. After the political turn of 1989 the number of new – this time official – editions increased; among them the following, especially noteworthy publications: the duology Dzieci Lwowa (Lviv Children) by Helena Zakrzewska (first published in 1919), the novel Us´miech Lwowa (Lviv’s Smile) by Kornel Makuszyn´ski (1934), and the memoirs of Wacław Lipin´ski (1927), a Polish soldier and participant of the Battle of Lviv (1920) and the Polish-Soviet War (1919–1921). As a result, the interwar Polish discourse on the Polish-Ukrainian strife gradually returns to common awareness of the contemporary Polish public. 17 For the critical investigation of the issue, see Wöller 2012. 18 Zakrzewska 2004 [1919], p. 132: “Grjd Lwa został załoz˙ony na odwiecznie polskiej, kresowej ziemi, ktjra˛ ksia˛z˙e˛ kijowski z normandzkiego plemienia zdobył na ‘Lachach’ w r. 981 […] Polski Lwjw zawdzie˛cza swjj pocza˛tek Kazimierzowi Wielkiemu.” [If the translator is not indicated in the reference list, the translation is my own]. 19 Kieniewicz 1991; Koter 1997; Wedemann 2007; Beauvois 2011 [2005].

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which are to bring to mind the chivalric history of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. The most popular themes included the topoi of the bulwark (bastion, fortress, redoubt) of Poland, Europe, and Christianity, along with that of Lviv as a city always faithful to the fatherland: “Leopolis semper fidelis.” For instance, the poet Ludwik Szczepan´ski overtly refers to the latter by creating a vision of a Polish “defender” in his poem “Krew rosi bruki miasta” (Blood Stains the City Pavements; 1918): “Semper fidelis! Vigilant / He guards the Polish borderlands / He withstands an onslaught of hostile masses / Today as in the past.”20 The Commander-in-chief of the Polish military regiment in Lviv in November 1918 and the author of well-known memoires, Czesław Ma˛czyn´ski, compares the Battle of Lemberg to a “holly and heavenly Siege of Jasna Gjra;”21 that is, to the siege during the Swedish invasion of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in 1655. Such phraseology enhanced the pathos of Polish struggle for Lviv and mythologized it by inscribing it into the great tradition of Polish martyrdom. Moreover, such phraseology was supposed to confirm that even if Ukrainians subverted Polish dominance in Eastern Galicia, the region is imbued with Polish tradition and Lviv with Polishness. That is the reasoning of the protagonist of Us´miech Lwowa, a novel by Kornel Makuszyn´ski, who recalls the Battle of Lemberg by saying that the city was always “crazy for Poland.”22 The second argument refers to the specific project of community that, according to Poles, would dwell in the former Eastern Galicia under the Polish aegis. The historian Christoph Mick argues that – at the very beginning of the Polish-Ukrainian War – Poles were would eagerly divide Ukrainians into a small group of aggressive nationalists and the rest of “folk” – Ruthenians – who were to be ethnically related and loyal to Poles.23 Indeed, the Polish authors initially created an idealistic vision of the “brotherly Polish-Ruthenian nation” which, in 1918, should have stood together against Ukrainian usurpers. In 1918, the Polish writers seek to persuade their readers – like the anonymous author in the newspaper Pobudka – that the decision of Lviv Ruthenians to follow the “Ukrainian rebels” “leads to an inevitable chasm” and “the other way leads only to Poland.”24 Another author, the dramatist Zofia Lewatowska, follows this vein of thought in her popular drama Lwjw chluba˛ narodu (Lviv Is the Pride of the Nation; 1929). The main protagonist is a Polish girl who tries to persuade a young Ukrainian man on the first day of the war that Ruthenians “may rise up high” 20 Szczepan´ski 1918, p. 2: “Semper fidelis! Czujny / Na polskich kresjw straz˙y / Odpiera dzis´ jak ongis´ / Nawałe˛ czerni wraz˙ej.” 21 Ma˛czyn´ski 1921, vol. 1, p. 273: “s´wie˛tej i niebosie˛z˙nej Cze˛stochowy.” 22 Makuszyn´ski 1934, p. 49: “Polska˛ obła˛kane.” 23 Mick 2016, pp. 221–222. 24 Anonym 4 1918, p. 1: “wiedzie w niechybna˛ przepas´c´ ;” “odwrotna zas´ droga prowadzi tylko ku Polsce.”

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only “alongside” Poles, so they should “abandon the bunch of criminals who nurture you with hatred” and “rely on the centuries of peaceful coexistence with us [Poles].”25 Such an ideal of “Polish-Ruthenian brotherhood” was to persuade Ukrainians that they have no reason to fight with Poles for Eastern Galicia. Allegedly, the latter national group was willing to maintain the multinational symbiosis in the region, as if the Habsburg idea of Galicia could function unaltered under the Polish rule. The ideological background of the first argument was constituted on Poles’ belief in their political, economic, and cultural superiority in the East, an idea inseparable from the Polish myth of the Borderlands.26 In the optics of Poles, their “qualitative” dominance in Eastern Galicia surpassed Ukrainians’ “quantitative” majority, even though it was the latter that was the basis for the peoples’ right to self-determination, according to the principles established by the US President Woodrow Wilson. Poles inferred from such belief that – after 1918 – they should securely tether the region to the reborn Poland. For example, the protagonists of the youth novel Gdy zagrzmiał złoty rjg… (When the Gold Horn Sounded…; 1921) by Wilhelmina Adamjwna, the young “defenders” of Lviv somehow know that Eastern Galicia is ethnically “Ruthenian” (Ukrainian), but they simultaneously claim that “it has Polish culture ”so it should clearly belong to Poland.27 The ideological backdrop of the second argument was connected with Poles’ denial of Ukrainians’ existence as a separate nation who could claim, and claimed indeed, state-building aspirations. Poles perceived Ukrainians as Poles’ ethnic “brothers” for the sake of their national interest. This viewpoint made Poles foster the idea of encompassing Eastern Galicia, along with the allegedly “brotherly group” of Ukrainians, with the border of the Polish state and nation. To realize that idea, the Poles maintained that Ukrainians need Polish support and sacrifice. For instance, the Polish writer and participant of the PolishUkrainian War Romuald Kawalec claims that Ukrainians themselves “are not mature enough to have even a local government.”28 Another writer, a journalist of Pobudka, overtly asserts that Ukrainians may “fight for our [Polish] and your [Ukrainian] freedom” alongside Poles.29 However, this author tacitly means Polish and Ukrainian freedom realized under “our,” Polish administration. 25 Lewartowska 1929, p. 19: “wznies´c´ sie˛ moga˛ wysoko;” “re˛ka w re˛ke˛ ;” “rzuc´cie te˛ zgraje˛ zbrodniarzy, co was nienawis´cia˛ poja˛;” “oprzyjcie [sie˛ – J.W.] na tylo-wiekowem zgodnem wspjłz˙yciu z nami.” 26 Beauvois 1994; Janion 2016 [2006]. Also see Kasperski 2007; Bakuła 2007; Gosk 2010, pp. 51–92. 27 Wisława [Adamjwna] 1921, p. 59: “jest jednak ruska˛;” “Ale kultura na niej polska.” 28 Kawalec 1919, p. 35: “nie doros´li nawet do jakiegos´ samorza˛du.” 29 Anonym 4 1918, p. 1: “walke˛ obronna˛ toczymy pod hasłem: Za wasza˛ wolnos´c´ i nasza˛.”

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Such arguments for the peaceful incorporation of Eastern Galicia into the reestablished Poland reveal that the idea of Galicia underwent initial disintegration in the Polish discourse already at the very beginning of the PolishUkrainian War. Although Poles seem to allude to the concept of multinational and transnational cohabitation of Galicians – especially within the means of “Polish-Ruthenian brotherhood” – they actually deeply transform the concept. First, they legitimize the need of Polish rule in the region by a presumption of Polish preponderance in the East. Second, they subjected their vision of cohabitation to the goal of Polishness of Lviv and Eastern Galicia, where Ukrainians are to constitute a “brotherly group” in the bosom of the Polish nation. Third, finally, the Poles exclude Jews from their vision, a group absent from the Polish discourse at the outbreak of the Polish-Ukrainian War.

The Destruction of the Idea of Galicia: The Network of Enemies The second transformation stage of the idea of Galicia into the idea of Polishness happened in representations of further acts of the Polish-Ukrainian strife. In these representations, Ukrainians ceased to be Poles’ “younger brothers” who erred under the misleading influence of “criminal” nationalists. Instead, Ukrainians became Poles’ unequivocal enemies. Additionally, Austrians, Germans, and Jews in the region also received the roles of Polish foes. Writers present the Polish-Ukrainian War, in particular the Battle of Lemberg, in the Polish discourse with the poetics of psychomachia: as a struggle between good (Poles) and evil (Ukrainians) for the innocent city and land (Polish by nature). The authors of Polish texts leave no doubts that Poles have the right to Eastern Galicia, so they portrayed Poles as “defenders” in a just war while Ukrainians as invaders who began an aggressive war. A participant of the fight and memoirist of very moderate political views, Wacław Lipin´ski writes: “We [Poles] did not begin this war, we did not give an ominous sign for it…”30 Ferdynand Neumeuer, the author of the youth novel Jjz´ko z˙ołnierzem polskim (Jjz´ko, a Polish Soldier ; 1934), expresses the same idea more bluntly : “We did not assault their city, but they assaulted ours!”31 Other authors reach for an even less politically correct phraseology, when we consider modern standards. They write about the Ukrainian takeover on November 1, 1918, as a “hostile invasion of barbarism”32 and about Ukrainians as “wild Cossacks,” “Kalmyks’ snouts,” 30 Lipin´ski 2015 [1927], p. 83: “nie mys´my te˛ wojne˛ rozpocze˛li, nie mys´my dali do niej złowrogie hasło…” 31 Bezłuda [Neumeuer] 1934, p. 78: “My nie napadlis´my na ich miasto, ale oni na nasze!” 32 Ma˛czyn´ski 1921, p. 10: “wraz˙y najazd barbarzyn´stwa.”

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“Russian devils,”33 and “Hrytses” or “Ivans”34 who “steal someone else’s property.”35 The prevalence of such rhetoric finds telling testimony in the fact that it permeated the language of not only literature and journalism – like the opinionforming Cracow intelligentsia daily Czas – but also children memoires about Lviv. Polish pupils at the time describe their war experiences by calling Ukrainians “wild Haidamakas” (a sixth grader), “hordes of Russians,” “Ukrainian ‘heroye’”36 (an eighth grader), and “barbarians” (a fourth grader).37 Another eighth grader adds: “Ukrainians are comparable to no one, only to wild Tatars, because a nation that has a little bit higher civilization does not act this way.”38 Such phrases in use by various users of the Polish language – writers, journalists, and regular people, including children – prove that the interwar Poles very quickly started to perceive Ukrainians as aggressors without any national, cultural, or moral legitimacy to seize control over Eastern Galicia. Numerous descriptions of Ukrainian atrocities, imbued in the analyzed phraseology, aimed to exclude Ukrainians from the community of cultured European nations in general and the full-fledged citizens of Galicia in particular.39 Authors of such accusations sought to counter the Ukrainian claim of a bloodless takeover on November 1 and that only armed Polish resistance escalated the conflict. This way Poles strived to depict Ukrainians as assassins to justify Polish retribution and foster Polish claims for the territory inhabited by the Ukrainian majority. The image of Ukrainians as deadly enemies of Poles obtained additional emphasis from the common belief that, in November 1918, Ukrainians received support from Austrians and Germans. The Polish press called the Ukrainian seizure of power a “German-Austrian-Ukrainian machination,” a “RuthenianPrussian-Austrian assault,” or an effect of the “protectorate of Vienna and Berlin.”40 Polish literature of that time constantly applies a motif of anti-Polish Austrian-German intrigue that supposedly enabled the Ukrainian coup. The motif finds the most extensive elaboration in the historical drama Obrona Lwowa 1918 r. (The Battle of Lemberg in 1918; 1928) by Ludwik Da˛browski. What 33 34 35 36 37

Wisława 1921, pp. 3, 75, 139: “dzicz hajdamacka;” “Kałmuckie pyski;” “ruskie szatany.” Popular Ukrainian male names in a plural, contemptuous form. German n. d. [1922], p. 6: “Hrycie” i “Iwany”, ktjrzy “po cudze łapy wycia˛gaja˛.” An incorrect, contemptuous form of Ukrainian word “heroyi” meaning “heroes.” Horwath 1921, pp. 24, 28, 28, 32: “dzicz hajdamacka;” “ruskie hordy ;” “ukrain´scy ‘heroje’;” “barbarzyniec.” 38 Ibid.: “Ukrain´cjw nie ma z kim porjwnac´, chyba z dzicza˛tatarska˛, bo narjd, ktjry ma choc´ troche˛ wyz˙sza˛ cywilizacje˛, nie poste˛puje w ten sposjb.” 39 One of the most outrageous publications of that kind was a pamphlet by Władysław Orobkiewicz (Orobkiewicz 1919). Many other appeared in the newspaper Pobudka, e. g. articles in no. 5 (1918): Anonym 1 1918, p. 1; Anonym 2 1918, p. 4; Anonym 3 1918, p. 4. 40 Anonym 5 1919, p. 2: “niemiecko-austriacko-ukrain´ska machinacja;” “rusin´sko-pruskoaustriacki zamach;” efekt “protektoratu Wiednia i Berlina.”

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constitutes one of the main threads of Da˛browski drama is the venality of the Austrian governor of Galicia, Karl Georg Huyn, who relinquished power in Lviv to Ukrainians,41 and the malevolence of the Lviv’s Commander in chief, general Rudolf Pfeffer, who was to arm Polish opponents before the battle of the city.42 Such accusations find confirmation neither in testimonies of Austrian and German diplomats and officers nor in archival documents; contemporary historical accounts also repudiate them.43 However, the interwar Polish discourse endlessly reproduced the accusations despite the facts. By establishing such accusations, Poles sought to convince the national and international opinion that Ukrainians were the same Polish enemies as Austrians and Germans. According to the Polish viewpoint, the only difference between these groups of foes was that Ukrainians seemed weaker than the erstwhile partitioners of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, as Ukrainian state-building attempts in Eastern Galicia allegedly resulted from Austrian and German ploys. Such strategies of representation entailed a replacement of the idealistic vision of “Polish-Ruthenian brotherhood” by an image of a hostile conflict between Poles and Ukrainians. The interwar Polish literature offers probably the most interesting manifestation of this phenomenon. Literary protagonists often express their deep disappointment in Ukrainians rejecting “brotherhood” with Poles, so the Poles violently turn against the Ukrainians. For example, the protagonist of the youth novel Gdy zagrzmiał złoty rjg… by Adamjwna, a young Pole confronts the supposed crimes committed by Ukrainians in Lviv, in November 1918. Consequently, he changes his attitude toward the enemies and exclaims: “What a fool I was! I considered Ruthenians our brothers… and this is why I did not fight them. But they are not brothers… they are dogcatchers, hangmen, bandits. I will combat them now without mercy, like mad dogs…”44 The same vein of thought clearly appears in a romantic thread of the novel Jjz´ko z˙ołnierzem polskim by Neumeuer. The main protagonist, a Polish urchin (batiar), splits up with a Ruthenian girl because “she speaks of Poles so unfriendly,”45 and falls in love with a Polish girl who is also into him. Neumeuer presents the Polish-Polish couple that supersedes the Polish-Ruthenian couple as a synecdoche of the new Polish community in the province and a symbol of its unity and coherence.

41 42 43 44

Da˛browski 1928, p. 20ff. Ibid., p. 31. See Mick 2016, pp. 143–144; Kozłowski 1990, pp. 117, 143. Wisława 1921, p. 138: “Osioł ze mnie! Uwaz˙ałem Rusinjw za braci… i dlatego nie biłem sie˛ z nimi. Nie bracia to sa˛… lecz hycle, kaci, zbjje! Te˛piłbym ich teraz bez litos´ci, jak ws´ciekłe psy…” 45 Bezłuda 1934, p. 180: “w taki nieprzychylny sposjb… wyraz˙a sie˛ o Polakach.”

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Except for Ukrainians, Austrians, and Germans, the Polish discourse ascribed the role of Polish enemies to Jews. Although the Lviv Jews promulgated their neutrality in the Polish-Ukrainian conflict, the Poles were indignant at the lack of their support so as to question their impartiality.46 The Poles widely believed that Jewish militiamen collaborated with Ukrainians, while Jewish civilians furtively fired and threw axes at Polish soldiers or poured boiling water from their windows.47 They also denied the pogrom character of the three-day slaughter perpetrated by Polish soldiers and civilians after the Polish victory in Lviv, on November 22–24, 1918, and blamed Jews themselves for provoking “reasonable” Polish anger.48 Although such slander was not grounded in reality and was fervently contradicted by representatives of the Jewish elite,49 the discourse presenting Jews as Polish foes was so widespread in the Second Polish Republic that it permeated not only Polish press but also texts with historiographical ambitions. A testimony to that fact can be found in some popular Polish memoires, history essays, and handbooks of the interwar period. For instance, the memoires by Ma˛czyn´ski,50 an essay by the participant of the Battle of Lemberg, Antonii Jakubski,51 and the handbook by the historian Wacław Sobieski52 all present an anti-Jewish version of the Lviv tragedy without confronting it with any other narrative on the matter. The interwar Polish literature rarely depicted Jews in the Polish-Ukrainian War but if it did, it always portrayed them as Ukrainian-bribed enemies. Da˛browski’s second historical drama Jurek (George), issued in 1939, does mention Jewish presence in the city in November 1918, but its main theme is the heroic fight of Polish “defenders” from the experience of the title protagonist Jurek. Strikingly, Jurek upholds all the accusations against Jews that prevailing in other forms of Polish discourse and depicts the riot on November 22–24 as an indispensable pacification of anti-Polish action of Jews.53 In general, the Polish literature conceals the riot and never refers to as a “pogrom.” Apart from Jurek, the only work that mentions the event is the novel Jjz´ko z˙ołnierzem polskim by Neumeuer. However, we should regard Neumeuer’s description of the tragic event as deeply outrageous, because he 46 See Anonym 6 1919, p. 1. 47 See DALO, f. 257, op. 2, spr. 1624: “Brygada Lwowska. Wypadki w dzielnicy z˙ydowskiej we Lwowie w listopadzie 1918” [no date]. That information appears as rumors in AAN, z. Komitet Narodowy Polski, sign. no 159, pp. 29–33: “A sketch about the riot against the Jews in Lemberg from the 22th till 23th of November [1918].” 48 For particularly valuable studies on the Lviv pogrom in 1918, see Prusin 2005, pp. 75–91; Hagen 2005. 49 See Insler 1933; Insler 1937. 50 Maczyn´ski 1921, vol. 2. 51 Jakubski 1933. 52 Sobieski 1925. 53 Da˛browski 1939, pp. 93–98.

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applies picaresque poetics to show roguish heroes as appealing, calls the slaughter an incidental pillage, and blames unidentified robbers.54 The identification of Ukrainians, Austrians, Germans, and Jews as opponents of the Polish national cause eventually destroyed the idea of Galicia and paved way to the concept of an unlikely community in the region. According to that concept, the community in question was no longer a manifestation of multinational and transnational congruence of Galicians, but a part of the Polish nation. There still were “brothers” in that new community, as Jan Rybarski asserts in his poem “Placjwka ludu” (The People’s’ Outpost; 1919): “A faithful brother gave his brother a hand / A true miracle of union / The depth of former differences disappeared: / ‘We protect the outposts we came from!’.”55 The last verse of the poem alludes to the canonic Polish patriotic poem “Rota” (The Oath) by Maria Konopnicka, which indicates that both “faithful brothers” are Poles. Thus, their ideal union is the union of the Polish nation. Those who do not belong to that nation are excluded from such brotherhood as enemies.

The Politicization of the Battle of Lemberg Narrative: The Idea of Polishness What established the supersession of the idea of Galicia with the idea of the Polish nation was the ideological use the interwar Poles made of the narrative of the Polish-Ukrainian War, especially the Battle of Lemberg. Below, I analyze the reasons why the Battle of Lemberg became one of the founding myths of the Second Polish Republic. Many contemporaries interpreted the event as the most heroic episode in the history of the city, they raised it to the rank of a turning point in the process of restoration of Poland’s independence, and – last but not least – they promoted it as a role model for future generations. A very important theme that contributed to the cult of the Battle of Lemberg was the unity of the “defenders,” that is, the growing solidarity among Poles who experienced November fights. According to historical surveys, that solidarity had its limits and exceptions; as not all Poles actively supported the Battle, even in Lviv.56 Regardless of this fact, the abovementioned theme constantly reappeared in Polish literature, newspaper articles, speeches, sermons, and artworks in 1918–1939. Their authors emphasize the engagement of urchins and intellectuals of every option, children and fathers, men and women fighting 54 Bezłuda 1934, pp. 165–174. 55 Rybarski 1919, p. 12: “Brat bratu wierna˛podał dłon´, / Spełniony zjednoczenia cud, / Zanikła dawnych rjz˙nic ton´ : / ‘Placjwek strzez˙em, ska˛d nasz rjd!’.” 56 See Kozłowski 1990, pp. 160–167.

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together for “their” Polish Lviv. Thus, they suggest that the Battle unified Poles across political factions, social classes, generations, and genders. Artur Schroeder writes in a poem that opens his famous collection of short stories Orle˛ta (Little Eagles): “A soldier, a child, a woman – everyone knows / that they have to sacrifice their lives now, / that though the soul is already breaking and bending in passion, / we have to fight for the freedom and honor.”57 A short story about the Battle of Lemberg, which Zakrzewska includes into her duology, enumerates the “defenders:” a professor, a young kid, a dandy, a Lychakiv urchin, a white-haired old man, and a young girl. Then, the narrator concluded: “Differences in gender, age, and state disappeared. Everyone defended the threatened Polish nest and endured a hell of endless fights, sleeplessness, and hunger during these three weeks…”58 Ma˛czyn´ski recalls the strife in his memoires in the same manner. Although he admits that the number of Polish volunteers was not as high as he expected in autumn 1918, he maintains that an “incredible and rare sacrifice commonly dominated Lviv at that time that encompassed everybody, regardless of age, state, and social stratum – from the smallest ones in terms of age and social position to the representatives of the highest strata and the oldest age.”59 Already at the very beginning of the 1920s, to cast any doubt about the consensus that all the Polish society defended the city encountered complete indignation of the Polish public opinion.60 The reason for this phenomenon was that the idealistic vision – according to which the spilled blood united people across political and social boundaries – played a crucial ideological role in the Second Polish Republic. The vision was meant to reconcile the Polish population, ridden with social and political divisions, in the bosom of one nation, so that all conflicting interests would have disappeared. This is why the analyzed theme became the crux of the Polish narrative on the Battle of Lemberg. And this is why the Battle became the symbol of the unification of the Polish nation after Poland regained independence in 1918. 57 Schroeder 1919, p. 8: “Z˙ołnierz, dziecko, kobieta – kaz˙dy dobrze wie, / z˙e mu z˙ycie ofiarnie trzeba teraz nies´c´, / z˙e choc´ dusza juz˙ w me˛ce łamie sie˛ i gnie, / bjj trza stoczyc´ ostatni o wolnos´c´ i czes´c´.” 58 Zakrzewska 1990 [1919], p. 113: “Znikły rjz˙nice wieku, płci i stanu. Wszyscy porwali sie˛ do obrony zagroz˙onego polskiego gniazda i przetrwali w cia˛gu tych trzech długich tygodni całe piekło nieustannych walk, bezsennos´ci, głodu…” 59 Maczyn´ski 1921, vol. 1, p. 192: “…nieprawdopodobna i rzadko spotykana ofiarnos´c´ panowała podjwczas powszechnie we Lwowie i ogarne˛ła wszystkich co do wieku i wszystkie stany i warstwy społeczne – od maluczkich wiekiem i stanowiskiem społecznym do najwyz˙szych warstw i najstarszego wieku.” 60 E. g. at the meeting of Polski Zwia˛zek Obron´cjw Lwowa (Polish Association of the Defenders of Lviv) on November 21, 1923, one of the members violated the unspoken rule not to state different opinions about the Defence of Lviv. He aroused such an indignation of the public that the meeting had to be interrupted, see m. 1923, p. 2–3.

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Moreover, the Polish discourse willingly treated the Battle of Lemberg as a pars pro toto of the general fight for the frontiers of independent Poland in 1918–1921 and elevated it to a symbol of the state revival as a coherent whole after the epoch of its partition (1772–1918). We easily notice manifestations of such optic in Adamjwna’s novel Gdy zagrzmiał złoty rjg…. Its protagonists cheer on the day of Polish victory in Lviv on November 22, 1918, which identifies the “defenders” of the city with the defenders of all Poland; in fact, with the Polish army : – …defending Lviv, we defended the whole of Poland, because certainly karaimy61 would have broken into the heart of the country… / […] – Lviv today is the first festival of Polish army! / – And we – we are the first soldiers of the Majestic Republic!62

A tendency to efface the difference between the particular Battle of Lemberg and the general fight for Poland exploded after the commemoration of the Polish Unknown Soldier in form of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier erected in Warsaw in 1925. The body of the Soldier was randomly selected from one of the fifteen battlefields from the period of fights for Polish frontiers, not the battlefields of the First World War. The Polish authorities wanted to be sure that the Unknown Soldier fell for Poland and not any foreign power. The youngest Pole awarded the Order of Virtuti Militari drew the lot with the battlefield of Lviv. It meant that the Unknown Soldier would be the one fallen during the fight with Ukrainians in November 1918. On November 1, 1925, the Soldier’s body was exhumed from Lviv and solemnly laid in the Tomb under the arcades of the Saxon Palace, which was then the seat of the Polish Ministry of War.63 Since that moment, Poles particularly eagerly identified the idealized image of Lviv “defenders” with the symbol of the Unknown Soldier, and the Battle of Lemberg with the Polish struggle for independence. For example, the poet and novelist Edward Słon´ski makes such a rhetoric move in the poem “Nieznany Obron´ca Lwowa” (Lviv’s Unknown Defender) written for the occasion of bringing the body of the Unknown Soldier from Lviv to Warsaw. According to the poem, its lyrical protagonist, the Unknown Soldier, “fell somewhere in Lviv,” although not only for Lviv but “for the whole Poland.”64 On the fifteenth Anniversary of Regaining Independence of the State and the Battle of Lemberg – that was the official name of the celebration – the President of Lviv Wacław Drojanowski unambiguously

61 A term describing Ukrainians in the Polish dialect of Lviv. 62 Wisława 1921, p. 170: “– …bronia˛c Lwowa, bronilis´my całej Polski, bo z pewnos´cia˛ karaimy wdarliby sie˛ w gła˛b kraju… […] / – We Lwowie jest dzis´ pierwsze ´swie˛to armji polskiej! / – A my – jestes´my pierwszymi z˙ołnierzami Najjas´niejszej Rzeczypospolitej!” 63 For further investigation, see Mick 2001; Mick 2016, pp. 236–239. 64 Słon´ski 1988 [1925], p. 20: “padł gdzies´ pod Lwowem;” “za Polske˛.”

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identifies those struggles and victories with each other, when he stresses that their anniversaries should be closely connected: The Defense of Lviv [sic!] was born from the same spiritual strength of the nation that raised Poland to independence. […] [The Defense and the regaining of independence] are linked by the purpose, the meaning, the nature, and the historical effect common to both phenomena. They form an inseparable whole, they are one and the same historical process.65

Such a viewpoint added splendor to Polish Lviv, which “had made the largest sacrifice” for the fatherland,66 according to Drojanowski. Moreover, it made the November fight into the biggest holiness of Poles. Polish fighters for the city “with own blood signed a manifesto of the inviolability of Polish borders and marked out the borders with the mounds of their graves,”67 writes Makuszyn´ski in Us´miech Lwowa. The symbolic potential of this vision was so strong that it made the depiction of the Battle of Lemberg into a rhetorical figure of reintegration of the state that Poles awaited for more than one hundred twenty years. In 1918–1939, a period of deep political and social instability in the Second Polish Republic, the ideological use of the Battle of Lemberg as a symbol of social and territorial unification of Poland very effectively integrated the Polish nation. The Defense offered a story of national solidarity and heroism that encompassed all Poles, regardless of their differences. It symbolized the reunion of various competing regions of Poland that had existed in isolation during the epoch of partitions. Finally, it constituted a pivotal aspect of patriotic education: it served as a role model of pure heroism and solidarity in devotion to the fatherland, and a criterion to measure the present consciousness of the Polish society. However, the attempt of the Polish authorities in Lviv and Warsaw to mobilize Poles with the narrative of the Battle of Lemberg jeopardized the other goal: the reconciliation of miscellaneous groups across national-religious divisions. The way of interpreting the fight of Lviv divided Poles and Ukrainians into two hostile factions. In the perspective of the former, it was the defense against a Ukrainian invasion, while in the optics of the latter, it was a counteraction to the Polish plans of annexing Eastern Galicia. The Lviv Jews also hardly shared the Polish view65 DALO, f. 266, op. 1, spr. 36, ark. 63: “Dlaczego rocznice˛ Obrony Lwowa obchodzimy w tym roku ła˛cznie ze S´wie˛tem Niepodległos´ci. Przemjwienie Prezydenta M. Lwowa P. Wacława Drojanowskiego:” “Obrona Lwowa pocze˛ła sie˛ wie˛c z tych samych sił duchowych narodu, ktjre dz´wigne˛ły Polske˛ do Niepodległos´ci […] Ła˛czy je [oba wydarzenia – J.W.] rjwniez˙ cel, tres´c´, istota i skutki historyczne, wspjlne obu fenomenom. Tworza˛one nierozerwalna˛całos´c´, stanowia˛ jeden i ten sam proces dziejowy.” 66 Ibid.: “najwie˛ksze złoz˙ył ofiary.” 67 Makuszyn´ski 1934, p. 57: “Podpisali swoja˛ krwia˛ manifest o nienaruszalnos´ci granic, a granice wytyczyli kopcami swoich grobjw.”

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point, as they primarily associated the battle of the city with the memory of the pogrom of November 22–24, 1918. Therefore, the narrative on the Battle of Lemberg as unifying the Polish nation and symbolically supporting the Polish power – establishing the idea of Polishness – simultaneously split the multinational society of the Second Polish Republic and sealed the decay of the idea of Galicia. The idealized image of the Polish struggle in 1918 stabilized a dangerous stereotype of Ukrainians and Jews as aliens or “internal antagonists,” against whom true Poles should unite. Such a stereotype entailed the exclusion of representatives of other national groups than Poles from the official memory of Lviv and the whole region, as it designated Galician Ukrainians and Jews as clear foes. This phenomenon manifested itself not only in the Polish discourse concerning the Polish-Ukrainian War but also in the Polish discourse pertaining to the postwar reality of the province. One of the most popular interwar work that depicts this reality is the novel Dzikuska (The Savage Girl; 1927) by Irena Zarzycka, which received seven editions until 1939 and a 1928 film adaptation. The novel’s plot occurs in the “Eastern Carpathian Mountains”68 or, more precisely, in estates of Polish landowners located in the vicinity of the village Podhorce. Although the novel presents the center of the former Eastern Galicia, very diverse in terms of nationality and denomination, it virtually passes over in silence the existence of non-Poles, in particular Ukrainians and Jews. The only Ukrainians are a couple whose national belonging can be inferred only from their names, Ivan and Paraska. However, they do not present themselves in the novel. Instead, these are Polish protagonists who describe Ivan and Paraska, and so they are to embody of the most savage manners. Galician Jews appear only once, as “numerous” and “wealthy,” but they still remain invisible. The only information about the Jews is that they are responsible for “spoiling” the local credulous peasants of unknown nationality.69 Zarzycka’s novel is a good representative of the interwar Polish discourse, as it effaces the multinational reality of the former Eastern Galicia to replace it with a vision of an almost homogeneous Polish community. This effacement and the idealized vision of Polish landowners’ life conceal the fact that the population of the region was increasingly divided and its national-religious groups were more and more separated from each other.

68 Zarzycka 1990 [1927], p. 6: “w Karpatach Wschodnich.” 69 Ibid., p. 60.

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Counter-Discourse: The Remains of the Idea of Galicia The exclusion of Ukrainians and Jews from the Polish discourse on the former Eastern Galicia reflected and, simultaneously, affected the national-religious and social relations in the province in 1918–1939. Obviously, all groups – be it Polish, Ukrainian, or Jewish – conveyed circles that opted for reconciliation and reasonably peaceful coexistence. Regular former Galicians of miscellaneous national and religious backgrounds had to live their lives side by side, in a way partly unaffected by the nationalist discourses. However, these discourses gradually penetrated into the seemingly depoliticized area of everyday life and culture. The Polish-Jewish conflict on the interpretation of the Lviv Pogrom and the Polish-Ukrainian conflict – escalated again after 1930 and the brutal pacification of Eastern Galician villages by Polish police and army – increased mutual distrust and narrow-mindedness on all sides. Many Jews, particularly sympathizers of Zionism, believed that the merging Polish and Jewish culture and interests is virtually impossible. Ukrainians did not want to be an ethnic minority within the Polish nation and constantly stated national claims, including state-building demands. On the other hand, Poles increasingly felt threatened by Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union, especially after the death of Marshal Jjzef Piłsudski in 1935. In dramatic need of national integration and self-assurance, many desired to experience the fictional Polishness of the southeastern borderland of Poland, first and foremost Lviv, the city that – after November 1918 – symbolized the Polish will to survive. The question is whether in such circumstances any remains of the idea of multinational and transnational cohabitation in the region could be left in the Polish discourse? The answer seems positive, although the remains in question were very few and constituted a non-mainstream discourse. Some manifestations of the Polish discourse on the Polish-Ukrainian War referred to the tragic situation of transnational Polish-Ukrainian social circles during the military operations. The vast majority represent that situation in terms of choice of national belonging with no alternative. According to the Polish literature, friendship and family ties between Poles and Ukrainians usually broke in November 1918. Literary protagonists think in categories of national ideology, under war conditions transformed into chauvinistic nationalism, and as a result, they no longer can perceive the Other as a friend. Zakrzewska’s short story presents a girl who considers herself Polish and recants her sisterly love to her brother, who takes the Ukrainian side. She regards his choice as “a blot on the escutcheon,” which one can only erase with blood.70 In the anonymous short story “Franek obron´ca Lwowa” (Franek, the Defender of Lviv ; 1919), a Ukrainian 70 Zakrzewska 1990 [1919], p. 106.

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blackmails his best friend, a Pole: “We can be friends, but you […] must acknowledge our [Ukrainian] rights and authority.”71 Although such images dominated, there were exceptions. The short story “Pocałunek bratni” (A Fraternal Kiss) by Tadeusz Nittman, published in the jubilee edition of the newspaper Pobudka in 1938, highlights the fratricidal dimension of the Polish-Ukrainian War. The protagonist, Olga, considers herself Polish and fights in the Polish ranks when she meets her brother, Mieczysław, who joined the Ukrainian army and was taken captive by Poles. Unlike the protagonist of Zakrzewska’s short story, the siblings are incapable of hating each other. The brother explains to the sister, “what you hate I do love,” and he does not deny his Ukrainian origins. In turn, the sister responds with respect: “love and hatred… they are the same fire.”72 When Mieczysław dies, injured by Poles, Olga kisses his lips. Her kiss is described as “a rainbow bridge of love over the abyss of hatred.”73 Thus, it is elevated to a symbol of Biblical connotations, the symbol of reconciliation, which recalls echoes of the former coexistence of Galicians and gives hope for the future. The most distinctive objection against the Polish-Ukrainian War that reminisces on the idea of Galicia appears in the works of Jjzef Wittlin, a Polish writer of Jewish origin and the most prominent Polish pacifist of the interwar period. Wittlin presents his moral conflicts about the Polish-Ukrainian War in the autobiographical essay “Ze wspomnien´ byłego pacyfisty” (Memories of a Former Pacifist; 1929): While I could, with a clear conscience, call the Austrian war a crime, for which monarchs, diplomats, journalists, and providers were responsible, how I was to behave during the Battle of Lemberg, the result of which was not indifferent to me? Could I, in the face of the Polish victory desired by me, turn a blind eye to the three-day pogrom of Jews? I witnessed a phenomenon that revaluated my previous views on war.74

Despite the fact that Wittlin wished Poles victory, he decided not to take part in the strife. He considered that war a fratricidal conflict and could not choose between his patriotic feelings and pacifist ideas. Wittlin could neither surrender 71 E. P. 1919, p. 6: “Moz˙emy byc´ przyjacijłmi, ale […] musisz uznac´ nasze [Ukrain´skie] prawa i władze.” 72 Nittman 1938, p. 22: “wy nienawidzicie , co ja kocham;” “miłos´c´, nienawis´c´… to ten sam ogien´.” 73 Ibid.: “te˛czowy most miłos´ci nad przepas´cia˛ nienawis´ci.” 74 Wittlin 2000 [1929], p. 78: “Jez˙eli austriacka˛ wojne˛ mogłem z czysty sumieniem nazywac´ zbrodnia˛, za ktjra˛ ponosza˛ odpowiedzialnos´c´ monarchowie, dyplomaci, dziennikarze i dostawcy, to jakz˙ez˙ miałem sie˛ zachowac´ wobec walk o Lwjw, ktjrych wynik nie był mi oboje˛tny? Czyz˙ mogłem potem, wobec upragnionego przeze mnie zwycie˛stwa polskiego, zamkna˛c´ oczy na trzydniowy pogrom Z˙ydjw? Oto byłem ´swiadkiem zjawiska, ktjre przewartos´ciowało cały mjj dotychczasowy pogla˛d na wojne˛.”

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his attachment to Polish Lviv to pacifism nor resign from pacifism in favor of the Polishness of the city. The poetic testimony of Wittlin’s inner split emerges in his poetic volume Hymny (Hymns)75 written in Lviv in 1918–1919. The war and the enemy described there are not precisely specified. However, historical circumstances of the poems’ creation and the writer’s self-interpretative statements76 let readers grasp that the lyrical protagonist of Hymny, “a brother,” is a Ukrainian soldier presented by the Polish national propaganda at that time as the biggest Polish enemy in Eastern Galicia. The strife depicted in a pacifist manner is the Polish-Ukrainian War, in particular the Battle of Lemberg. Such tacit meaning of Hymny made them one of the most daring pacifist works in the interwar Polish literature. The poems indicate a tragic discovery that vigorous support for one’s country is difficult, impossible to reconcile with the more universal, supranational viewpoint which views every Other as a brother, regardless of national differences. Other works of the interwar Polish literature that recall the world created around the idea of Galicia refer to the Habsburg past of the province. Wittlin’s novel Sjl ziemi (The Salt of Earth)77 from 1925–1935 (published in 1936) and the first volume of Stanisław Vincenz’s cycle Na wysokiej połoninie (On the High Uplands)78 from 1936 present a picture of multinational and transnational Eastern Galicia and manifest a supranational attitude toward the Austrian authorities. Both these works create a myth of the former Habsburg crownland of Galicia and its complex community united by religious tolerance and the cult of Emperor Franz Joseph I. Sjl ziemi sheds light on the beginning of Galician community’s end: the year 1914 and the involvement of the Habsburg Monarchy in the First World War. Na wysokiej połoninie revives the memory of that community in its bloom by reaching to the year 1867 and the December Constitution, which guaranteed equality to all national-religious groups of the Habsburg Monarchy. Other relevant non-mainstream literary works are the collections of short stories Sklepy cynamonowe (Cinnamon Shops, known in English as The Street of Crocodiles)79 and Sanatorium pod klepsydra˛ (Sanatorium under the Sign of the Hourglass)80 by the Polish-Jewish writer Bruno Schulz from 1934 and 1937, respectively. Schulz’s work reveals an attitude toward Franz Joseph I that is less 75 Wittlin 1920. The subsequent editions, from 1927 and 1929, were elaborated anew and so the distinctively differ from the previous one, with which the author was not satisfied. The last edition comes from 1978. 76 Wittlin 2000 [1929], pp. 73–91. 77 Wittlin, 1936; Wittlin 1939. 78 Vincenz 1936; Vincenz 1955. 79 Schulz 1934; Schulz 1963. 80 Schulz 1937; Schulz 1978.

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enthusiastic and idealistic than the one manifested in Wittlin’s and Vincenz’s masterpieces. In the short story “Wiosna” (Spring) Schulz’s young protagonist and fictional alter ego, Joseph, wonders whether the Emperor might be an oppressive force that cut off his loyalists from the true sight of God in a universe of dazzling diversity. However, other Schulz’s works evoke the multicultural town of Drohobych in the days of his Galician childhood without any such doubts about the Emperor. Schulz imbues his remote reality with a dreamlike intensity and depicts it as a space whose borders are open to “all threads and stories,”81 which we may interpret as a statement about all the differences of its dwellers. The above works differ in status. Nittman’s short story and Wittlin’s poems very rarely appear in discussed of historians of literature and remain unknown even to the Polish-speaking public. Whereas the prose works by Wittlin, Vincenz, and Schulz are landmarks of Polish modern literature, comprehensibly analyzed and accessible in translations to foreign readers. However, all of them in various ways seek to create a vision of a community that exists beyond the national, religious, and cultural divisions in opposition to the general interwar crisis of humanistic values. That vision is mythlike and idealistic but simultaneously refers to the real Habsburg political culture that laid the groundwork for Galicians’ relatively peaceful coexistence. The post-1956 manifestation of the idea of Galicia in the Polish literature would follow the same path.82

Conclusions The idea of Galicia in the interwar Polish discourse was disassembled, which manifested itself the most distinctively in the discourse associated with the Polish-Ukrainian War. First, this discourse purported to sustain the concept of multinational and transnational coexistence of Galicians. However, this discourse actually justified the inclusion of the region to the reborn Polish state, questioned the existence of a separate Ukrainian nation, and engendered the Polish version of civilizing mission toward Galician Ukrainians, allegedly unready for independent reign in the province. Finally, the same discourse abandoned (faked) allusions to the idea of Galicia and presented the erstwhile Habsburg crownland as a region of predominantly or exclusively Polish character. It obtained such effect especially with the stigmatization of Ukrainians, Austrians, Germans, and Jews as the enemies of Poles, not to mention the marginalization / dematerialization of these groups in the population of the province. 81 Schulz 1993, p. 15: “wszystkie wa˛tki i opowies´ci.” 82 See Woldan 1996; Wiegandt 1988.

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The dissolution of the idea of Galicia was sealed by the politicization of the Polish narrative about the Battle of Lemberg. The Polish cult of the Battle – enhanced by merging its commemorations with the struggles for the rebirth of Poland – was effectively used by the Polish authorities to integrate the Polish society. However, the cult integrated the Poles as much as it excluded Ukrainians and Jews from the social community in Poland. Therefore, the Polish narrative of the Battle failed to connect all citizens across national barriers. On the contrary, it showed how rigid and difficult it was to overcome those barriers in the interwar period. The Polish discourse that recalled examples of multinational and transnational coexistence of Galicians in the Habsburg past or in the circumstances of the Polish-Ukrainian War had very little representations. Usually, it was created by writers with a multicultural identity background like Wittlin and Schulz, Polish writers of Jewish origins, or Vincenz, the great-grandson of a Frenchman who emigrated to Vienna and married a Pole. Despite the fact that this discourse manifested itself in the landmarks of Polish literature, it constituted an insufficient and ineffective counterbalance to the dominant Polish discourse at the time. In the late 1910s and early 1920s, Poles often spoke of a need to “reconstruct Galicia” after the epoch of partitions and the Polish-Ukrainian War. However, the Polish discourse on the “reconstruction of Galicia” constituted a narrative about a province without Ukrainians, Jews, Austrians, and Germans. Instead, it only fostered the idea of Polishness that contradicted the idea of Galicia. That discourse satisfied the vast majority of Poles and supported the Polish raison d’etat – as it was understood at that time – because it integrated the Polish nation and symbolized the restoration of Poland’s sovereignty. However, in the long run, we witness the negative consequences of the unifying discourse of Polishness even today. The discourse reinforced Polish fears of national unrests in the southeastern borderland and threatened the precarious consensus of the Second Polish Republic as a multinational state, in which all citizens should have enjoyed the same privileges. This duality marked Polish politics throughout the whole interwar period. With time, the narrative o Polishness gained increasingly explicit forms and intensified the Polish-Ukrainian-Jewish antagonisms, which found its tragic finale during the Second World War.

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´ ski, Czesław: Wste˛p, in: Horwath, Edward (ed.): Kajet wojenny dziecka lwowMa˛czyn skiego (z przez˙yc´ w czasie oble˛z˙enia miasta Lwowa od listopada 1918 do kwietnia 1919 roku), Lwjw 1921. ´ ski, Kornel: Us´miech Lwowa, Warszawa 1934. Makuszyn Nittman, Tadeusz M.: Pocałunek bratni, in: Pobudka. Wydanie jubileuszowe, November 22 (1938), p. 22. Orobkiewicz, Władysław: Dlaczego? Rzecz o gwałtach i barbarzyn´stwach ukrain´skich popełnianych na z˙ołnierzach i ludnos´ci polskiej we wschodniej cze˛s´ci byłego zaboru austrjackiego i o ich przyczynach, Lwjw 1919. Rybarski, Jan: Placjwka ludu, in: Placjwka 3 (1919), p. 12. Schroeder, Artur : Orle˛ta, Lwjw 1919. Schulz, Bruno: Republika marzen´. Utwory rozproszone, opowiadania, fragmenty, eseje, rysunki, Warszawa 1993. Schulz, Bruno: Sklepy cynamonowe, Warszawa 1934 [i. e. 1933]. Schulz, Bruno: The Street of Crocodiles, transl. by Celina Wieniewska, New York 1963. Schulz, Bruno: Sanatorium pod klepsydra˛, Warszawa 1937. Schulz, Bruno: Sanatorium Under the Sign of the Hourglass, transl. Celina Wieniewska, New York 1978. ´ ski, Edward: Nieznany Obron´ca Lwowa, in: Wiersze o Lwowie, Wrocław 1988, p. 20. Słon Sobieski, Wacław: Dzieje Polski lat ostatnich od roku 1865, Warszawa 1925. Szczepan´ski, Ludwik: Krew rosi bruki miasta, in: Pobudka 3 (1918), p. 2. Vincenz, Stanisław: Prawda starowieku: obrazy, dumy i gawe˛dy z Wierchowiny Huculskiej, Warszawa 1936. Vincenz, Stanisław: On the High Uplands: Sagas, songs, tales and legends of the Carpathians, transl. by H. C. Stevens, New York 1955. Wisława [Adamówna, Wilhelmina]: Gdy zagrzmiał złoty rjg…, Lwjw 1921. Wittlin, Jjzef: Hymny, Poznan´ 1920. Wittlin, Jjzef: Sjl ziemi, Warszawa 1936. Wittlin, Jjzef: The Salt of Earth, transl. by Pauline de Chary, London 1939. Wittlin, Jjzef: Ze wspomnien´ byłego pacyfisty, in: Wittlin, Jjzef: Orfeusz w piekle XX wieku, Krakjw 2000, pp. 73–91. Zakrzewska, Helena: Dzieci Lwowa, Gdan´sk 1990. Zakrzewska, Helena: Kilka słjw o Lwowie, in: Zakrzewska, Helena: Dzieci Lwowa, Radom 2004. Zarzycka, Irena: Dzikuska. Historia miłos´ci, Warszawa 1990.

Secondary Literature Bakuła, Bogusław: Colonial and Postcolonial Aspects of Polish Discourse on the Eastern ‘Borderlands,’ in: Korek, Janusz (ed.): From Sovietology to Postcoloniality. Poland and Ukraine from a Postcolonial Perspective, Södertörns högskola 2007, pp. 41–57. Beauvois, Daniel: Mit ‘Kresjw Wschodnich’, czyli jak połoz˙yc´ mu kres, in: Polskie mity polityczne XIX i XX, Wrocław 1994, pp. 93–105.

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Beauvois, Daniel: Trjjka˛t ukrain´ski. Szlachta, carat i lud na Wołyniu, Podolu i Kijowszczyz´nie 1793–1914, transl. by Krzysztof Rutkowski, Lublin 2011. Buszko, Jjzef: Galicja 1859–1914. Polski Piemont?, Warszawa 1989. Gosk, Hanna: Opowies´ci ‘skolonizowanego / kolonizatora.’ W kre˛gu studijw postzalez˙nos´ciowych nad literatura˛ polska˛ XX i XXI wieku, Krakjw 2010. Hagen, William W.: The Moral Economy of Popular Violence: The Pogrom in Lwjw, November 1918, in: Blobaum, Robert (ed.): Antisemitism and its Opponents in Modern Poland, Ithaca – London 2005, pp. 124–147. Hibel, Katarzyna: ‘Wojna na mapy’, ‘wojna na słowa’: Onomastyczne i mie˛dzykulturowe aspekty polityki je˛zykowej II Rzeczpospolitej w stosunku do mniejszos´ci ukrain´skiej w Galicji Wschodniej w okresie mie˛dzywojennym, Wieden´ – Berlin 2014. Himka, John-Paul: Dimensions of a Triangle: Polish-Ukrainian-Jewish Relations in Austrian Galicia, in: Polin 14 (1999), pp. 25–48. Janion, Maria: Niesamowita Słowian´szczyzna. Fantazmaty literatury, Krakjw 2016. Kasperski, Edward: Dyskurs kresowy. Kryteria, włas´ciwos´ci, funkcje, in: Trybus´, Krzysztof / Kała˛z˙ ny, Jerzy / Okulicz-Kozaryn, Radosław (eds.): Kresy – dekonstrukcja, Poznan´ 2007, pp. 89–103. Koter, Marek: Kresy pan´stwowe – geneza i włas´ciwos´ci w ´swietle dos´wiadczen´ geografii politycznej, in: Handke, Kwiryna (ed.): Kresy – poje˛cie i rzeczywistos´c´, Warszawa 1997, pp. 9–52. Kozłowski, Maciej: Mie˛dzy Sanem a Zbruczem. Walki o Lwjw i Galicje˛ Wschodnia˛ 1918–1919, Krakjw 1990. Kuzmany, Börries: Der Galizische Ausgleich als Beispiel moderner Nationalitätenpolitik?, in: Haid, Elisabeth / Weismann, Stephanie / Wöller, Burkhard (eds.): Galizien. Peripherie der Moderne – Moderne der Peripherie, Marburg 2013, pp. 119–137. Magocsi, Paul R.: Galicia: A European Land, in: Hann, Christopher / Magocsi, Paul R. (eds.): Galicia: A Multicultured Land, Toronto – Buffalo – London 2005, pp. 3–21. Magocsi, Paul R.: A History of Ukraine, Toronto – Buffalo –London 1996. Magocsi, Paul R.: Galicia: A Historical Survey and Bibliographical Guide, Toronto – Buffalo – London 1983. Magocsi, Paul R.: The Roots of Ukrainian Nationalism: Galicia as Ukraine’s Piedmont, Toronto – London 2002. Mick, Christoph: Kto bronił Lwowa w listopadzie 1918 r.? Pamie˛c´ o zmarłych, znaczenie wojny i toz˙samos´c´ narodowa wieloetnicznego miasta, transl. by Anna Jachimiak, in: Traba, Robert (ed.): Tematy polsko-ukrain´skie, Olsztyn 2001, pp. 70–71. Mick, Christoph: Lemberg, Lwjw, L’viv, 1914–1947: Violence and Ethnicity in a Contested City, West Lafayette 2016. Prusin, Alexander V.: Nationalizing a Borderland: War, Ethnicity, and Anti-Jewish Violence in East Galicia, 1914–1920, Tuscaloosa 2005. Shanes, Joshua: Diaspora, Nationalism, and Jewish Identity in Habsburg Galicia, Cambridge 2012. Uliasz, Stanisław: Wokjł narodzin legendy orla˛t lwowskich w literaturze polskiej, in: Kłak, Czesław / Wyka, Marta (eds.): Literatura – je˛zyk – kultura, Galicja i jej dziedzictwo, Vol. 4, Rzeszjw 1995, pp. 79–96. Vushko, Iryna: The Political Cultural Retreat: Imperial Bureaucracy in Austrian Galicia, 1772–1867, New Haven – London 2015.

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Wedemann, Marek: Gdzie lez˙y Beresteczko? Kresy na mapie, in: trybus´, Krzysztof / Kała˛z˙ ny, Jerzy / Okulicz-Kozaryn, Radosław (eds.): Kresy – dekonstrukcja, Poznan´ 2007, pp. 11–35. Wiegandt, Ewa: Austria Felix, czyli o micie Galicji w polskiej prozie wspjłczesnej, Poznan´ 1988. Woldan, Alois: Der Österreich-Mythos in der polnischen Literatur, Wien 1996. Wolff, Larry : ‘Kennst du das Land?’ The Uncertainty of Galicia in the Age of Metternich and Fredro, in: Slavic Review 67/2 (2008), pp. 277–300. Wolff, Larry : The Idea of Galicia: History and Fantasy in Habsburg Political Culture, Stanford 2010. Wöller, Burkhard: Misja ‘cywilizacyjna’ czy ‘okupacyjna’? Aneksja Rusi Czerwonej w czasach Kazimierza III w kolonialistycznym dyskursie polskich i rusin´skich historykjw w habsburskiej Galicji, in: Historyka 42 (2012), pp. 133–145.

Ievgeniia Voloshchuk

Characters of Eccentrics from Galicia in the German-Language Prose of the Interwar Period1

Abstract The article examines the character type of eccentric from Galicia, which has gained popularity in the German-language literature of the interwar period. As typical representatives of this phenomenon, the paper analyzes the characters of Buchmendel from the novella of the same name by Stefan Zweig, Leo Naphta from the novel The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann and Nissen Piczenik from Joseph Roth’s novella “Leviathan”. The point of departure for this study was the assumption that the characters of Galician eccentrics were largely determined by the constructs of Galicia produced within the Galician discourse of the interbellum under the influence of the Habsburg and the Galicia myth. In the paper, this construct is characterized as a blurred border area at the intersection of the two empires, which is identified with Galicia and at the same time is interspersed with cultural and mental codes of the neighboring Russia, concepts of a specific East Slavic and Eastern European kinship and constitutive elements of Eastern European mental map. On the one hand, the paper treats the Galicia construct as a spatial model that left its trace in the images of the “small homelands” constructed by Zweig’s Buchmendel, Thomas Mann’s Naphta and Roth’s Piczenik. On the other hand, it is interpreted as a basis of cultural identity which shaped the portraits of those characters. The textual analysis focuses on the personal transformations of the three protagonists caused by their crossing of religious and cultural borders, which, in the final analysis, are summed up in the stereotypic image of the “Galician eccentric”. Keywords: transcending borders, eccentric, the Galicia myth, the Habsburg myth, type of characters, Eastern European Jewry, mental maps, border studies

1 This contribution was prepared for publication as part of the Fritz Thyssen Foundationsponsored project “Ukraine as a Palimpsest: German-language Literature and the Ukrainian World from the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century to the Present” (Az.10.16.2.041 SL).

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The Myth and Its Heroes The collapse of the Danube Monarchy resulted in the rise of two complementary myths in German-language literature, which conveyed visions of the recently past “golden age” in the history of the faded empire. One of them, the Habsburg myth, praised the lost empire and its deceased “ideal ruler.”2 Another one, the Galicia myth, conjured from the past a nostalgic image of the former province on the eastern border of the Danube Monarchy, which it inscribed with the significance of a somewhat problematic – in some respects deviating from the ideal image – Arcadia on the edges of Europe.3 In the gravitational field of these overlapping complementary myths, there emerged a specific Galician discourse in the German-language literature of the interwar period, which enriched the twentieth-century literary canon with a series of fictional and non-fictional texts. This discourse was embedded in the historical experience associated with the events in Galicia during and after the First World War. Although this experience was not always the theme of the literary discourse about Galicia, it was precisely this experience that made this lost eastern borderland province of the Habsburg Empire into an important topos on the map of Europe. Such an effect visibly emerges from the imperial-patriotic essay “Galiziens Genesung” (Galicia’s Recovery) written by Stefan Zweig in 1915 on behalf of the Vienna Kriegsarchiv (War Archive), in the volume of short stories Galizien, der Wall im Osten (Galicia, the Wall in the East; also 1915) by Hermann Blumenthal, in Joseph Roth’s famous Reise durch Galizien (Journey Through Galicia; 1924), but also in later texts by Galician authors. In these and similar texts, Galicia appears as a borderland that witnesses the most intense ideological competition of two great empires, as an important theater of war on the Eastern front, removed to the margins of “European” memory, as the last bulwark of European civilization, or, finally, as a territory now disputed by the same peoples who supposedly lived peacefully side by side before the war. Therefore, it is hardly surprising that – on the eve of the Second World War – Joseph Roth wrote a short and provocative article entitled “Unterricht in Geographie” (Lesson in Geography ; 1939), in which he argues that such seemingly marginal regions as Galicia can play an important, if not decisive role in world history, as the experiences of the First World War had shown.4 From this perspective, the literary Galician discourse of the interwar period was de-

2 Magris 1996, p. 287: “idealen Herrscher.” 3 Hüchtker 2003. 4 For details, see Voloshchuk 2018.

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cidedly opposed to the historical discourse about the First World War focused on the Western Front (and not on the Eastern Front).5 At the same time, German-language literary Galicia discourse of the interwar period introduced a distinctive type of a literary person, which we may call “the eccentric Galician.” The term means the characters who have a more or less pronounced Galician background and fall within the scope of Elisabeth Frenzel’s notion of an “eccentric” (Sonderling; literally “an odd character”). According to Frenzel’s definition, the eccentric is characterized by a “behavior deviating from the average,” “a partial non-conformity,” various “peculiarities,” “life according to ideas not (or : no longer) shared by the general public,” and by outsiderism visible in “self-realization in forms of life other than the usual.”6 Many Galician eccentrics inhabit especially the “Galician” texts of Joseph Roth – this Galician native whose dazzling literary reputation also encompasses the roles of an “advocate” (Dmitrij Zatonskij)7 and “Homer” of Galicia (Wendelin SchmidtDengler)8 in the German-language literature of the interwar period. Among the most pronounced representatives of such type of literary characters in Roth’s work are his protagonists living on the border between two (former) empires, such as Nissen Piczenik from the novella “Der Leviathan” (1940), who fell victim to his passion for corals. However, Galician eccentrics also appear in stories that happen far from this former borderland of the Habsburg Monarchy. Thus, the phenomenally well-read Galician Jew Jakob Mendel becomes the protagonist of Stefan Zweig’s novella “Buchmendel” (1929), whose plot is set in prewar and postwar Vienna. The same cohort includes the Galician Jew Leo Naphta, one of 5 A kind of response to this deformation of historical memory was provided by the anthology with the eloquent title Frontwechsel. Österreich-Ungarns “Großer Krieg” im Vergleich (A Change of Fronts: Austro-Hungary’s “Great War” in Comparision) edited by Wolfram Dornik, Julia Walleczek-Fritz, and Stefan Wedrac. One of the articles in this volume contains some striking remarks on the “Western” preferences in narratives about the First World War : “Already during the war, the world opinion concentrated on the German occupation policy in Belgium, but not on the – less catastrophic for the economy and the population – occupation of Poland or the Austro-Hungarian occupation of Serbia… In collective memory, too, the traumas of the positional war in France outweigh the mobile events of the war in the East.” Cf. Gjrny 2013, p. 192: “Schon während des Kriegs konzentrierte sich die Weltöffentlichkeit auf die deutsche Okkupationspolitik in Belgien, nicht aber auf die – für die Wirtschaft und Bevölkerung weniger katastrophale – in Polen oder etwa auf die österreichisch-ungarische Okkupation Serbiens… Auch im kollektiven Gedächtnis überwiegen die Traumata des Stellungskriegs in Frankreich über die beweglichen Kriegshandlungen im Osten.” If not stated otherwise, all translations of quotations from German by Mikołaj Golubiewski. 6 Frenzel 2008, p. 631: “vom Durchschnittlichen abweichendes Verhalten;” “eine partielle Unangepaßtheit;” “Absonderlichkeiten;” “[das L]eben nach Ideen, die nicht oder nicht mehr die der Allgemeinheit sind;” “Selbstverwirklichung in anderen Lebensformen als den üblichen.” 7 Zatonskij 1998, p. 151. 8 Schmidt-Dengler 2007, p. 42.

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the inhabitants of the Swiss sanatorium Berghof described in Thomas Mann’s Der Zauberberg (The Magic Mountain; 1924), who attacks the disputants with his gloomy prophecies about the future of Europe. Despite their diversity, these characters share a number of characteristics that make them “Galician” in character. Based on the comparative analysis of the abovementioned texts, this article explores the construct underlying the characters of Galician eccentrics and outlines the connections between them and the cultural reputation of Galicia at the time. Thus, the following criteria were decisive in text selection. First, I sought works that belong to the canon of Germanlanguage literature of the interwar period. Second, I selected the works that convey different cultural perspectives – a Galician one by Roth, an Austrian one by Zweig, and a German one by Thomas Mann – so that the views of an Eastern European (Roth) or Western European (Zweig) Jewish and a non-Jewish author (T. Mann) may come to the fore. Third, I selected the texts that present the Galician context in varying degrees: from a casual mention of the origin of the protagonist in Mendel’s story to the life story of Leo Naphta, deeply rooted in the Galician context.

The Borderland Galicia and Its Borders My initial thesis is that the type of Galician eccentric was largely determined by the Galicia construct reproduced in the discourse about Galicia of the interwar period, under the influence of the Habsburg and Galician myths. Thus, the eccentric emerged as a personification of the “aesthetics of the peculiar” – according to the Polish scholar Stefan Kaszyn´ski – inherent to the Galician myth as it expressed its “unreality.”9 As Dietlind Hüchtker rightly notes in her investigation of the Galicia myth, the reception of this former eastern province of the Danube Monarchy in the German-speaking cultural area after the First World War based on a certain canon of motifs, adopted from the preceding tradition.10 Among others, these motifs included the imaginings of (agrarian) backwardness, poverty, and polyethnicity, multiculturalism, or multidenominationalism of this region. The postwar period also brought many new facets and accents to Galicia’s literary representations. What became representative of the Galicia narrative of the time was its orientation toward the past, that is, toward Galicia as a former eastern province of the prewar Habsburg Empire, often stylized into a “golden age” abruptly interrupted by the First World War. At the core of this utopia projected on the past 9 Kaszyn´ski 1996, p. 134: “Irrealität.” 10 Hüchtker 2003, p. 82f.

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lays the ideal of Habsburg “supranationalism” postulated by the Habsburg myth, contrasted with the new reality of multiple nationalisms and emerging nation states. The contrast between the supranational Habsburg past and the national post-Habsburg present is presented in a clear-cut form by Count Morstin, the protagonist of Roth’s novella “The Bust of the Emperor” (1934): “My former home, the Monarchy, alone was different, it was a large house with many doors and many rooms for many different kinds of people. This house has been divided, broken up, ruined. I have no business with what is there now. I am used to living in a house, not in cabins.”11 Another important element of the Galicia myth of the interwar period was a confrontational relationship with the postwar reality which – besides rampant nationalisms – entailed a Westernization and technical progress; both perceived as threats to the ahistorical, patriarchal, and close to nature “old” world of the Galician borderland. Dietlind Hüchtker further indicates that the geographical positioning of Galicia as a special territory – situated not only on the (former) border of two (former) great powers but also on the border between East and West – led to the perception of the mythologized image of Galicia as the European East. The borders of the “remembered” Galicia itself were “for a long time not [so] firm or clear”12 as their borders in historical-geographical cartography. Hence the “literary” Galicia was ultimately understood more broadly than its administrative namesake in the Habsburg Empire: “Thus, Galicia stands for polyethnic regions, also available, for example, in Podolia, or it is included within the settlement region of Eastern European Jewry in Russia.”13 This created favorable conditions for the attribution of some seemingly common or similar characteristics to the neighboring Jews and Slavs, but also for the projection of stereotypes about Russia or Eastern Europe onto Galician borderland. The combination of proximity to Russia, the traditional way of life in shtetls, and the Jewish-Slavic neighborliness simultaneously bestowed on the mythologized image of Galicia “a deeply religious touch,”14 to quote Claudio Magris.

11 Roth 2003, p. 247; Roth 1990, p. 675: “Meine alte Heimat, die Monarchie, allein war ein großes Haus mit vielen Türen und vielen Zimmern, für viele Arten von Menschen. Man hat das Haus verteilt, gespalten, zertrümmert. Ich habe dort nichts zu suchen, Ich bin gewohnt, in einem Haus zu leben, nicht in Kabinen.” 12 Hüchtker, p. 83: “erinnerten;” “längst nicht so fest und eindeutig.” 13 Ibid., p. 84: “Galizien steht dann für polyethnische Regionen, wie sie auch bspw. in Podolien anzutreffen sind, oder es wird subsummiert unter dem Ansiedlungsrayon des osteuropäischen Judentums in Russland.” 14 Magris 1996, p. 309: “eine tiefreligiöse Note.” This remark concerns all of Joseph Roth’s oeuvre. For more see Magris 1996. As I will show below, we may also apply this view to the texts by Thomas Mann and Stefan Zweig, which are analyzed here.

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Where Do the Galician Eccentrics Come From? Already with the first approach to the representatives of this type of characters we notice that their “small homeland” is mainly represented as a nebulous mythical area somewhere in the east. Cultural differences between the Habsburg province and Russian Poland are largely blurred so that the imperial border – with its separating function – loses significance. Thus, Leo Naphta’s hometown appears in Thomas Mann’s novel as a dump somewhere on the border between Galicia and Volhynia; that is, between the Habsburg and Russian Empires.15 The description of Naphta’s childhood is so unspecific that the shtetl could just as well belong to both empires. This impossibility of attributing Leo Naphta’s place of origin to a concrete state is in itself an illuminating symptom of stereotypical undifferentiated representation of the Habsburg-Russian borderland as a special territory, where every border between the European West and the European East becomes porous. Mendel’s place of origin from Zweig’s novella “Buchmendel” seems equally indistinct. The leitmotif designation of the protagonist as a “Galician Jew” meant in the Austro-Hungarian Empire nothing more but a reference to its eastern provinces. Mendel’s birthplace Petrikovo was in reality on “foreign” soil, namely in that part of “Russian” Poland that bordered Austria-Hungary. According to Sigurd Paul Scheichl, this is either Zweig’s geographical error or a deliberate disregard of historical-geographical facts. In Scheichl’s opinion, we may then trace the latter back to Zweig’s polemic with the usual derogatory ideas that saw both Galicia and Russia as “different Easts” and dismissed the Jewish population living on the border of both empires as “Polish Jews.”16 Both explanations do indeed have to do with Zweig’s contradictory relationship to Eastern European Jewry in one way or another,17 and there is ample evidence in the novella for both views. For example, Mark Gelber indicates that Zweig’s Mendel perfectly agrees with negative stereotypes about Eastern European Jews, as he is characterized as “the little Galician bookworm” with “dirty fingers” who “constantly exclaims ‘Oi’ and ‘Oiweh’,” but at the same time, in contrast to such stereotypes, as “the titan of memory” and “the victim of the modern society perceived as inhumane.”18

15 Here and below, I quote the novel from Mann 2002, p. 662f. 16 Scheichl 2014, p. 238: “polnische Juden.” 17 On Zweig’s “Jewish sensitivity” and his relationship to Eastern European Jewry, see Gelber 2014, p. 11–32. 18 Ibid., p. 157f: “der kleine galizische Buchtrödler;” “schmutzigen Fingern;” “beständigen Ausrufen ‘Oi’ und ‘Oiweh’;” “Titan des Gedächtnisses;” “Opfer einer als unmenschlich empfundenen modernen Gesellschaft.”

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Let us add that the stereotypical elements in Mendel’s profile are counteracted in the novella by the tragic consequences of his bureaucratically uncertain origin story. This story sharply attacks arrogant imaginings of Eastern European Jews so that the situational indistinguishability of the borderlands of the two empires aggravates into a dark grotesque. However, what seems most important here is the cultural positioning that the protagonist gains from his indistinguishability. As a “Galician Jew,” he counts among the colorful inhabitants of the multinational Habsburg Empire. However, as a “Polish Jew” from Russia, he always remains a stranger in Vienna, who finally becomes an enemy during the war. Also in Roth’s novella “The Leviathan” in Russian Volhynia, that is, on the Russian side of the border between two empires. The conditions of local everyday life, such as the religious traditions of the Orthodox Jews, the Jewish-Slavic proximity, the local mentality, and even nature, are described in such a way that this region becomes the double of Galicia from Roth’s “Galician texts.” In this sense, it is probably no coincidence that “The Leviathan” is often regarded in academic research as such a “Galician” text. For example, the author of Joseph Roth’s classic biography, David Bronsen, claims that Roth draws in “The Leviathan” the image of his homeland; i. e., Galicia.19 From this perspective, Bronsen compares the protagonist of the novella with similar characters from Roth’s “Galician” prose texts. In a later biography of Roth, Wilhelm von Sternburg explicitly calls the inhabitants of the little Volhynian town from “The Leviathan” as “naive miracle-believing Galician peasants.”20 Magris also views “The Leviathan” as a variation of Roth’s “Habsburg myth” and lists the protagonist of the novella alongside the “Galician Job”21 Mendel Singer, who – by the way – is like Roth’s coral merchant a Volhynian, and not a Galician, Jew. In this way, “The Leviathan” and its main character Nissen Piczenik become representative of (post)Habsburg Galicia in Roth’s work, despite Piczenik’s unambiguous anchoring in Russian-Jewish cultural-historical context. In such a way, Piczenik’s home – a small border town in Volhynia – dissolves in the vague Galician borderland, as the myth has it. Moreover, we should make note of the way Roth actually locates the setting of “The Leviathan.” Already in the first sentence the author indicates the ahistorical mythologized chronotope from the repertoire of the Galicia myth and emphasizes the respective exotic coloring, also by using the East Slavic toponym: “In the small town of Progrody there lived a coral merchant, who was known far and

19 Bronsen 1974, p. 577. 20 Sternburg 2009, p. 437: “naive, wundergläubige Bauern Galiziens.” 21 Magris 1996, p. 309: “galizischen Hiob.”

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wide for his honesty and the reliability and quality of his wares.”22 Apparently referring to the local legend, Roth emphasizes here the reliability of Nissen Piczenik, thus entering into a latent polemic with negative stereotypes about Galicia, Eastern European Jews, and Eastern Europe in general. Structure-wise, such an introduction functions as a counterpart to the first sentence of Roth’s series of reports Reise durch Galizien (Journey through Galicia), in which such stereotypes and clich8s, including accusations of dishonesty, were rendered with a bitter irony : “The country has a bad reputation in Western Europe. The trite lazy wit of civilized arrogance brings it into a tasteless connection with rats, rubbish, fraudulence.”23 Thus, the descriptions of the “small homeland” of Zweig’s Buchmendel, Thomas Mann’s Naphta, and Roth’s Piczenik reveal a common construct that underlies all three characters. In all three cases, it is the blurred borderland of two empires, called Galicia, but provided with cultural and mental codes of “near” Russia and the specific East Slavic or Eastern European “kinship” along with elements constitutive of the mental map of Eastern Europe. As a result, the inner connection of these literary characters to their (former) homeland gains a fundamentally ambivalent character. On the one hand, Mendel, Naphta, and Piczenik represent the polyethnic, multidenominational, and pluricultural Galician borderland distant from the “center,” in which the Jewish diaspora with its specific “Eastern European” history and traditions – shaped by shtetl lifeworld – plays a role that we should not underestimate. In fact, the three characters are presented to the reader primarily as representatives of the Eastern European Jews who lived on the border between two empires. From this old tradition of representation, but also from the concept of civilizational backwardness attributed to Galicia and the whole of Eastern Europe, the above authors derive the archaic, conservative, exotic, and simply eccentric traits that characterize the described figures and their ideas about the world, ideals, and values. In this sense, it is striking that the biographies of Mendel, Naphta, and Piczenik, before their escape from their respective “small homelands” – reduced to but a few events – always have a religious component that either corresponds to the stereotype of the “pious” Eastern European Jew or assumes the form of such a stereotype. On the other hand, the above characters are presented as outsiders who torn themselves away from their original surroundings and – in their wanderings – 22 Roth 2011, p. 3: “In dem kleinen Städtchen Progrody lebte einst ein Korallenhändler, der wegen seiner Redlichkeit und wegen seiner guten, zuverlässigen Ware weit und breit in der Umgebung bekannt war.” 23 Roth 1990b, p. 281: “Das Land hat in Westeuropa üblen Ruf. Der wohlfeile und faule Witz des zivilisierten Hochmuts bringt es in eine abgeschmackte Verbindung mit Ungeziefer, Unrat, Unredlichkeit.”

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underwent profound identity and cultural transformations that underlie their difficult reputation as eccentrics. This cultural experience is staged and evaluated differently by different authors. However, despite all the differences, there emerges a common basis in the life stories of the three characters under scrutiny. This includes the paradigm of crossing cultural borders, the idea of “supranationalism” that is central to the Habsburg and the Galicia myth, archaic timelessness and the loss of one’s “own” cultural and – above all – religious environment, which provides the impetus for all further identity transformations. These factors lend the outsiders from Galicia a cosmopolitan, even universalistic charisma, which elevates quirky marginals from Galician provinces to symbolic personifications of Europe mutilated in the First World War.

From “Strict and Only God Jehovah” to the “Glittering and Thousandfold Polytheism” of the Books The concept of self-transforming piety is fundamental to the character of Zweig’s Buchmendel, even if the text only marginally hints at both his piety and later secularization. Jakob Mendel, a Jew from the distant provinces on the Habsburg-Russian border, moved to Vienna at a young age and lived there as a book dealer and “broker of books.” As a “lexicon” and “universal catalog on two legs”24 whose fabulous memory for books was far superior to that of librarians and professors, Mendel unofficially offered his services in queries for antiquarian rarities. But his fame as a local celebrity could hardly protect him from the humiliations and harassments that ultimately cost him his life during the First World War. In a world devastated and brutalized by the First World War, it was particularly easy to denounce the eccentric outsider from a peculiar province as a spy and impose on him the role of an unsuitable vagrant, hardly reconcilable with the primitive pragmatism of the new owner of Caf8 Gluck. At first sight, religion hardly plays a role in this life story. As the narrator once mentions, Jacob was pious only in his youth. His move to the capital of the Danube Monarchy meant a final break with the creed of his fathers. “Thirty-three years ago,” reports the narrator, “with a still soft black fluffy beard and curly hear on his forehead, the small crooked young man had come to Vienna from the east

24 Here and below, I quote from: Zweig 1956, p. 174: “Makler der Bücher ;” “Lexikon;” “Universalkatalog auf zwei Beinen.”

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to study rabbinate; but he soon left the strict and only God Jehovah to surrender to the glittering and thousandfold polytheism of the books.”25 From this single laconic description of Mendel’s life before his move to Vienna, we may read some important details that shed light on his story. First, the young Mendel is not only a typical Orthodox Jew from an Eastern European province but also a believer who wants to dedicate his life to the service of God. Second, Mendel’s move to the imperial capital also triggered a biographical change, which results in his desertion from the faith and traditions of his forefathers and a turn to the worldly life. Third, Zweig’s religious terminology suggests that Mendel’s religious feelings did not fade away but turned into an admiration of books – despite his Viennese experiences with assimilation and secularization – and that they also were not so much different from the practice of worship. In the above quote, this thought surfaces in a compelling juxtaposition of strict Jewish monotheism and the radiant polytheism of the books. Moreover, Mendel’s desertion from the “strict and only God Jehovah” – meaning also desertion from traditional customs – clearly coincides with the comprehensive assimilation of Eastern European Jewry at the turn of the nineteenth to the twentieth century. The extravagant thing about Mendel is merely his ecstatic-religious deification of the books, which leaves no room for conventional piety. For his respect for the book, which gave the Jews the fame of “the people of the Book,”26 is coupled with a phenomenal memory for bibliographical information and complete ignorance of the content of the works published. Zweig briefly compares this lack of knowledge to ignorance and characteristically explains it with the Jewish Orthodox education that Mendel received at a Galician Talmud school.27 Mendel’s belief in book culture has a similar origin which – like the mystical contemplation of Hebrew script – links unconditional worship of the “letter” with the renunciation of any complete comprehension of its meaning. Therefore, the above fragment presents a hardly obvious and yet extremely important reason for Mendel’s status as an eccentric, namely the transformation of his Jewish faith into the career of a manic bookworm. The novella “Buchmendel” reinforces this major element of Mendel’s character by leitmotif parallels between his handling of books and religious practices, which in many respects resemble the religious practices of Judaism. Even in his first memories of Mendel, the narrator sketches the image of a Galician bookworm, who 25 Ibid., p. 179: “Vor dreiunddreißig Jahren, mit noch weichem, schwarzflaumigen Bart und geringelten Stirnlocken, war er, ein kleines schiefes Jüngel, aus dem Osten nach Wien gekommen, um Rabbinat zu studieren; aber bald hatte er den harten Eingott Jevovah verlassen, um sich der funkelnden und tausendfaltigen Vielgötterei der Bücher zu ergeben.” 26 Witte 2012, p. 15f: “Volkes des Buches.” 27 Zweig 1956, p. 176f.

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sat there steadfastly and unshakably, humming and buzzing, the spectacled gaze hypnotically fixed on a book, as he rocked his body and the badly polished, spotted bald head in a habit brought back from the cheder, the Jewish children school in the East. Here at this table, and only at this one, did he read his catalogues and books, as one learns to read in the Talmudic school, singing quietly and in silence, a black rocking cradle.28

The same associations emerge later on: No one could disturb him in such a moment, when he was as little as a real believer in prayer and, indeed, all his looking, touching, smelling, and weighing, each of these individual acts had something of the ceremonial, of the ritual-regulated sequence of a religious act. His crooked back moved back and forth, mumbling and grumbling, scratching his hair, ejecting strange vocal elemental sounds, some stretched, almost frightened “Ah” and “Oh” of rapt admiration, and then again a rapidly frightened “Oi” or “Oiweh” when a page was missing or was eaten by a woodworm.29

Such parallels serve here as a means of sacralization and exoticization of Mendel’s book addiction. At the same time, they emphasize the metamorphosis of identity through which a pious boy from the Eastern European shtetl became the cosmopolitan inhabitant of a many-voiced book universe, this world of thousand faces. This metamorphosis accompanies an inner overcoming of prescribed identity boundaries, and implicitly refers to the peripheral borderland with its own interferences and alterations of borders.30 In the course of the plot, this context comes to the fore, since it is precisely during the First World War that it becomes Mendel’s fate. The mere fact that Mendel was born in a disreputable area on the border of the “hostile” Russian Empire gives sufficient grounds for suspicion of espionage in wartime. Even more suspicious is Mendel’s complete indifference to questions concerning his state or national affiliation. This disinterest is due not only to his isolation in the “multinational” world of books but 28 Ibid., p. 172: “unentwegt und unerschütterlich saß, den bebrillten Blick hypnotisch starr auf ein Buch geheftet, wie er dort saß und im Lesen summend und brummend seinen Körper und die schlecht polierte, fleckige Glatze vor und zurückschaukelte, eine Gewohnheit, mitgebracht aus dem Cheder, der jüdischen Kleinkinderschule des Ostens. Hier an diesem Tisch und nur an ihm las er seine Kataloge und Bücher, so wie man ihn das Lesen in der Talmudschule gelehrt, leise singend und sich schweigend, eine schwarze, schaukelnde Wiege.” 29 Ibid., p. 178f: “Niemand konnte ihn in einer solchen Sekunde stören, so wenig wie einen wirklichen Gläubigen im Gebet, und tatsächlich hatte dies Anschauen, Berühren, Beriechen und Abwägen, hatte jede dieser Einzelhandlungen etwas von dem Zeremoniell, von der kultische geregelten Aufeinanderfolge eines religiösen Aktes. Der krumme Rücken schob sich hin und her, dabei murmelte und knurrte er, kratzte sich im Haar, stieß merkwürdige vokalische Urlaute aus, ein gedehntes, fast erschrockenes ‘Ah’ und ‘Oh’ hingerissener Bewunderung und dann wieder ein rapid erschrecktes ‘Oi’ oder ‘Oiweh,’ wenn sich eine Seite als fehlend oder ein Blatt als vom Holzwurm zerfressen erwies.” 30 Noteworthy, the novella’s reference to Mendel’s origins is also accompanied with a confusing stringing together of different boundaries.

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also to Mendel’s experience of relativizing national-cultural and denominational boundaries. For that very reason, the once pious Jew Mendel answers the question of who his father was – an Austrian or a Russian? – in a plain and simple manner, “obviously Russian,” thereby offering a reason for his transfer to the concentration camp. Thus, Mendel’s experience of crossing “own” religious, national, and cultural boundaries leads to his “abnormal” (or “eccentric”) retreat into the world of books. In turn, Zweig interprets this as a profane substitute for the religious dimension and simultaneously a form of the cosmopolitan ideal, which is basically very similar to the ideologeme of “supranational empire” claimed by the Habsburg myth. However, we find a special feature of this retreat in Mendel, due to the astonishing limitation of his book knowledge to simple bibliographic data and his total exclusion from reality, as he neither becomes a full inhabitant of the book world nor a true citizen of the real world. As such, he remains an outsider and – as an eternal “Galician Jew” – always stands on the edge of “Western” civilization. Hence, his continuous designation as a “Galician Jew” is certainly no coincidence.

From “Old Jehovah” to “Mighty Leviathan” The novella “The Leviathan” is probably one of the most “mythological” texts in the “Galician” part of Roth’s oeuvre. Even the story about the coral merchant, whose fatal passion for corals led him to renounce ordinary life and travel by sea – thus driving him to his death – recalls a legend from Nissen Piczenik’s homeland. Many fantastic accents found in the novella, such as the interior of Piczenik’s apartment that alludes to the seabed, or the colorful descriptions of the coral world that evoke associations with the animal world or with roses for the goddesses of the seas,31 but also some other elements strike the reader’s eye. Furthermore, the mystical overtones of the novella grow by the use of biblical motifs. What plays a central role are the sea monster Leviathan and the demonized character of the Hungarian Jenö Lakatos, who enticed the good coral merchant Piczenik to sell corals made of celluloid. It is obvious that Roth’s “The Leviathan” clearly differs from Zweig’s quasiautobiographical “Buchmendel” novella in terms of plot and scenery, but also in regard to central conflict and mythological coloring. All the more remarkable in this respect are the parallels between the two texts, which lie in the fact that the protagonists represent the same type of characters.

31 Roth 2011, p. 15.

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Just like young Mendel, Nissen Piczenik is portrayed as a typical inhabitant of a shtetl situated on the border: Like every other Jew, the coral merchant went to synagogue twice a day, morning and evening, he celebrated holidays, fasted on fast days, he put on his prayer shawl and his phylacteries, and swayed back and forth from the waist, he talked to the people, he had conversations about politics, about the war with Japan, about what was printed in the newspapers and preoccupying the world.32

This was the reason why “all Jews” considered Piczenik their equal.33 Piczenik’s appearance is also typical of his origins. A quiet, well-built, red-haired Jew with rapturous porcelain eyes, he embodied that type of “eccentric”34 red-haired Jews whom Roth in his Reise durch Galizien thought to be a Galician specialty. The town of Progrody also emanates the aura of a Jewish-Slavic co-existence. Among Piczenik’s most important customers are mainly Slavic farmers who travel to his shop from all over the district, not simply because they value his corals so highly, but because they believe in their supernatural power. On that score, the corals resemble Piczenik himself. For he, too, views corals as living creatures blessed with spirit, which embody perfect beauty. In the story about Piczenik’s past, his relations with the neighboring Slavs are transfigured into an idyllic spiritual affinity : “Because once we have got a drink or two inside us, all good honest men are our brothers, and all fair women our sisters – and there is no difference between peasants and merchants, Jews and Christians.”35 Just like the fatal mistake made by Mendel, who when questioned described his origin as “Russian,” this may also be viewed as a symptom of the permeability of national-cultural borders of the borderland. Like Mendel, Piczenik is a local celebrity and an object of pride. He, too, has a special talent, a passion for corals, whose omnipotence and specific character are reminiscent of Mendel’s reverence for books. In the same way, Piczenik’s addiction combines specific knowledge, ignorance, and mystical faith, which captivates him and isolates from reality, thus luring him into the world of fantasy. This fascination also serves as a substitute for the Hebrew religion, which Nissen Piczenik demonstratively denies in the scene onboard a ship, when he exposes 32 Roth 2011, p. 20; Roth 1990a, p. 550: “Wie alle Juden ging auch der Korallenhändler zweimal jeden Tag, morgens und abends, ins Bethaus, feierte die Feiertage, fastete an den Fasttagen, legte Gebetriemen und Gebetmantel an, schaukelte seinen Oberkörper, unterhielt sich mit den Leuten, sprach von Politik, vom Russisch-japanischen Krieg, überhaupt von allem, was in den Zeitungen stand und was die Welt bewegte.” 33 Roth 2011, p. 19; Roth 1990a, p. 549: “alle Juden.” 34 Roth 2011, p. 20; Roth 1990a, p. 550: “sonderbaren.” 35 Roth 2011, p. 14; Roth 1990a, p. 551: “Denn wenn wir einmal getrunken haben, sind alle guten und redlichen Männer unsere Brüder und alle lieben Frauen unsere Schwestern – und es gibt keinen Unterschied zwischen Bauer und Händler, Jud’ und Christ’.”

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his head in front of everyone. We may interpret also this scene as effecting from the erosion of tradition; for it is precisely under the influence of his increasing yearning for the sea and the corals hidden underneath that Piczenik begins to pray mechanically, “in the manner of a phonograph.”36 The diversity of corals corresponds to the polytheism of the books and, like the latter, is opposed to the “old Jehovah.” In other words, the kingdom of corals bears an astonishing resemblance to the kingdom of books of “Buchmendel.” Like Zweig’s protagonist, Roth’s Piczenik also experiences phases of upswing, decay, expulsion, and downfall. From this perspective, the comparison of the two texts gives rise to a shared narrative about a Jewish eccentric from Galicia, shattered by the course of history at the turn of the century.

From the Jewish Butcher’s Knife to the Terror of Christian Utopia In contrast to Mendel and Piczenik – portrayed as touching and thoroughly harmless eccentrics – Leo Naphta’s character activates the imagination of a dangerous stranger “from the East.” The crossing of denominational and cultural borders is the essence of this character by Thomas Mann. As the son of a kosher butcher who followed religious traditions all too eagerly, Leib – as Leo was called in his childhood – was brought up on the example of his father, whose activity shaped his inclination towards the perverse interplay of the sacred and violence. This interplay finds a creepy expression in the tragic death of Elijah Naphta: during a pogrom triggered by the unexplained death of two Christian children, the angry crowd crucifies Schochet on the door of his own house, in front of his children. The family then flees to Europe, where Leib first receives orthodox training and then goes to the Jesuit school. Here he makes a name for himself as an outstanding student. One should believe that his conversion to Christianity and later career with the Jesuits would lead to a deep assimilation and an equally deep integration into the Western European cultural tradition. This is also testified by his reflections, in which, as Franka Marquardt rightly notes, Christian thinkers and theologians are often mentioned, whereas the Hebrew tradition hardly ever appears.37 Nevertheless, Naphta does not succeed in overcoming his outsiderism. Apparently, he belongs to the intellectual elite at the Jesuits. An original thinker trained first in the Talmudic tradition of interpretation and then in Jesuit sophistry, Naphta proves to be an unsurpassed disputant who feels at home even 36 Roth 2011, p. 35; Roth 1990a, p. 564: “wie ein Grammophon.” 37 Marquardt 2007.

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in the most complex themes of European history and culture at the turn of the century. Ambitious and fanatical, with his ideal of the new Christian-communist theocracy he appears as the only serious opponent of Lodovico Settembrini, this advocate of European humanism, in the struggle for the status of an informal mentor of the younger generation and in reality for the monopoly of interpretation. And yet, regardless of his razor-sharp judgment and brilliant abilities, Naphta becomes an outsider. Because of his poisonous ideas and intellectual ruthlessness in dealing with opponents, the participants in the discussion perceive him as a suspicious type who breaks customs. For this reason and other, Hans Castorp describes him as a Jesuit always in search of new combinations. Even Leo Naphta’s appearance of a “stranger” with physical defects, such as his crookedness, “corrosive ugliness,” and voice reminiscent of the sound of a cracked plate, seems suspicious and repulsive. Moreover, Leo Naphta appears to be an outlier who disregards existing norms when he first initiates the duel with Settembrini and then aggravates it with murderous challenges. We may read the suicide that Naphta commits during the duel as a visible consequence of his situation as an outsider, not only in the walls of the sanatorium – where he always found himself a extraneous and superfluous person – but also, as the finale of his life story shows, in the bosom of Christianity, which he formally accepted but hardly made his own. Leo Naphta’s outsiderism results from his cultural “otherness,” which the novel apparently equates with his Jewish origins. The latter may be proved at various levels. In Naphta’s outward appearance, for example, Hans Castorp mostly focuses on his Jewish-looking curved nose. What receives a prominent position in Naphta’s psychological profile is the influence of his father, a pious Jewish butcher from an ordinary Eastern European shtetl. On top of that, the narrator associates Naphta’s character with a “typically” Jewish behavior model of a “noble revolutionary.” The Jesuit’s Jewish origin is also evidenced by his surname which, according to Michael Neumann, can be understood as a shortened form of “Naphtali,” the name of an Old Testament progenitor.38 Among other elements, such “traces” of Judaism further constitute the exoticism of Naphta’s character. In Herbert Lehnert’s opinion, such a representation strategy can be explained by the fact that Thomas Mann regarded Jews as “strangers” at the time of his work on The Magic Mountain.39 However, it is especially in relation to Leo Naphta that this approach to interpretation appears quite problematic. First, because Naphta “outgrew” his “original world” in his youth and underwent a cultural-religious 38 Neumann 2002, p. 93. 39 Lehnert 1982, p. 63.

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retraining in a closed Jesuit institution, in view of which his “strangeness” appears less cultural than ethnic, if not racist. Second, Naphta’s ethnic otherness is no exception in the novel; be it in the international society of Berghof ’s inmates or among the participants of philosophical discussions, as his adversary is the Italian Settembrini. Third, as Franka Marquardt rightly indicates, there were many other Jews in the sanatorium40 who, unlike Leo Naphta, are by no means located in the coordinates of the othering discourse: we recognize their ethnic identity by their names, but not by their representation as strangers. Hence, although Naphta’s affiliation with Jews is suggested in the novel by means of historical-cultural and anti-Semitic stereotypes, one should not explain Naphta’s strangeness only through his Judaism, if at all. Another factor that determines Naphta’s otherness is his cultural belonging to “the East.” It stemmed from Naphta’s biography, as his place of origin was a small town on the border between Galicia and Volhynia, between the Habsburg Empire and the Russian Empire: on the eastern edge of Western European civilization. Symbolically, this affiliation becomes visible in Naphta’s function as a representative of the East, which he exercises in his polemics with the “European” Settembrini. This cultural-geographical dimension of their conflict emerges in one of the discussions in a way that cannot be misinterpreted. At that moment, Settembrini, who declares himself as the defender of European values, clearly distinguishes himself from Naphta with his “Eastern” ideas of culture. The European East assumes the role of a cultural and intellectual point of reference most visibly in Naptha’s statements about the communist utopia of a Christian character, radicalism, and revolution, which obviously refer back to postrevolutionary Russia. Despite all his sympathies with the European East, especially Russia,41 Thomas Mann perceived the October Revolution as “an avoidable catastrophe,”42 which threatened the entire “civilized world” and plunged Russia itself into “wild” Asian chaos. In his diary, Mann calls it “the Kyrgyz idea to raze and annihilate”43 and draws an unflattering comparison between Lenin and Genghis Khan.44 In this context, the diary also negatively judges the “type of the Russian Jew, the leader of the world movement, this explosive mixture of Jewish intellectual radicalism and Slavic Christ fantasy,”45 which justifies the following conclusion: “A 40 Marquardt 2007, p. 265. 41 “The literary man of civilization loves France and the West,” comments Herrmann Kurzke 1990, “Thomas Mann loves Russia and the East.” Cf. Kurzke 1990, p. 88: “Der Zivilisationsliterat liebt Frankreich und den Westen, Thomas Mann liebt Rußland und den Osten”. 42 Mann 1979, p. 222: “die ersetzliche Kulturkatastrophe.” 43 Ibid., p. 223: “die Kirgisen-Idee des Rasierens und Vernichtens.” 44 Ibid. 45 Ibid.: “Typus des russischen Juden, des Führers der Weltbewegung, dieser sprengstoffhaften Mischung aus jüdischem Intellektual-Radikalismus und slawischer Christus-Schwärmerei.”

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world that still has an instinct for self-preservation must act against this race of people with all the energy and brevity it can muster.”46 The character of the Galician Jew Naphta also emerges from under the sign of this grim mixture. His sermons link socialist ideas to the dream of absolute power of a renewed medieval Christian church and anarchist aspirations to the cynical demand for total control and justifications of violence. Therefore, it is hardly surprising that Naphta’s double name Leib / Leo, which stresses his identity transition from Judaism to Christianity, reads not only as a combination of a typical Jewish name and the name of Pope Leo XIII,47 the contemporary of Naphta, but also hints at one of the key figures of the Bolshevik revolution in Russia, namely the Ukrainian Jew Leiba / Lev Trockij. Noteworthy, thanks to its strange nature, its principal incompatibility with reality, and its inherent mystical strain, Naphta’s utopia comes very close both to the book universe of Zweig’s Mendel and the coral kingdom of Roth’s Piczenik.

Postscript Despite all the diversity and depth of their literary reworkings, the above characters of Galician eccentrics remain in many respects bound to the stereotypes about Eastern European Jews and about Galicia – even if they differ between each author. From the reservoir of cheap cultural clich8s, the three authors mostly employ motifs of backwardness, timelessness, and irrationality – by way of alchemy or even black arts – which play an ambivalent role in all three stories. Just like their “bizarre” homeland, the characters of Galician eccentrics grow into the grotesque.48 It is certainly no coincidence that the most important instrument in their literary design is contrast, which connects the numerous gross discrepancies in their appearances, characters, and fates. Accompanied by the decline of old empires, the new epoch revealed the precariousness of both the European map and European values. At the beginning of this epoch, the literary characters of Jewish eccentrics from Galicia – this “suspicious” yet “wonderful” corner of Europe – became ambassadors and messengers of the upheavals that were to completely change not only Jews’ place in Europe but also the foundations of European humanist culture. Translated from German by Mikołaj Golubiewski 46 Ibid.: “Eine Welt, die noch Selbsterhaltungsinstinkt besitzt, muß mit aller aufbietbaren Energie und standrechtlichen Kürze gegen diesen Menschenschlag vorgehen.” 47 Marquardt 2007, p. 272. 48 Roth 2011.

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Bibliography Primary Literature Mann, Thomas: Tagebücher 1918–1921, Frankfurt a. M. 1979. Mann, Thomas: Zauberberg. Große Kommentierte Frankfurter Ausgabe, Heinrich Dietrich, Eckhard Heftrich, Hermann Kurzke, Terence J. Reed, Thomas Sprecher, Hans R. Vaget, Ruprecht Wimmer (eds.), Vol. 5/1, Frankfurt a. M. 2002. Roth, Joseph: Die Büste des Kaisers, in: Roth, Joseph: Werke. Vol. 5, Köln 1990, pp. 655–676. Roth, Joseph: A Bust of the Emperor. A Novella, in: Roth, Joseph: The Collected Stories of Joseph Roth, transl. by Michael Hofmann, New York – London 2003, pp. 227–247. Roth, Joseph: Der Leviatan, in: Roth, Joseph: Werke, Vol. 6, Köln 1990, pp. 515–544. Roth, Joseph: The Leviatan, transl. by Michael Hofmann, New York 2011. Roth, Joseph: Reise durch Galizien, in: Roth, Joseph: Werke, Vol. 2, Köln 1990, pp. 281–292. Zweig, Stefan: Buchmendel, in: Zweig, Stefan: Amok. Novellen einer Leidenschaft, Frankfurt a. M. 1956, pp. 167–195.

Secondary Literature Bronsen, David: Eine Biographie, Köln 1974. Frenzel, Elisabeth: Sonderling, in: Frenzel, Elisabeth: Motive der Weltliteratur : Ein Lexikon dichtungsgeschichtlicher Längsschnitte, Stuttgart 2008, p. 631. Gelber, Mark H.: Stefan Zweig, Judentum und Zionismus, Innsbruck 2014. Górny, Maciej: Der ‘Krieg der Geister’ im Osten? Eine Fußnote zum vergangenen Paradigma, in: Dornik, Wolfram / Walleczek-Fritz, Julia / Wedrac, Stefan (eds.): Frontwechsel, Wien 2013, pp. 191–212. Hüchtker, Dietlind: Der ‘Mythos Galizien.’ Versuch einer Historisierung, in: Müller, Michael / Petri, Rolf G. (eds.): Die Nationalisierung von Grenzen. Zur Konstruktion nationaler Identität in sprachlich gemischten Grenzregionen, Marburg 2003, pp. 81– 107. ´ ski, Stefan: Der jüdische Anteil der Literatur in und über Galizien, in: Gelber, Kaszyn Mark H. et al. (eds.): Von Franzos zu Canetti. Jüdische Autoren aus Österreich. Neue Studien, Tübingen 1996, pp. 129–140. Kurzke Hermann: Thomas Mann und die russische Revolution. Von der Betrachtung eines Unpolitischen bis zu Goethe und Tolstoi, in: Heftrich, Eckhard / Wysling, Hans (eds.): Thomas Mann Jahrbuch, Vol. 3, Frankfurt a. M. 1990, pp. 86–95. Lehnert, Herbert: Leo Naphta und sein Autor, in: Orbis Litterarum 37 (1982), pp. 47–69. Magris, Claudio: Der habsburgische Mythos in der modernen österreichischen Literatur, Turin 1996. Marquardt, Franka: Judentum und Jesuitenorden in Thomas Manns Zauberberg. Zur Funktion der ‘Fehler’ in der Darstellung des jüdischen Jesuiten Leib-Leo-Naphta, in:

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Deutsche Vierteljahrschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Geschichte 81/2 (2007), pp. 257–281. Neumann, Michael: Kommentar, in: Mann, Thomas: Der Zauberberg. Roman. Große Kommentierte Frankfurter Ausgabe. Werke – Briefe – Tagebücher, Heinrich Dietrich, Eckhard Heftrich, Hermann Kurzke, Terence J. Reed, Thomas Sprecher, Hans R. Vaget, Ruprecht Wimmer (eds.), Vol. 5/2, Frankfurt a. M. 2002, p. 93. Scheichl, Sigrud Paul: Stefan Zweigs ‘Buchmendel’ – Bibliografie und Gedächtnis, in: Niedermair, Klaus / Wieser, Martin (eds.): Die Bibliothek in der Zukunft: regional – global: Lesen, Studieren und Forschen im Wandel. Festschrift für Hofrat Dr. Martin Wieser anlässlich seiner Versetzung in den Ruhestand, Innsbruck 2014, pp. 231–243. Schmidt-Dengler, Wendelin: Eksperyment Galychyna – Yozef Rot v wstorwiakh nwmetskoyi ta avstrwyskoyi lwteratury, in: Havryliv, Tymofiy (eds.): Fakt yak eksperyment. Mekhanwzmy fwktswonalwzatswyi dwysnostw u tvorakh Yozefa Rota, Lviv 2007, pp. 197–217. Sternburg, Wilhelm von: Joseph Roth. Eine Biographie, Köln 2009. Voloshchuk, Ievgeniia: Was bleibt auf den Ruinen der Imperien? (Re-)Visionen des Grenztopos Galizien in den Werken von Joseph Roth und Juri Andruchowytsch, in: Michaelis-König, Andree (ed.): Auf den Ruinen der Imperien. Erzählte Grenzräume in der mittel- und osteuropäischen Literatur nach 1989, Berlin 2018, pp. 29–46. Witte, Bernd: Europa – Heimat der Juden? in: Schönborn, Sibylle / Solibakke, Karl Ivan / Witte, Bernd (eds.): Traditionen jüdischen Denkens in Europa, Berlin 2012, pp. 11–19. Zatonskij, Dmitro: Fenomen avstrwyskoyi lwteratury, in: Vwkno v svwt 1 (1998), p. 151.

Francisca Solomon

Bukovina’s Yiddish Landscape in Habsburg and Post-Habsburg Context: Historical, Cultural, and Literary Interrelations*

Abstract During the time of the Habsburg Monarchy (1775–1918), a singular “Austrian” constellation crystallized in Bukovina, above all reflected in the strong local patriotism in Czernowitz and the feeling of belonging to the Austrian state. Therefore, the 1918 downfall of the Habsburg Monarchy marked a painful identity-disturbing experience, especially for those Bukovinian Jews who identified with the Habsburg values and the bourgeois ideals propagated by the Viennese “center.” The language proved to be a fundamental vehicle that supported and maintained the (Austrian) Bukovinian consciousness. Beside Romanian as the official language, German continued to mark the privileged means of expression in the private sphere of the urban and cultured classes of Bukovinian Jews along with most literary circles. However, it was Yiddish that gained popularity as a competing linguistic practice. This article gives an insight into the history of Bukovina’s Yiddish landscape by highlighting its important historical, cultural, and literary interrelations. Keywords: Bukovina, Czernowitz / Cerna˘ut‚i / Chernivtsi1, Yiddish, Yiddish press, Yiddish associations

* This work relies on a paper accepted for presentation at the Annual Conference of the Austrian Studies Association “Inter-texts: Correspondences, Connections, and Fissures in Austrian Culture,” University of Illinois at Chicago, U.S.A. (March, 16.–19., 2017). This paper has been completly revised, expanded and updated for publication. The research work was supported by a grant of Ministery of Research and Innovation, CNCS – UEFISCDI, project number PNIII-P1-1.1-TE-2016-0968, within PNCDI III. 1 The author of this article applies the historical naming variant wherever it is relevant for the presentation of the matter : Czernowitz as part of the Habsburg Monarchy between 1775–1918, Cerna˘ut‚ i as part of Romania, 1918–1945 and Chernivtsi as part of the former Soviet Union and contemporary Ukraine.

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Introduction The historical career of Habsburg Bukovina (1775–1918) considerably differs from its Galician counterpart, as regions show their characters by specific political, social, ethno-demographic, and economic realities.2 These interrelated conditions constitute essential modeling factors for the development of their own national and cultural identities in the context of a pluralistic and polyphonic society. Unlike Galicia with its stable cultural, religious, and ethnic structures, Bukovina’s population structure was more easily shaped by Viennese politics. The ethnic mix in that province gave absolute majority to neither Romanians nor Ruthenians so that the German-speaking population became an important cultural mediator between the two nationalities. After the downfall of the Habsburg Monarchy, Bukovina’s mixture of different peoples – especially in Cerna˘ut‚ i / Chernivtsi – led to the spread of own one-sided distorted idyllic image. Hence the myth of “Austrian Bukovina” as an illusory “oasis” for the peaceful coexistence of all nationalities and denominations under the regulatory custody of Viennese politics, whose connecting element depicted the generous offer of German culture and language as a “normative expression of Europeanism.”3 In fact, the history of Jewish population’s assimilation into German culture proved to be neither a straightforward nor consistent development process, which crystallized through a series of critical debates and conflicts within the Bukovinian Jewish community, with its diverse religious, political, and cultural bearings. The present contribution seeks to capture these nuances by highlighting and elucidating the most central aspects in the history of the development of the Yiddish landscape in Habsburg and post-Habsburg Bukovina. This contribution clearly allows claims no completeness but rather seeks to challenge the research field to conduct new selective investigations.

2 In 1786–1848, Bukovina was part of the Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria. After the Revolutions of 1848, Emperor Franz Joseph I decided to make Bukovina its own duchy with capital in Czernowitz. The Constitution of 1849 recognized Bukovina’s autonomy. 3 Wistrich 1999, p. 113: “normativer Ausdruck für Europäertum.” Unless specified otherwise, all translations are by Mikołaj Golubiewski.

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The “Yiddish” Bukovina: Important Historical and Cultural Reference Points (Under Habsburg Rule) The approach of the Jewish population – which mainly moved from Galicia to Bukovina – to the assimilatory program propagated by the Viennese “center” concisely contradicts the prevailing narrative, which emphasizes the smooth transition from orthodoxy to Haskalah and voluntary assimilation to GermanAustrian culture. This part of the Jewish population exhibited an important force in the support and maintenance of both Jewish traditional values and the Yiddish language. In relation to this fact, we should mention the conservative influence of the Hasidic centers in Sadhora (Friedman dynasty) and Vyzhnytsia (Hager dynasty) on a considerable part of Bukovinian Jews. The Hasidim vehemently rejected both Mendelssohn’s Enlightenment opening and the emancipatory offerings disseminated by Viennese liberalism, so they continued using Yiddish as vernacular. At the same time, Czernowitz urban success – promoted by the burgeoning Jewish bourgeoisie – gained in power. Thus, the merchants, bankers, craftsmen, and real estate owners contributed to the design of Czernowitz cityscape by becoming the veritable pole of modernization, whose mechanism was oriented toward Viennese centralism.4 This part of the Jewish population became increasingly self-aware of the opening offered by Austrian liberalism and gradually began to adopt the German language and culture. We may link their affinity – especially with the German language – to the Yiddish-speaking background of many members of the Bukovinian Jewish communities, many of whom used Yiddish as the language of private communication. However, the acquisition of the German language and culture proved to be an appropriate investment for the immediate recognition of one’s social status, which assisted access to economic prosperity.5 Moreover, the social discrepancies between the affluent urban class of Bukovinian Jews and the majority of the suburban, usually ultra-orthodox Jewish population surfaced in the everyday undermining of the German language by Yiddish; as Yiddish was used not only in the nearby Hasidic centers but also in the Czernowitz urban environment. After 1900, this competing linguistic relationship became the most important prerequisite for the emergence of a real political and cultural Jewish program, which revealed the unsuccessful German-Jewish symbiosis in the context of the increasingly perceptible national and partly nationalistic discourses. Thus,

4 Corbea 1998, p. 28. 5 Ibid.

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Nathan Birnbaum’s decision6 to select Czernowitz as the venue for the first Conference for the Yiddish Language of 1908 and the efforts of some political leaders of the Jewish Bukovinian community to really recognize Jewish nationality7 through the parliamentary unification of 1910 resulted from a multitude of factors that had gradually and deliberately led to such development.8 Unlike the German-language “Jewish” literature and press, widely received by the Bukovinian Jewish and non-Jewish readers, the Yiddish-language literary and journalistic projects launched before 1914 usually had a short life span.9 The majority of these literary and journalistic publications had little financial support so that they were printed only in small editions and received in narrow circles. However, Czernowitz proved to be a productive and “experiment6 Nathan Birnbaum (1864–1937) was born in Vienna in an orthodox Jewish family. Birnbaum’s father came from a Galician Hasidic family, while the mother was the daughter of an orthodox rabbi from Hungary. Nathan Birnbaum was educated in secularism: he attended a German school, then studied law, Oriental studies, and philosophy at the University of Vienna. However, this secular milieu exerted no significant influence on Nathan Birnbaum’s ideological orientation. Instead, he avoided the “typical” assimilatory path of many Austrian Jews. Birnbaum first founded the nationalist Jewish students’ movement, then he became more involved in the idea of political Zionism. Birnbaum turned to cultural Zionism during the First Zionist Congress in 1897 and later campaigned for diaspora nationalism by advocating the cultivation of Eastern Jewish culture and the preservation of the Yiddish language. In his last years, Birnbaum became a supporter of anti-Zionist orthodoxy. For more, see Lappin-Eppel 2009, pp. 19–41. 7 According to Article 19 of the Basic Law of December 21, 1867, the nationalities that inhabit the Habsburg Monarchy were designated by the term “Volksstämme” (ethnic entities): “Article 19. All the ethnic entities of the Empire enjoy equal rights, and each ethnic entity has an inviolable right to the preservation and fostering of its nationality and language. The state recognizes the equal rights of all current languages in schools, ad- ministration and public life. In countries populated by more than one ethnic entity, public places of learning should be so organised that, without making the learning of a second national language compulsory, each member of an ethnic entity should have adequate opportunity to re- ceive education in his/her own language.” See: Staatsgrundgesetz vom 21. Dezember 1867 (R.G.Bl. 142/1867), über die allgemeinen Rechte der Staatsbürger für die im Reichsrate vertretenen Königreiche und Länder, http ://www.ilo.org/dyn/natlex/docs/ELECTRONIC/84888/94739/F1929157981/A UT84888.pdf http://www.verfassungen.de/at/at-18/stgg67-2.htm[16. 03. 2019]. 8 Noteworthy, the basis of national census in the Habsburg Monarchy were the vernaculars of any nationality. The use of a certain vernacular constituted the main element that legitimized the identification with a particular “ethnic entity” in the censuses within the framework of the envisaged legal provisions. However, Austrian Jews were never recognized as a nationality but as a religious community, so that they could not declare Yiddish and Hebrew as their common language in the official documents. Thus, most selected German as their native language. 9 Markus Winkler relies on a number of documents in the State Archives of the Chernivtsi ˇ O, Derzˇavnyj Arhiv C ˇ ernivecko" Oblasti) claiming that the first Yiddish-language Region (DAC periodical published in Bukovina was Der Bukoviner Israelit newspaper released in 1881. To this day we only know of two issues of this newspaper. Cf. Vgl. Winkler 2007, p. 83. We may add to that the Yiddish periodical Dr. Birnboym’s vokhenblat, published by Nathan Birnbaum in Czernowitz that appeared in only a few numbers in 1908.

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friendly” laboratory for the creation of various Yiddish-language cultural forms. We should mention here the activity of the cultural association “Yidishe Kultur,” founded in 1905 in Vienna by Nathan Birnbaum, which was a student association for the promotion of Yiddish culture, also active in Czernowitz. Moreover, this context reminds us also about the cultural association “Jüdische Theaterverein Goldfaden” (Jewish Theater Association Goldfaden) – founded in 1913 by Max Diamant – which encouraged the promotion of Jewish theater by presenting theatrical performances in Yiddish.10 The first Conference for the Yiddish Language of 1908 was a highly significant event in the history of Yiddish language and culture, which became known in the literature as the Czernowitz Language Conference. This event united prominent representatives of the worldwide Yiddish movement and, thus, triggered a significant impulse to the development of an energetic Yiddish-speaking constellation. The conference manifested awareness of the importance of Yiddish language and culture as a breeding ground for the survival of traditional “(Eastern) Jewish” values. Although the event gathered famous figures of the Yiddish scene in Czernowitz, the Czernowitz German-language press barely noted that it happened, which can be seen as a consequence of German linguistic and cultural domination in Bukovina and especially its regional capital. The most important German Czernowitz periodicals, such as Bukowinaer Post, Czernowitzer Allgemeine Zeitung, Czernowitzer Tagblatt, and Czernowitzer Zeitung, mostly succinctly reported on the course of the conference.11 On the one hand, we may trace back this concise approach to the topic to the predominantly informative and “denationalized” character of the periodicals, since most of them were daily newspapers that considered a broad readership. On the other hand, we may understand this journalistic attitude as the expression of a highly active German-speaking cultural environment whose protagonists showed little openness to other cultural and linguistic options. The main organizer of the Czernowitz Language Conference, Nathan Birnbaum planned for its main goal to be the creation of conditions for the elevation of Yiddish as a national Jewish language alongside Hebrew. For this purpose, Birnbaum and other participants of the conference sought to form the basis for the legal recognition of the Jewish “nation” and Yiddish as an “identifying feature of national consciousness”12 by the international community.13 10 Neuborn 1958, p. 159. 11 In sum, let us emphasize that the editors and journalists who participated in the design and appearance of most of the German-language Bukovinian periodicals were mainly of Jewish origin. 12 Glau 1999, p. 13: “Nation;” “Identifikationsmerkmals nationalen Bewusstseins.” 13 Of the seventy conference participants, about thirty-nine were delegates from Russia, Galicia, Romania, Switzerland, Bukovina, and the USA. The remaining participants were local senior

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Apart from the Czernowitz Language Conference, there appeared other initiatives to promote and officially recognize Yiddish. A zealous supporter of Nathan Birnbaum, the lawyer Max Diamant sued the Austrian imperial administration for the recognition of the Yiddish language and Jewish nationality on May 13, 1909, which represents a lesser-known event in the history of the development of the Yiddish movement As a representative of the group promoting Yiddish language and culture in Bukovina and especially Czernowitz, Max Diamant applied to the Austrian Ministry of the Interior to form an association – “Jüdischer Theaterverein” (Jewish Theater Association) – but the application was in Yiddish. The application was rejected because the document and the attached statutes of the association were not edited in any of the languages recognized by the Austrian authorities. The rejection motivated Diamant to sue the authorities by claiming that they should recognize Yiddish as an official language. Although Diamant lost the case, his petition illustrates the first significant move to officially recognize Yiddish language and nationality along with their dissemination outside of Jewish circles.14 Furthermore, folk artists played an important role in the dissemination of popular literature in Yiddish; among others, they were called the badchonim (comedians), the leytsim (clowns), and the marshalikes (master of ceremonies, mainly at Jewish weddings), and they usually stemmed from Galicia and the Russian Empire. Their individual names remained largely unknown to posterity. Their job required great mobility for traveling through numerous cities and countries and performing on various stages. During their tours, many also reached Bukovina. The artistic name to survive to this day is that of the Hebrew and Yiddish folk poet and singer Welwel Zbarzer (Benjamin Wolf Ehrenkranz; 1823/1826–1883), who lived in Czernowitz for some time and performed as a singer at weddings and various celebrations.15 We should also mention the artistic activity of the Jewish troubadour Shimshon Ferst from Novosielitza (Shimshon Ferst; 1886– 1968)16 along with the reciter, singer, poet, and composer Leibu Levin from officials, representatives of the press, and members of the Association “Yidishe Kultur.” The following were present at the conference: Nathan Birnbaum and Leybl Toybish from Czernowitz, Gershom Bader from Lemberg, Abraham Reisen from Cracow, Jizchok Leib Perez from Warsaw, Moyshe-Leyb Halpern from Zolochiv, Malka Lifshits, aka Esther Frumkin, from Vilnius, while the famous writer Sholem Aleichem could not accept the invitation due to health problems. 14 Lihaciu 2000, pp. 185–197. 15 For more, see http://www.yivoencyclopedia.org/article.aspx/Ehrenkranz_Benjamin_Wolf http://www.yivoencyclopedia.org/article.aspx/Ehrenkranz_Benjamin_Wolf[10. 07. 2017]. 16 Information on the artist’s biography appear in Zalmen Zylbercweig’s “Leksikon fun yidishn teater” [LFü4Fü CM=7== C9H C4K=EKF@], cf. Zylbercweig 1969, pp. 4934–4938. In her memories of the Yiddish cultural landscape in Romania, Mirjam Bercovici mentions the figure of

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Bukovina town of C.mpulung (1914–1983). Both were prominent figures in the Yiddish-speaking Czernowitz milieu and marked the continuity of this line of business in the post-Habsburg context.17

The Downfall of Habsburg Monarchy as Motivation for the Crystallization and Blooming of the Yiddish Cultural Landscape (the Interwar Period) The events of 1918 that led to the dissolution of the Habsburg Monarchy had a disorienting and deeply disturbing effect on the majority of “Austro-Bukovinian” Jews. Many Bukovinian Jews experienced the destruction and loss of identity-supporting foundations as an extremely painful moment, which be-

Shimshon Ferst, whom she knew personally. For more, see https://baabel.ro/2016/09/limbaidis-romania-spatele-cortinei-de-fier/ [2. 02. 2017]. 17 In an article published by Mayer Ebner in Ostjüdische Zeitung on June 2, 1935, the author praises the personality and activity of Leibu Levin, linked to his popularity and appreciation; Ebner 1935, p. 1: “Levin is not a singer but only a performer. He is not a performer but an actor and, in truth, he is all together : singer, performer, actor, and poet. Why even a poet? Does he not only present the poems of others? This is the secret of his art. He produces what is between the lines of poems. He completes the poet. He extracts treasures from the poet’s soul, perhaps unconscious or subconscious to the poet himself. Often the verse presented by Levin encourages poems that are his spiritual property, but only fleeting and transient, which he must continually produced anew, like music. However, Leibu Levin’s art does not just have to be heard but also seen. You must hear and see how, in the darkened hall, he himself breathes in his passionate, creative, now exulting, sometimes weeping young soul. […] Leibu Levin’s intellect has completely exhausted the fables by Elieser Steinbarg, the ballads by Jitzchok Manger, some poems by Kalman Heisler and others. In some places the presenter becomes a singer, so when I saw and heard Leibu Levin’s manner, I understood for the first time the ageold word of song and speech of the Homerids, the troubadours, and the Minnesingers.” Original in German: “Levin ist nicht Sänger, sondern nur Vortragskünstler. Er ist nicht Vortragskünstler, sondern Schauspieler und in Wahrheit ist er alles zusammen: Sänger, Vortragskünstler, Schauspieler und Dichter. Warum auch Dichter? Er trägt doch nur Gedichte anderer vor? Dies ist eben das Geheimnis seiner Kunst. Sie produziert das, was zwischen den Zeilen der Gedichte steht. Er ergänzt den Dichter. Er hebt aus des Dichters Seele Schätze, die vielleicht dem Poeten selbst unbewusst oder nur unterbewusst waren. Oft ist der von Levin vorgetragene Vers nur der Anstoß zu Poesien, die sein geistiges Eigentum, aber nur flüchtig und vergänglich sind und von ihm immer wieder neu produziert werden müssen, wie Musik. Leibu Levins Kunst aber muss nicht nur gehört, sondern auch gesehen werden. Ihm selber muss man hören und sehen, wie er im verdunkelten Saale fremden Gedichtperlen seine glühende, schaffende, bald jauchzende, bald weinende junge Seele einhaucht. […] Leibu Levins Intellekt hat die zum Vortrag gebrachten Fabeln Elieser Steinbargs, die Balladen Jitzchok Mangers, einige Gedichte Kalman Heisler u. a. restlos ausgeschöpft. An einigen Stellen wird der Vortragende zum Sänger, und als ich Leibu Levins Art sah und hörte, verstand ich erst recht das uralte Wort vom Singen und Sagen der Homeriden, der Troubadoure und der Minnesänger.”

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came the first collectively perceived traumatic experience. The Romanization policy sought to make the society predominantly Romanian, which led many Jews to find their own means of expression for the preservation of their Bukovinian identity. The Yiddish language proved to be the elementary vehicle that preserved and maintained the “(Austrian) Bukovinian” consciousness. Although the supremacy of German as a lingua franca remained an identity-constituting feature even for the Bukovinian Jews after the downfall of the Habsburg Monarchy, Yiddish became a linguistic counterpart to German, Romanian, and later Russian, as northern Bukovina fell under Soviet rule after the Second World War : It was such a time when Yiddish spiritual life in Czernowitz rose from dreamland to the realm of reality, when jargon became Yiddish and triumphantly marched out of low houses with dull chambers and out of the streets of crushing narrowness with their established Old Jewish way of life, bearing in itself the warm refined coloring of Yiddish creativity.18

Therefore, Yiddish literary and journalistic projects realized in Bukovina after the First World War gained in popularity and respect. Thus, we may list longer lasting and broadly received Yiddish periodicals and literary phenomena in 1919–1938. Such titles as Frayhayt (Freedom; 1919–1924), Dos naye lebn (New Life; 1919–1926), Arbayter tsaytung (Worker’s Daily ; 1921–1931), Tshernovitser bleter (Czernowitz Papers; 1929–1937), Oyfboy (Reconstruction; 1935–1938) are only a few of the journalistic phenomena published in Bukovina, especially in Cerna˘ut‚ i. To this end, there appeared some cultural initiatives in Bukovina with the aim of popularizing and promoting the Yiddish language and culture. Therefore, 1919 Cerna˘ut‚ i witnessed the establishment of the cultural association “Jüdischer Schulverein für die Bukowina” (Jewish School Association for Bukovina), whose co-founder was the well-known writer of fables, Elieser Steinbarg (1880–1932). The Association sought to develop a Jewish education system that supported the political struggle for the official recognition of the Yiddish language. The Association opened branches in numerous Bukowinian cities and towns, such as Dorna-Watra, Wischnitz, Gura Humora, Radautz, Suczawa, Storozynetz, and Sereth,19 which additionally evidences the receptiveness of the Bukovinian Jewish community to Yiddish cultural offerings. 18 Burg 2007, p. 32: “Das war so eine Zeit, als das jiddische geistige Leben in Czernowitz aus dem Traumland ins Reich der Wirklichkeit emporstieg, als aus ‘Jargon’ Jiddisch wurde und im Triumphmarsch mit erhobenem Haupt hervorschritt aus niedriger Häuser dumpfen Gemächern, aus den Straßen quetschender Enge mit ihrer eingesessenen altjüdischen Lebensart, in sich das warme, verfeinerte Kolorit jiddischen Schaffens tragend.” 19 Neuborn 1958, p. 160. The author of this article follows Neuborn in the spelling of city names and also the German names of the cities.

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In this context, the left-wing association “Morgenrojt” founded in 1907 played an important role in the dissemination of Yiddish cultural and literary values, especially in 1920–1930, when it intensified its activities.20 Its members inclined toward the “Bundist” program of and stemmed from the Bukovinian Jewish petty bourgeoisie and proletariat.21 In the interwar period, Bukovina and especially Cerna˘ut‚i developed a lively literary and cultural field in Yiddish, with such writers as Elieser Steinbarg (1880–1932), Moshe Altman (1890–1981), and Jacob Sternberg (1890–1973).22 The Yiddish ballad poet and dramaturge Itzik Manger (1901–1969) also approached this field and became its representative. Bukovinian Yiddish writer Josef Burg (1912–2009) retrospectively summarizes this flourishing time for Yiddish literature and culture and the emphasis on the broad spectrum of Jewish life in Czernowitz / Cerna˘ut‚ i / Chernivtsi, with its various cultural and linguistic possibilities that overlap convergently or divergently. Burg writes: Chernivtsi – a mixture of old ecclesiastical fashion and late modernism. An old Austrian provincial town where Jewish assimilation has flourished side by side with Jewish roots. […] And when Czernowitz underwent a blessed union with Bessarabia after the First World War, it became a Yiddish cultural center with Yiddish writers, Yiddish press, Yiddish theater – that was the biggest blow for the local Jewish Germans. Enthusiastic and captivated by Steinbarg’s unsurpassable fables, exhilarated by Itzik Mangers ballads, the youth gradually began to free themselves from the web of assimilation and come to Yiddish like butterflies to the light.23

We can link the popularity phenomenon of these cultural, literary, and journalistic projects to the dynamics of migration processes with the neighboring 20 The culture center “Morgenroit” consisted of two essential components. On the one hand, the association operated as a training sponsor by housing an evening vocational school and two day vocational schools: a girls’ school for tailors and a boys’ school for carpenters. The language of instruction in these schools was Yiddish. On the other hand, the center conducted a rich cultural work, namely the construction of a library with extensive Yiddish-language collections along with numerous educational courses, lectures, theater performances, and concerts. Cf. Kissman 1958, p. 142. 21 The association’s members worth mentioning were Wilhelm Ippen, Berl Friedmann, Joseph and Leah Kissman, Markus and Sarah Kaswan, Jakob Pistiner, Herz Gilischenski, and Nathan Tropper. Cf. Kissman 1958, p. 129–144. 22 Most of them came to work in Czernowitz / Cerna˘ut‚ i from Bessarabia. 23 Burg 2006, p. 23–24: “Czernowitz – ein Gemisch von kirchlicher Altmodischkeit und späterem Modernismus. Eine alte österreichische Provinzstadt, wo jüdische Assimilation Seite an Seite mit jüdischer Verwurzelung geblüht hat. […] Und als Czernowitz, nach dem Ersten Weltkrieg mit Bessarabien eine gesegnete Verbindung eingehend, ein jiddisches Kulturzentrum mit jiddischen Schriftstellern, jiddischer Presse, jiddischem Theater wurde – war das für die hiesigen jüdischen Deutschen der größte Schlag. Begeistert und eingenommen von Steinbargs unübertrefflichen Fabeln, berauscht von Itzik Mangers Balladen, beginnt die Jugend sich nach und nach aus dem Assimilationsnetz zu befreien und zu Jiddisch zu kommen wie Schmetterlinge zum Licht.”

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Jewish communities, as numerous Galician and Bessarabian Jews fled to Bukovina as a result of anti-Semitic riots during the First World War.24 These were mostly Yiddish-speaking Jews, who mostly came from traditionalist ultra-orthodox circles or the ranks of social democrats. At the same time, many “old Austrian” Bukovinian Jews – who fled to the West during the First World War – never returned to Bukovina, which led to a change in the profile of the Bukovinian Jewish population. The petty bourgeoisie and the Jewish proletariat became an increasingly vocal force that began to weaken the supremacy of German speakers.25 We may interpret this phenomenon as a crystallization of a model of cultural transfer, whereby the penetration of the Yiddish components into a largely “German” milieu of the Bukovinian Jewish community appears as the completion of a void. We already considered above that the opening to the Yiddish linguistic and cultural offer, along with the willingness of the Bukovian public to partake in it, mainly illustrates a post-Habsburg process. For the Jewish population of Bukovina, the confusion caused by the collapse of the Habsburg Monarchy and the political organization of the new paradigm proved to be the driving forces for raising a higher receptivity to further linguistic, political, and cultural projects, other than those influenced by the “German Austrian” cultural pool. Simultaneously, this openness for an exception signals the desire for an identity-supporting positioning in a newly developing space. Matthias Middel characterizes such procedure as a cultural transfer : We understand cultural transfer as an appropriation process actively pursued by various mediating groups and controlled by the needs of the receiving culture. To that end, there cannot occur a misunderstanding of a foreign culture, but only its necessarily selective perception that follows recipient’s own idea of culture or society as it seeks suggestions for the reform of diagnosed deficiencies.26 24 Marten-Finnis 2011, p. 70. Noteworthy, the migration of Russian Jews to Bukovina is a phenomenon with many stages, which especially increased in the course of aggressive antiSemitic outbreaks and persecutions. Apart from the massive migratory waves of Russian Jews – especially from Bessarabia – who fled to Bukovina during the First World War, we should also mention the wave of migration after the 1905 Russian Revolution, as numerous Jews found refuge in Bukovina; especially escaping freedom fighters, which means many Russian Bundists. See: Kissman 1958, p. 130. Many of them were Yiddish-speaking Jews who played a significant role in the development of a Yiddish-oriented cultural, linguistic, and national consciousness in Bukovina. 25 Corbea 1998, p. 49. 26 Middell 2016, p. 3: “Kulturtransfer wird verstanden als ein aktiv durch verschiedene Mittlergruppen betriebener Aneignungsprozess, der von den Bedürfnissen der Aufnahmekultur gesteuert wird. In diesem Sinne kann es auch nicht zu einem Missverstehen einer fremden Kultur kommen, sondern zu deren notwendigerweise selektiven Wahrnehmung entlang einer Idee von der eigenen Kultur oder Gesellschaft, für die nach Anregungen zur Reform diagnostizierter Mängel gesucht wird.”

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Consequently, we may argue that the emergence and development of an active Yiddish-speaking field in Bukovina, especially Czernowitz / Cerna˘ut‚i / Chernivtsi, should not be understood as an isolated event, but rather as a consequence of complex interdependencies27 and a multilayered dynamic socio-cultural conglomerate. The decision to be an actor in the Yiddish field had different motivations, including political-ideological, cultural identity-forming, or even pragmatic and context-related. Moreover, we may understand this cultural receptiveness of Bukovinian Jewish population as an expression of a modus vivendi and a modus cogitandi that evolved in a multicultural and multiethnic context, which allows for the development of multiple cultural identities. Many recall in this context the work of Kubi Wohl (1911–1935), who wrote both in German and Yiddish. What is characteristic of the interwar period is the pronounced mobility of cultural actors within the broader Yiddish environment – for which Cerna˘ut‚ i became an important training ground – especially on the Yiddish axis: Bucharest – Warsaw – Vilnius – Tel Aviv / Jerusalem – New York – Rio de Janeiro. Many of the Czernowitz / Cerna˘ut‚ i / Chernivtsi or Czernowitz / Cerna˘ut‚ i / Chernivtsibased Yiddish artists began their artistic careers for shorter or longer periods in one or more of these sites. In this context, the artistic trajectories of Elieser Steinbarg and Itzik Manger are exemplary, as Steinbarg played a significant role in establishing the Yiddish school system in Brazil (Rio de Janeiro), while the talented Yiddish poet Manger was enthusiastically acclaimed by the audiences in Bucharest, Warsaw, New York, and Tel Aviv. To this end, the Yiddish periodicals founded in the major cities of Europe and America emerged as essential crossborder platforms for cultural exchange and networking. Bukovinian Yiddish authors published their contributions in many of these journals, which granted them worldwide reception.

The Healing Power of Language: Yiddish as the Vehicle that Secures the Identity of “Bukovinness” (after the Second World War) The violence of the Second World War marked a second traumatic moment for the majority of Austrian Jews – including the Bukovinian Jews – which had an identity destroying effect on many of them. For many survivors of the deportations to Transnistria, the return to the old Bukovinian homeland was an encounter with an alienated foreign space, currently dominated by the process of Russification and Sovietization. Therefore, emigration became a painful deci27 For more, see Werner / Zimmermann 2002, pp. 607–636; Werner / Zimmermann 2004, pp. 15–49; Werner / Zimmermann, 2006, pp. 30–50.

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sion that involved a final geographical reorientation, sometimes even leading to a partial or total separation from the native language. Many emigrants built a new identity in their host country by adapting to new obligatory behavioral models. Simultaneously, the majority of emigrants retained relics of their former Bukovinian belonging, on which grew their hybrid identity constellation. The life in exile, far from home, intensified a more reflective approach to language in many authors. Suffice to mention the positioning toward Yiddish of the C.mpulung-born writer Alexander Spiegelblatt (1927–2013). After his return from Transnistria, Spiegelblatt briefly lived in C.mpulung, then moved to Bucharest to work in the Yiddish cultural milieu. In the 1960s, Spiegelblatt went to Israel and settled in Petach Tikwa. In Israel, Spiegelblatt continued his career as a Yiddish author, participating in the publication of several Yiddish magazines and acting as a Yiddish writer and poet. We may consider as a form of cultural dissidence his decision to publish in Yiddish and not in Hebrew after his emigration from Romania and after his final settlement in Israel:28 Anyway, the expulsion had already erased my relationship with the Romanian language. Yiddish was obviously close to me from childhood, but during the expulsion, among the Ukrainian Jews in shtetl Kepared, my Bukovinian Yiddish gained an additional, deeper resonance and became even closer to me.29

Spiegeblatt’s writing as a Yiddish author in the newly formed state of Israel agreed with his desire to maintain a conscious positioning as a social, intellectual, and artistic outsider. In fact, in this way, Spiegeblatt confronted Yiddish-speaking immigrants – contrary to the expectations of many – with a longtime restless painful linguistic fate by continuing to regard Yiddish as a language “without a home in his home.”30

28 The newly formed state of Israel scorned Yiddish and considered it a “ghetto language,” associated with the fateful history of the Holocaust and Jews’ lethargic behavior before the deportations, the camps, and the gas chambers. In the first years after Israel’s foundation, the state considered the “old Jew” of the diaspora pejorative and opposed to the image of the “new, powerful Jew.” Then, Israeli society associated Yiddish with the Jewish newcomers from Eastern Europe – survivors of the Holocaust – and their past; many perceived it as an acceptable step to learning Hebrew and total assimilation to Israeli culture. 29 Spiegelblatt 2003, p. 150: “Die Vertreibung hatte sowieso schon in beträchtlichem Maße meine Beziehung zur rumänischen Sprache ausgelöscht. Jiddisch war mir natürlich von Kindheit an nahe, aber während der Vertreibung, unter ukrainischen Juden im Städtel Kepared, bekam mein bukowinisches Jiddisch eine zusätzliche, tiefere Resonanz und wurde mir noch näher.” 30 Shachar Pinsker attributes this finding to the Yiddish-writing poet Rukhl Fishman (1935– 1984), when Fishman presented his 1978 speech on the awarding of the Itzik Manger Prize for literary work – in Yiddish. Cf. Pinsker 2007, p. 277.

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In Spiegelblatt’s numerous texts, Bukovina becomes a recurring literary leitmotif, the meta-homeland31 that enables him to keep his “Bukovinness” apart from geographic and cultural boundaries and continue to experience it, even when the images he represents belong to a world long gone. Thus, the conscious artistic cultivation of the native language epitomizes a spiritual home that we may interpret as a substitute for the lost home. Regardless of whether it is German or Yiddish, we may regard the cultivation of a determined linguistic and cultural “otherness” by many Bukovinian Jews as an identity-forming gesture. We recognize a similar interpretative framework in Josef Burg, with personal nuances. However, born 1912 in Vyzhnytsia, Burg did not follow the path of emigration to Israel; he lived in the Soviet Union and Ukraine until his death in 2009. He wrote his entire work in Yiddish, despite all the obstacles associated with both censorship and general anti-Semitic measures in the Soviet Union.32 The “old” Bukovina lives in Burg’s mental archive, while Yiddish emerges as the only linguistic vehicle to authentically evoke intimate memories of a lost world through the act of writing. We may consider Burg’s escape to Yiddish a conscious and steadfast decision to preserve the Bukovinian context: “Why am I writing Yiddish? Of course, I know that I speak German. I also like the Russian language today. But I can only write in Yiddish. This is my native language. It is my own. It is close to my heart.”33 Following the literary scholar Raphaela Kitzmantel, we should not understand Burg’s preservation of the Yiddish language in everyday, literary, and journalistic activity as the expression of a “Yiddish language cosmos,” but instead “as part of the old Austria with its 150-year-old common Bukovinian spirit,”34 which we can extrapolate to other actors in the Bukovina linguistic and cultural landscape. Today, the Jewish community in Chernivtsi has about 500 registered members of great heterogeneity.35 Some of its members came to Chernivtsi shortly after the 31 Cf. Heinz 2009, p. 101. 32 On August 12, 1952, the elite of Yiddish Soviet writers, including the poets Perez Markisch, Itzik Fefer, and David Bergelson, was executed on Stalin’s orders. The culmination of these fierce anti-Semitic excesses was the “Doctor’s plot” of the early 1953. The accused Jewish doctors, including Stalin’s personal physicians, were accused of planning Stalin’s assassination, espionage, and collaboration with the American intelligence services. 33 Burg 2006, p. 8: “Warum ich jiddisch schreibe? Natürlich weiß ich, dass ich die deutsche Sprache beherrsche. Ich habe heute auch die russische Sprache sehr gern. Aber schreiben kann ich nur jiddisch. Das ist meine Muttersprache. Das ist meines. Es liegt mir am Herzen.” 34 Kitzmantel 2012, p. 149: “jiddischen Sprachkosmos;” “auch [als] ein Teil des alten Österreich mit seinem 150 Jahre alten gemeinsamen bukowinischen Geist.” 35 The information about the number of members of the Jewish community in today’s Chernivtsi, which I could document in the course of this investigation, is very vague and uncertain. The authors of 2010s studies cite a figure of about 1000 registered members (see Kaspina 2010, p. 116). According to the World Jewish Congress website, the Jewish community in Chernivtsi today counts 6000 members (http://www.worldjewishcongress.org/en/about/

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Second World War from small Podolian towns, while others moved here in the 1950s from Bessarabian villages. Many stem from a Yiddish- and Russianspeaking environment. Whereas the descendants of old “Czernowitz” of German- and Yiddish-speaking Jews now represent a very small minority.36

Conclusion As this article reveals, with insightful moments and central figures, we may show the Yiddish cultural landscape of Bukovina – with its numerous continuities and discontinuities – as an important component of the multicultural and multiethnic Austrian-Habsburg sphere. After all, even after its downfall, the Habsburg Monarchy exerts rich influence on the cultural and private level, and it is increasingly present especially at the discursive level of promising studies and events. Nevertheless, Bukovina’s Yiddish culture is a subject so far explored only marginally or cursory. The studies and monographs about the Jewish communities in the Habsburg and post-Habsburg Bukovina, which appeared in recent years, deal in particular with the phenomenon of the so-called GermanJewish symbiosis, while giving the Yiddish component a relatively small role.37 communities/UA [13. 04. 2018], but it probably means the entire Chernivtsi Oblast. Whereas the Internet site of the Chernivtsi Museum of Jewish History and Culture of Bukovinian Jews refers to the 2001 census and mentions a figure of 1400 members (http://muzejew.org.ua/ Koncept-Istoria-En.html [13. 04. 2018]). The same website estimates this number for the year 2016 as about 400–500 members, which more precisely corresponds to the 2014 geopolitical reality of the region (http://muzejew-news-ende.esy.es/english/uncategorized/the-jewishcommunity-of-chernivtsi-oblast-has-a-new-chairman/ [13. 04. 2018]. The Ukrainian war with Russia caused a significant wave of emigration of Ukrainian Jews from the 2014 years, especially to Israel. 36 In recent years, especially after the collapse of communism, Jewish life in Chernivtsi saw a revival through the rediscovery and support of the ancient heritage of the past. Thus, Leopold Finkel strived to revitalize the Yiddish-speaking Czernowitz cultural heritage by establishing in 1988 the “Elieser Steinbarg Association for the Promotion of Jewish Culture.” In 1990, the author Josef Burg resumed the journalistic Yiddish-language project of Tshernovitser bleter until 2008, soon before his death, when the periodical ceased its publication. There also commenced a related half-hour monthly Yiddish-language radio program that began in 1991. This project continued for at least ten years (http://muzejew.org.ua/Koncept-Istoria-En.html [13. 04. 2018] and http://www.jewukr.org/observer/jo01_20/p0301_e.html [15. 04. 2018]). In the 1990s, Chernivtsi placed memorial plaques for Moshe Altman and Sidi Tal, famous figures of the Bukovinian Yiddish literary and theater scene (http://muzejew.org.ua/Kon cept-Istoria-En.html [13. 04. 2018]). At the end of 2016, the renovation work on the old Hasidic synagogue in Sadhora near Chernivtsi was completed, which reopened an important place of remembrance of Yiddish cultural and religious heritage in Bukovina. 37 Worth mentioning in this context are the studies monographs by, among others, Wolf Moskovich, Andrei Corbea-Hois‚ ie, Ion Lihaciu, Joshua Fishman, Mykola Kushnir, Sergij Osatschuk, Susanne Marten-Finnis, Markus Winkler, Eleonore Lappin-Eppel, Sarah Hall,

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To that end, there appeared a series of documentary films that deal with Bukovina’s Yiddish heritage in depth or en passant.38 Moreover, we should also highlight the institutional efforts to rediscover and revive the Yiddish language and culture by organizing various theatrical performances, concerts, readings, conferences, and exhibitions devoted to that subject. In fact, this agrees with public expectations to (re)discover the “Eastern Jewish” worlds, while simultaneously better understanding the history of Europe and its driving mechanisms.39 Translated from German by Mikołaj Golubiewski

Bibliography Primary Literature Burg, Josef: Mein Czernowitz, transl. by Armin Eidherr, Winsen – Luhe 2006. Burg, Josef: Über jiddische Dichter, transl. by Beate Petras, Armin Eidherr, Winsen – Luhe 2007. Spiegelblatt, Alexander : Durch das Okular eines Uhrmachers, transl. by Armin Eidherr, Salzburg 2003.

Raphaela Kitzmantel, Efrat Gad-El, Doris Karner, Delphine Bechtel, Armin Eidherr, Zvi Yavetz, Maria Kaspina, Ewa Geller, Florence Heymann, Marianne Hirsch, Leo Spitzer, Marianne Windsperger, Ga[lle Fisher, Mihai S‚ tefan Ceaus‚ u, and Lucian Zeev Hers‚ covici. Some of them concentrate on specific personalities or key events of the Yiddish-speaking Bukovina cultural landscape. Other tirelessly explore certain aspects of the subject by placing them in a broader interpretive framework. 38 “I=994)DLFMü M=7=% = ýF@ü=H,4(K” / “Glimpses of Yiddish Czernowitz” is a documentary produced in 2010 by Boris Sandler and Chana Pollack, which highlights the key events and characters from the Yiddish landscape of Bukovina. References to this topic also appear in two documentary films by Volker Koepp, Herr Zwilling und Frau Zuckermann (M. Zwilling & Mme Zuckermann; 1999) and Dieses Jahr in Czernowitz (This Year in Chernivtsi; 2004). 39 On the centenary of the Czernowitz Language Conference, a conference was organized in 2008 in Chernivtsi with scientists from Denmark, Germany, England, Israel, Moldova, Poland, Russia, the Ukraine, the USA, and Belarus. The conference gathered panels, especially from Yiddish and German philologies, and lectures on the various aspects of the Yiddish Bukovinian landscape. For example, see the program booklets of the symposia on Yiddish Studies in Germany published by the Department of Yiddish Culture, Language and Literature of the Heinrich Heine University in Dusseldorf. Moreover, the Chernivtsi Museum of Jewish History and Culture of Bukovinian Jews offers temporary and permanent exhibitions about the Yiddish heritage of Bukovina (more: http://muzejew.org.ua/Vystavka-De.html [15.04. 2018]). In this context, we should mention the theatrical performances organized in 2016 by the State Jewish Theater Bucharest according to a concept by Camelia Cra˘ciun to dedicate them to the Yiddish-speaking personalities Itzik Manger and Elieser Steinbarg.

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Secondary Literature Bercovici, Mirjam: Limba idis¸ %n Rom.nia, %n spatele Cortinei de Fier, https://baabel.ro/ 2016/09/limba-idis-romania-spatele-cortinei-de-fier/ [2. 02. 2017]. Corbea, Andrei: Paul Celan s‚ i “meridianul” sa˘u. Repere vechi s‚ i noi pe un atlas centraleuropean, Ias‚ i 1998. Ebner, Mayer: Leibu Levins Singen und Sagen, in: Ostjüdische Zeitung 1913 (1935), p. 1. Glau, Angelika: Jüdisches Selbstverständnis im Wandel. Jiddische Literatur zu Beginn des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts, Wiesbaden 1999. Heinz, Martin: Paul Celan: Fadensonnen, -schein und -kreuz, Hamburg 2009. Hers¸covici, Lucian-Zeev : Ehrenkranz, Benjamin Wolf, http://www.yivoencyclopedia. org/article.aspx/Ehrenkranz_Benjamin_Wolf [10. 07. 2017]. http://muzejew-news-ende.esy.es/english/uncategorized/the-jewish-community-of-cher nivtsi-oblast-has-a-new-chairman/ [13. 04. 2018]. http://muzejew.org.ua/Koncept-Istoria-En.html [13. 04. 2018]. http://muzejew.org.ua/Vystavka-De.html [15. 04. 2018]. http://www.worldjewishcongress.org/en/about/communities/UA [13. 04. 2018]. Kaspina, Maria: Yiddish Folklore in Chernovitz Today (Recordings of 2004–2009), in: Moskovich, Wolf (ed.): Jews and Slavs, Vol. 22, Yiddish – a Jewish National Language at 100, Jerusalem – Kyiv 2010, pp. 116–125. Kissman, Joseph: Zur Geschichte der jüdischen Arbeiterbewegung ‘Bund’ in der Bukowina, in: Gold, Hugo (ed.): Geschichte der Juden in der Bukowina, Vol. I, Tel Aviv 1958. Kitzmantel, Raphaela: Die jiddische Welt von Gestern. Josef Burg und Czernowitz, Wien 2012. Lappin-Eppel, Eleonore: Nathan Birnbaum und der österreichische Zionismus 1882– 1918, in: Chilufim 7 (2009), pp. 19–41. Lihaciu, Ion: Unele aspecte din procesul intentat de Max Diamant pentru recunoas‚ terea oficiala˘ de ca˘tre administrat‚ia Imperiului Habsburgic a idis‚ ului, in: Sanie, Silviu / Vitcu, Dumitru (eds.): Studia et Acta Historiae Iudaeorum Romaniae, Vol. V, Bucures‚ ti 2000, pp. 185–197. Marten-Finnis, Susanne: Wer sprach Jiddisch in Czernowitz? Ein Ansatz zur Erforschung von sozialen und situativen Faktoren gemeinsamer Textrezeption, in: Winkler, Markus (ed.): Presselandschaft in der Bukowina und den Nachbarregionen. Akteure – Inhalte – Ereignisse (1900–1945), München 2011, pp. 67–76. Middell, Matthias: Kulturtransfer, Transferts culturels, http://docupedia.de/zg/middell_ kulturtransfer_v1_de_2016 [15. 07. 2017]. Neuborn, Erich: Die ältesten Vereine, Institutionen und Organisationen in der Bukowina, in: Gold, Hugo (ed.): Geschichte der Juden in der Bukowina, Vol. I, Tel Aviv 1958, pp. 153–161. Pinsker, Shachar : Choosing Yiddish in Israel. Yung Yisroel between Home and Exile, the Center and the Margins, in: Berger, Shlomo (ed.): The Multiple Voices of Modern Yiddish Literature, Amsterdam 2007, pp. 277–294. Pisarenko, Efim: Ten Years of “Dos Yiddish Wort”, http://www.jewukr.org/observer/jo 01_20/p0301_e.html [15. 04. 2018].

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Staatsgrundgesetzes vom 21. Dezember 1867, http://www.verfassungen.de/at/at-18/stgg 67-2.htm [2. 07. 2017]. Werner, Michael / Zimmermann, B8n8dicte (eds.): De la comparaison / l’histoire crois8e, Paris 2004. Werner, Michael / Zimmermann, B8n8dicte: Beyond Comparison: Histoire Crois8e and the Challenge of Reflexivity, in: History and Theory 45/1 (2006), pp. 30–50. Werner, Michael / Zimmermann, B8n8dicte: Vergleich, Transfer, Verflechtung. Der Ansatz der Histoire crois8e und die Herausforderung des Transnationalen, in: Geschichte und Gesellschaft 28/4 (2002), pp. 607–636. Winkler, Markus: Jüdische Identitäten im kommunikativen Raum. Presse, Sprache und Theater in Czernowitz bis 1923, Bremen 2007. Wistrich, Robert S.: Die Juden Wiens im Zeitalter Kaiser Franz Josephs, Wien 1999. Zylbercweig, Zalmen: Leksikon fun yidishn teater [LFü4Fü CM=7== C9H C4K=EKF@], Vol. VI, Mexico 1969.

Danuta Sosnowska

Traces of the Habsburg Heritage: Bohemia’s Multicultural and Multilingual Tradition as a Source of the Multilingual Phenomenon in the Czech Literature in Exile

Abstract The matter I consider in this article is the influence of Habsburg heritage on the multilingual tradition present in Czech literature created abroad. Some Czech writers in exile, particularly those who emigrated after 1968, decided to abandon writing in their vernacular language and move to the language of their new host country. The most famous example is Milan Kundera, although similar decisions occurred frequently enough to make this phenomenon worthwhile. Some Czech writers used two languages as their literary tool: the vernacular and the host country’s language. Both tendencies were hardly present in, say, Polish 8migr8 literature. In this context, we should ask “what was the underlying reason for such development in Czech culture?” To understand the true nature of this phenomenon, I analyze the multilingual tradition in the Czech culture and the process of the gradual weakening of the Bohemian idea of the nation. 1918 engendered nationalist historical narratives and “anti-German” moods, even hatred, among the Czech society. According to some critics, the discarding of humanitas austriaca, did not serve Czech culture. However, I assume that humanitas austriaca partly remained in Czech culture along with a multilingual tradition, even when linguistic “nationalism” prevailed in Czech official culture. The resilience of the Austrian tradition surface in the attitude of some Czech writers to their vernacular language in exile, and it promoted the process of their “linguistic” liberation. Keywords: Habsburg heritage, multilingual tradition, humanitas austriaca, Czech emigration, Czech Literature

Multicultural and Multilingual Tradition of Bohemia In my introduction, I would like to sketch the historical background of the Czech multilingualism and multiculturalism. In that context, the specific character of the Czech culture, in particular the one developed in exile, can be better understood. The Czech multilingual phenomenon is deeply rooted in the past since history and culture in Czechia was created by different nations, which resulted in a “melting pot” of cultures and languages. The oldest historical sources refer to

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Czech inhabitants, but they also mention other nations. In theory, they all dwelt “together” but in practice apart, unaware of their national identity until some point but conscious of their differences. Despite sometimes dramatic tensions between Bohemia’s inhabitants, especially between Czechs and Germans, which ended with bloodshed, the knowledge of the German language used to be a permanent fixture of good education and an indispensable tool for businessmen. The multilingualism remained a part of Bohemian life for centuries, although the issue of Czech and German antagonism surfaced already in Czech medieval texts; including those that would soon make the canon of the Czech culture. In the Habsburg Monarchy, German was the official language, so the Czech intelligentsia, regardless of their reluctance toward everything “German,” had to accept the multicultural, multinational, and multilingual character of the state.1 The fall of the Habsburg Monarchy changed the situation. The creation of the First Republic (Czechoslovakia) in 1918 provoked a strong wave of aversion to the Habsburg Monarchy among the majority of Czechs. This disapproval concerned not only the political aspects of the shared past but also the cultural tradition, once shared by both Czechs and Germans. This Czech aversion to everything considered “German” was generally treated as “patriotic conduct” by most Czechs. However, the Germanophobia often triggered ludicrous reactions that were unfavorable for the Czech cultural development, as they could overlook modern philosophical trends that frequently emerged in the German language. This happened to psychoanalysis and phenomenology, initially ignored in Czechia due to their “German roots,” only to become the object of scholarly interest with a ten years delay. In comparison to the quick reaction of Czech’s to surrealism, we clearly see that the delay in reception of psychoanalysis and phenomenology resulted from political, not scientific factors. Suffice to mention that initial information about Freud’s theory appeared, at first within a narrow circle of Czech intelligentsia, as late as in the 1930s.2

1 Seidlerov# 1998, p. 230. 2 One of the first promoters and interpreters of Freud’s works in Czechia was Bohuslav Brouk (1912–1978), a Czech psychoanalyst, poet, writer, philosopher, aesthetician, sociologist, and biologist. At the beginning, Brouk published his psychoanalytic commentaries and works in the elitist journal Erotick# revue (The Erotic Revue); an edition inaccessible to common readers and only circulated among the “illuminated” few. Brouk’s Psychoanalistick# sexuologie (Psychanalytical Sexuology) appeared in 1933.

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Nationalist Historical Narratives The lasting critical attitude to the Habsburgian past and anti-German disposition especially affected Czech narratives about the history. History is generally susceptible to ideological pressures, so it is no wonder it became a “field of battle” between Czech scholars after 1918. Those historians who thought that history should not be a hostage of national resentments, expectations, and representations left the “battlefield” deeply hurt, sometimes even excluded from society. This was the case of Jaroslav Goll,3 who spent the last ten years of his life in social isolation. His fate is a striking example of the collision of history and ideology. Goll (1846–1929) was an outstanding Czech historian, medievalist, educator, and translator, who laid the foundations for the development of historical positivism in Bohemian historiography. During his work at the University of Göttingen, he was influenced by the positivist Georg Waitz and, after his return to Czechia, Goll applied Waitz’s approach to history during his seminar at the Charles University in Prague, which modernized Czech historiography. Already a renowned historian, Goll played an important role in revealing the forgery of the famous Czech medieval manuscripts entitled Dvu˚r Kr#lov8 and Zelen# Hora manuscripts. Goll’s critical activity was not limited to this case. He questioned the scientific value of Frantisˇek Palacky´’s works, risking social discontent since the works of the “father of the nation,” as Palacky´ was called, were popular among Czechs. No matter what the Czechs thought about Palacky´ and how much they appreciated his works, Goll argued that the works offered a literary, not a scientific description of the national history. As a perceptive medievalist, Goll challenged the popular interpretation of Czech and German relations treated as a national antagonism present already in the Middle Ages. Goll’s suggestions that it was an anachronism seems uncontroversial today, but his opinions cast doubt on images from the Czech national imagination. However, Goll did not want a biased history, but instead desired one resulting from scholarly research; not blind but open to different historical narratives. As a polyglot (Goll knew Czech, German, Polish, French, Italian, English, and Latin) and a scholar with international experience (Göttingen, Berlin, the Hague, London), Goll was well prepared to look at history from a European perspective – as we could say today – but his viewpoint was misunderstood when national moods violently increased and the existence of the Czech state was at stake. Of course, Goll’s decision to remain loyal to the Habsburg Monarchy until the last moment of its existence was a political mistake, which proved that Goll failed to follow Czech’s moods and expectations, yet the penalty he received was really 3 There is a growing interest in Goll’s vision of history since the turn of 1989, see e. g. Jirousˇek / Blüml / Blümlov# 2005; Marek 1991.

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cruel. After 1918, he lived in isolation and poverty, abandoned by some of his students. His pupils formed what is called today “Goll’s school” in history, but Goll’s efforts to create the modern Czech history at that most difficult period of his life seemed to fall on deaf ears. Despite his considerable services to the university in Prague and his contribution to the development of Czech historiography, he was treated as a traitor. Even more striking were the troubles of Emanuel Radl,4 whose historical views were also the reason of his conflict with the Czech public opinion. According to a renowned philosopher, Jan Patocˇka, Radl was the most outstanding thinker in the First Republic.5 However, a misunderstanding between Radl and the Czech elites along with the Czech society was very tense and emotional. Radl’s book ˇ echu˚ s Neˇmc& (Czechs’ Struggle with Germans; 1928) was extremely V#lka C controversial, offensive, and angering for Czechs. Radl’s concept of a nation as political and not organic turned out unacceptable at the time, even if it was a part of the previous Czech tradition. The two above examples prove how strong the Czech rush to liberate Czech culture from “the alien influence” was; especially how forceful of a desire was the need to free Czech national historical narratives from what was viewed as German influences or viewpoints.

The Fall of Habsburg Monarchy and the Ambivalent Victory of 1918: Habsburg Heritage Today A Czech essayist, the inspiring yet provocative Rio Preisner, who emigrated from Czechoslovakia after 1968 and settled in the USA, concludes that the reversal of the cultural axis in the Czech culture after the First World War was a cultural disaster for his nation.6 The Czech traditional position between Vienna and Berlin, profitable for Czech artists and scientists, was replaced by a strategic 4 Emanuel Radl (1873–1942) was a Czech biologist, historian of science, philosopher. Radl challenged the historical interpretations at the core of Czech culture, such as the presentation of Germans as “strangers” and “newcomers” to the Czech lands, who cunningly took the rights of indigenous people. Radl also questioned the so-called Decree of Kutn# Hora, usually treated in Czechia as a proof of Czech national consciousness revival. In opposition to that interpretation, Radl proved that the seemingly theological conflict, which divided Czechs and Germans in the Prague University, in reality, was a political one, which only strengthened the separation between the “autochthons” from “strangers” and resulted in an exodus of a large part of Germans and German- speaking professors and students from the university. In consequence, the event weakened the scientific position of the Prague University. Radl saw the best solution for the multinational Czechia in the idea of a civil State, similar to the USA, in which the foundation of the State is a universally accepted agreement, not a national idea of blood, of origin not language. 5 For more, see Patocˇka 2007. 6 Preisner 2004, vol. II, pp. 936–937, 940–941.

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positioning between Moscow and Paris. According to Preisner, the first locus was “natural” in the sense that it was supported by a long-term personal contact, an osmosis of artistic languages, the knowledge of common cultural sources and narratives. Some German critics and writers understood the Czech culture better than anyone else, and they were its effective translators for the rest of Europe. It was the German translation of a part of The Fateful Adventures of the Good Soldier Sˇvejk During the World War by Max Brod that initiated Jaroslav Hasˇek‘s international success.7 Preisner claimed that this living organism was cut into parts in 1918. The Czech culture sought to establish a new cultural relationship. In search of new allies, the old German and Austrian relations have been replaced by vivid contacts with the Russian and French cultures, although it was an ambiguous change. New “friends” were not familiar with the Czech culture, so they must have treated it in a rather patronizing manner. Moreover, an important part of Czech cultural achievements resulting from the so-called humanitas austriaca was neglected for years.8 Independently of the great success of French or Russian avant-garde at that time, this new cultural environment chosen by Czech artists turned out to be a hierarchical structure. In that milieu, Czechs assumed the position of imitative followers, not partners, who they often were before. In consequence of the new system of artistic contacts and references, the Czech artists’ position in the European hierarchy of art decreased. Comparative studies developed in the interwar period in France may serve as an example of how patronizing was the attitude toward the Slavic cultures. French comparatists, but not only them, stated that there were dominant cultures (in the West) and others, which could only develop by implementing Western cultural patterns. No ˇ apek or outstanding structuralist as wonder that such eminent writer as Karel C Jan Mukarˇovski focused so much on the subject of cultural influence. According to them, the impact of the “strong” European cultures on the Czech culture was a sort of cultural game for the so-called “followers,” because of the active, creative, and interactive character of that influence. The cultural encounter of weaker and stronger cultures resulted in the transformation and modification of those Western cultural patterns, which adapted to a new context. There were followers who thoughtlessly imitated and reflected Western trends. Yet, they were criticized by Czech commentators, who underlined that the best artists could and should find their own form of expression. Even if they made use of Western trends in art, they should be creative and embrace the stream of European art on 7 Preisner stresses the important role of translation that may make “small literature” accessible to Western readers, and he underlines the achievements of German-speaking critics, mostly of Jewish origin, who popularized Czech literature abroad, see Preisner 2004, vol. II, p. 662–663. 8 Preisner 2004, vol. II, p. 935.

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their own terms. It was not only a theoretical proposition: such examples as Czech theater in the interwar period, Czech cubist architecture, Frantisˇek Kupka’s abstract painting, Czech structuralism, and many other prove that the idea of the imitative character of Slavic art was unjust. However, we should remember that the Habsburg Monarchy with its cultural contacts offered a better ground for fruitful cultural cooperation of Czech and other European artists. All things considered, Preisner even dared to claim that the role of 1918 was overrated and the moment of the creation of the First Republic was full of theatrical illusion, not necessarily favorable for the Czech culture in the long term.9 Preisner’s opinions may appear exaggerated, even unjust, especially given that the interwar period was blooming for the Czech culture. Despite its controversial character, Preisner’s implication is still worthwhile. However, similar or even less radical opinions highly outraged the Czech society after the First World War, as such a belief would have been treated simply as a betrayal of national interest. Even today, such implication would provoke an acute discussion. Most of the Czechs have thought that the independence of Czechoslovakia after 1918 was a brilliant finale of the centuries-old fight between the “Czech national spirit and the German one,” to quote the outstanding nineteenth-century Czech historian, Frantisˇek Palacky´. At that point, I would like to digress from the subject for a moment to emphasize a certain similarity in the Czech response to the decay of the Habsburg Monarchy and the one, which was a reaction to the expulsion of people identified as “Germans” after the Second World War. Czechs considered both situations to be a liberation from a foreign element, which suppressed their culture, blocked the development of their society, and threatened their future. Up until this point, the situation described here seems clear : Czechs hardly appreciated the cultural tradition of the Habsburg Monarchy unlike, say, Ukrainians or some Polish communities. This fact is confirmed by the rather weak interest of researchers in this matter, mostly in the field of literary studies, as this remark does not concern historians. The examination of the catalogs of the main Polish and Czech libraries support this hypothesis, especially when we concentrate on such headwords as “Austria in literature,” “Habsburg myth in literature,” or “Galicia in literature.” There is a consistent interest in this theme in Poland, where new works still appear, while a weak Czech activity in the matter. The Clementinum (the Czech National Library) keeps the Czech translation of Claudio Magris’ book about the Habsburg myth in the modern Austrian literature, edited in 2002, as the main publication concerning the topic. Thus, one may conclude that the issue of the Austrian heritage receives little interest from 9 Ibid., p. 936.

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Czech literary researchers. Obviously, Czech scholars still study the works by Hasˇek, the less famous M. V. Kratochv&l, Jirˇ& Marek, and others, which present the images of the last decade of the Habsburg Monarchy and its fall. The abovementioned writers choose a grotesque or caricatural style to depict the Habsburg Empire, which was a typical Czech approach to the subject. Quite often, Czech researchers shift their interest from the subject of the Habsburg Empire to the matters of the experience of the First World War, even if it is the Habsburg Monarchy that seems to be the main theme of the examined books. Due to the translations of the main Austrian works by Robert Musil, Stefan Zweig, and Joseph Roth into Czech, which first appeared in the 1960s, the Czech society could become familiar with a definitely different image of the Habsburg Monarchy. Nevertheless, the interest in Austrian heritage as such and the concern for its impact on the Czech culture has remained weak. Only recently may we observe some changes in the approach to the subject,10 but it is rather the phenomenon of Central Europe that draws researchers’ attention and, in this way, plays a role of positive transfer for appreciating the cultural pattern left by the fallen Habsburg Empire. To summarize, while the history of the Habsburg Monarchy has been consequently explored by Czech scholars for many years, Czech philologists only recently revealed an interest in the Austrian heritage of parts of Czech literature and culture. The rather unsatisfactory state of current Czech research in the Habsburg influence on the Czech culture inclined me to take a different approach to find answers. Instead of seeking how Czech scholars examine the Habsburg heritage in the modern Czech culture, I decided to concentrate on the cultural phenomenon that is not subordinate to the national model of the Czech civilization. Hence, by pursuing a cultural element alien to the national model of the Czech culture dependent on blood, origin, and language, I may indirectly prove the presence of Habsburg cultural heritage could in Czech culture.

Multilingual Czech Migrant Literature The question of the vernacular language was at the core of Czech national revival, while the Czech language was considered a significant manifestation of national identity even later, not to mention it is a crucial factor of being a Czech. This remained an established conviction, very popular in the Czech society. On the 10 For example, a lecture by Soukopova on February 2015 at the Franz Kafka Society (Prague) ˇ apek a strˇedoevropsk# literatura.” The presentation was presented under the title “Karel C considered a well-known Czech writer in the context of German-language literature of this period, mostly Austrian. So far, this context appeared rarely. The lecture is no longer available online and was not published in print so far. Also see Soucˇkov# Linhartov# 2016.

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other hand, the fates of Czech 8migr8 writers reveal thought-provoking examples of decisions to abandon the national language (partially or totally) when continuing literary activities abroad. As this is a complicated phenomenon that shows different aspects of the issue, we must limit our search results to a specific time: writers who emigrated after 1968. As mentioned above, the Czech national revival had a linguistic character, so the cases of abandoning home language in exile are especially interesting, because one would think such practice will be highly unpopular in the Czech society. However, there was a time of rivalry between two national models. When the Czech national identity emerged in the nineteenth century, two competing ideas of understanding the Czech “substance” influenced the Czech mentality. According to the first one, represented by Josef Jungmann, everybody who wanted to be a Czech and considered themselves Czech had to speak the Czech language. This concept of tschechisch (Czech) closed the national idea in the narrow limits of language and blood. In opposition to that, there was the bömish (Bohemian) idea of the nation promoted by Bernard Bolzano. Bolzano thought that the Czech nation consisted of everybody who lived in the Czech land and excluded the linguistic factor. However, the first concept gained more popularity. The Czech emigration from the year 1948 – after the Second World War and the establishment of the Communist rule – had a serious attitude to the matter of the native language. Rarely, some writers decided to make a linguistic conversion.11 Perhaps the most interesting example is Jan Kol#r, who emigrated to France after 1948 and started to write in French. His novel Le monnaie de retour issued in 1958 in Paris was successful, but it was not only his success abroad that makes him an intriguing person. Most important is Kol#r’s provocative statement about his experience of exile. In his article about Jan Kol#r, Jirˇ& Pistorius quotes Kol#r who once wrote: “When I went abroad, I did not go abroad, because what was alien to me was left behind me.”12 It was an entirely unacceptable declaration, even scandalous for the Czech society who repeated like a mantra some verses of Viktor Dyk’s poem: The land speaks” – “If you desert me, I will not meet my end. / Desert me and it’s you who won‘t survive.”13 These two verses became a motto repeated in many Czech publications and recalled in discussions about the 11 There were few writers who decided to be bilingual: Frantisˇek Listopad (born in 1921, emigrated in 1948, wrote in Czech and Portuguese); Jan Drabek (born in 1935, emigrated in 1948, wrote in Czech and English). 12 Papousˇek 2001, p. 43: “Odchodem za hranice jsem nesˇel do ciziny – sˇel jem ke svy´m: cizina byla za mnou.” 13 Dyk 1921: “Zemeˇ mluv&:” “Opust&sˇ-li mne, nezahynu. Opust&sˇ-li mne, zahynesˇ !” English translation by V#clav Pinkava. The poem has been reprinted in various collections of Dyk’s poetry.

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moral sense and dangers of emigration. In his famous poem, Dyk warns Czechs against abandoning their vernacular language and losing Czech identity in exile. Dyk’s vision was frequently referred to while discussing the issue of foreign languages used by Czech writers creating abroad. Papousˇek casts doubt on treating the approach to the vernacular as a generational issue that differs the 1948 from the 1968 emigration. According to Papousˇek, such presentation of the matter simplifies it. Although he is generally right, we cannot omit the fact that more emigrant writers abandoned writing in Czech after 1968 than in earlier stages of emigration. Those who represented the post-war emigration mostly remained faithful to the Czech language. Such ˇ ep (born in 1902, writers as Viktor Fischl (born in 1912, emigrated in 1949), Jan C emigrated in 1848), Egon Hostovsky´ (born in 1908, in exile from 1939) did not decide to change the language of their literary expression despite the fact they could have written in German, French, or English. The nearly-bilingual Hostovsky´ came into a serious conflict with his distant relative, a famous Austrian author, Stefan Zweig, just because of his determination to remain faithful to the Czech language. Zweig considered his cousin’s speech to be “barbaric,” unworthy of a literary language. The conflict was reported by Hostovsky´, so his story represents his viewpoint, and no one can precisely judge what happened. Nevertheless, according to Hostovsky´, Zweig manifested his contempt for the small nations, which were to only be able to produce a second-rate culture.14 In Zweig’s opinion, particularly Czech culture and literature represented a really poor cultural level, so even when translated into German, French, or English, they would not permanently enter the world of literature. Zweig refused to give any help to his relative – so needed at that time – and he did it in a very insulting way. Hostovsky´ felt deeply offended and hurt, as Zweig’s disdain was unacceptable and, above all, incomprehensible. Finally, Hostovsky´ did not ask him for a large favor. Hostovsky´ only asked Zweig to introduce him to some publishing houses. Hostovsky´ complained that his ironic answer to Zweig’s arrogant letter had been neither forgotten nor forgiven, as it provoked public insults of Hostovsky´ during the international meeting of writers in New York.15 However, what was particularly outraging to Hostovsky´ was Zweig’s claim that only the western cultures, among them the German-speaking cultures, created civilization and were endlessly higher and richer in comparison to the Czech culture. This argument was especially painful as both Hostovsky´ and Zweig were of Jewish origin and nearly whole Zweig’s family died in a Nazi concentration camp.

14 Hostovsky´ 1995, p. 48. 15 Ibid., p. 53.

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Another Czech emigrant writer, Viktor Fischl claimed that he could write his political text in English but – according to him – only the Czech language could be considered an appropriate tool of literary creativity. Thus, Fischl’s attitude to the vernacular language seems to be more or less prevalent among the Czech emigration writers after 1948, but we still find examples of a more complex approach to the language. An intriguing Czech poet, Ivan Blatny, who emigrated to England in 1948, did not know English. Perhaps it was for this reason that his emigrant experience was so dramatically bad and, probably, caused or hastened his mental illness. In the hospital, he repeatedly asked his visitors: “Do you speak German? This is the language of my granny. This is the language of my desires. I told about them to my granny.”16 Was it a hallucination suffered by a seriously ill man or proof that the German language became his comfort speech in that critical moment? Nevertheless, Blatny´ wrote his poems in Czech. After 1968, during the second wave of the Czech emigration from communist Czechoslovakia, the attitude toward the choice of literary language changed. Some of the writers who left the country resolved to write in different languages. There is a number of such striking examples, not to mention the literary positions which linguistic “converts” often achieved in their country or in exile. The conversion was not a decision of second-rate writers. On the contrary, among them are artists without whom it could be difficult to imagine Czech literature of the twentieth century. The most famous example is Milan Kundera. His decision to write only in French has not been well received in his homeland. Even today, critics prefer to analyze Kundera’s works written in Czech, mostly those that came into existence before Kundera’s leaving the country. However, some critics are interested in the reception of Kundera’s texts in French or study how his identity transformed from Czech to Central European one.17 Milan Kundera declares that the writer’s profession is beyond the national limits. In his book written in French Une rencontre (A Meeting; 2009), he asks: When Linhartova writes in French, is she still a Czech writer? No. Does she become a French writer? No, not that either. She is elsewhere. Elsewhere as Chopin was in his

16 Chuchma 2008, p. 20. 17 See e. g. Kratochv&l 1995; Koskov# 1998; Bauer 2000; B&lek 2003; Haman, Novotny´, and Kopa´cˇ 2009; Koskov# 2009. Joanna Czaplin´ska notices that Kundera’s change of native language provoked “a change in worldview:” “A change of language is not just ag switch’ of the fictional lingual lever in the brain, and in the case of literature it is rather the use of different styles and sentence structures – it is a change of the whole system of seeing the world.” English translation by Magdalena Baran-Szołtys and Jagoda Wierzejska. (Czaplin´ska 2009, p. 9: “Zmeˇna jazyka nen& totizˇ jen pouhy´m “prˇepnut&m” pomysln8 jazykov8 p#ky v mozku, a v prˇ&padeˇ literatury pouzˇ&v#n&m odlisˇn8 stylistiky a trˇeba i zpu˚sobu veˇtn8 vy´stavby – ale je zmeˇnou cel8ho syst8mu videˇn& sveˇta.”) Also see Valden 2006 [15. 04. 2019]; B&lek 2014 [15. 04. 2019].

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time, elsewhere as, later, each in his own way, were Nabokov, Beckett, Stravinsky, Gombrowicz.18

The examples cited by Kundera are confusing because Chopin and Stravinsky were composers, so the issue of the vernacular language is less relevant to their works. As for Gombrowicz, he never abandoned Polish, although remained critical of the Polish culture. Although Kundera’s choice of examples is not fully convincing, the case of Linhartov# is really thought-provoking. Kundera states that it is Linhartov# who most frankly expresses that emigration meant for her liberation. Not only liberation in a narrow political sense, as a release from the pressure of censorship and emancipation from the disgusting living conditions in the country “raped” by the military intervention of the Warsaw Pact, but also liberation in a much deeper sense. It was emancipation from the Czech language that she experienced as a constraint in her Czech works. Kundera quotes Linhartov# that “a writer is not a prisoner of any one language” and comments on her statement as “a great liberating sentence.”19 So many people share the conviction that the ties between the writer and his native language are inviolable, a very popular opinion especially among the Czech society ; but Linhartov# finds it untrue. Linhartov# thinks that – after some time – every vernacular can become a “thatch” made of words, which means that native words become “tame” and the language loses its creativity. Hence, her emigration and writing in French (later also translating from Japanese) offered Linhartov# a unique opportunity to see the world afresh, to break the thatch of words that gives comfort and safety to every writer but simultaneously makes them uncreative and bored, for Linhartov# at least. In a fragment of Linhartov#’s essay about Roman Jakobson Linhartov# writes: Multilingualism is a sort of “gear” of personality, which can radically change the way of personal understanding of the world and behaving while facing it. When one adopts another language, which is different from one’s native one, the center of one’s semiotic system moves elsewhere, and this process is irreversible. Starting with that moment no linguistic “community” is determined. No language seems to be unique or irreplaceable, no language is any longer a magical intermediary between a word and its designate.20 18 Kundera 2010, p. 104–105; Kundera 2009, p. 125: “Quand Linhartova 8crit en franÅais, estelle encore un 8crivain tchHque? Non. Devient-elle un 8crivain franÅais? Non plus. Elle est ailleures. Ailleurs comme jadis Chopin, ailleurs comme plus tard, chacun / leur maniHre, Nabokov, Beckett, Stravinsky, Gombrovicz.” 19 Kundera 2010, p. 104; Kundera 2009, p. 124: “L‘8crivain n‘est pas prisonnier d‘une seule langue;” “Une grande phrase lib8ratrice.” 20 Qtd. after Richterov# 1987, p. 49: “Le polyglottisme est une sorte de d8multiplication de la personnalit8, d8multiplication qui change radicalement l‘appr8hesion du monde par l‘individu concern8, autant que son comportement vis-#- vis du monde. […] A partir du moment oF l‘on adopt8 une autre langue que sa langue premiHre, reportant ailleurs le centre du

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In her article about Czech literature in exile and its issue of multilingualism, Sylvie Richterov# contends that such a “schism of semantic and cultural issues” affected the Czech culture and brought into existence the most important works of the Czech literature in twentieth century : the works of Seifert, Vacul&k, Hrabal, Sˇkvorecky´, Linhartov#, Kra‘l, and Grusˇa.21 According to Richterov#, the difference between Sˇkvorecky´ (who still wrote in Czech in exile, although his knowledge of English was at a very high level) and Kundera (who replaced the Czech language with French while in exile) was not the difference between faithfulness to the vernacular language and its abandonment. Sˇkvorecky´ examined in his works how a change of linguistic milieu changes the human personality and how it influences human communication. This is a subject of all his books written in exile. In opposition, Kundera, who started to write in French in exile, looks for such literary means that could express every emotion in every language.22 Noteworthy, although Richterov# does not mention it, Kundera was influenced by the phenomenological thought, so he seeks universal experiences dependent not on the language, history, and current policy. Even in exile, Kundera, especially at the beginning, frequently refers to the post-war history of Czechoslovakia. It was confusing for many Czech critics, who accuse him of not being “faithful” to the facts. Actually, it was not the fate of Czechoslovakia itself and its history that were interesting for Kundera. In fact, every particular case of human experience that he introduced to his novels was only a sort of “opening” in search of something, which leads from the empirical to the universal truth. Kundera keeps treating his protagonists as representatives of important existential questions, which are human rather than individual or national. Everything that his characters experience becomes a reflection on human fate, never limited by national history. This is why Kundera protests against the psychological, political, or historical interpretations of his books. In relation to Sˇkvorecky´, we may say that the writer represents a hermeneutic point of view, which for him is the historical moment, the social condition, and the language that creates “the truth.” That is, the clash, or even interference, of languages (e. g. Czech and English) are the subject of Sˇkvorecky´’s interest and examination. Those Czech writers who resolved “to be elsewhere” – as Kundera writes – after their emigration in 1968 were numerous enough to provoke a question why systHme, le processus devient irr8versible: dor8navant on n‘appartient plus / aucune comunaut8 linguistique d8termin8e. Aucune langue ne para%t plus unique, irremplaÅable, aucune n‘a plus le caractHre magique du rapport 8vident entre la parole et l‘Þtre qu‘elle d8signe.” Orig. text: Linhartov#, 1977, pp. 220–221. 21 Richterov# 1987, p. 50: “schisme s8mantique et culturel qui a frapp8 la culture tch8que, a donn8 naissance aux oeuvres les plus importantes […].” 22 Ibid., p. 51.

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it was the case that so many emigrants deserted their vernacular against one of the fundamental values of their culture? Let us enumerate the most interesting examples of the linguistic conversion: Jirˇi Grusˇa, an eminent Czech writer emigrated in 1980 and wrote mostly in Czech, but also in German; Ota Filip, also an important Czech writer who was forced to emigrate in 1974, wrote mostly in German, but also in Czech; Libusˇe Mon&kov# emigrated in 1968 and wrote only in German. The list is longer : Veˇra Linhartov#, Ludvik Asˇkenazy, Gabriel Laub, and others. Moreover, there is the younger generation who emigrated with their parents in 1968 and were very young at the time. They grew up in a new country and used the language of their new homeland in their writing (e. g. Jan Nov#k). There is also an eccentric but extremely interesting, absolutely unique example of an attitude to languages represented by Jan Krˇesadlo. Krˇesadlo’s case should be the subject of a separate article, so I may only mention his name here. The abovementioned writers – Ota Filip, Libusˇe Mon&kov#, Jan Novak, and Veˇra Linhartov# – had different approaches to their national identity : sometimes they considered themselves as Czech writers with a different language, sometimes they stated that the artist’s identity is wider than any national limits. They could also describe themselves as German or French writers of Czech origin. Actually, every description is a little bit controversial. A good example is given by Libusˇe Mon&kov# who writes: I cannot switch freely from one language to another. It could be possible in a short literary form, but not in such an extensive form as a novel. I highly appreciate the Czech language, and I am always astonished by how many interesting writers can be found in this language…. But the German language offers me bigger distance, it becomes a form of a buffer between the reality and my writing, and … I need it in my literary activity.23

Mon&kov# repeats nearly the same words in the interview24 conducted a few weeks before her death: “The Czech language, my mother tongue. I have enormous respect for the Czech language. I adore it. That is why I write in German, which gives me the necessary distance from Czech enables me to write about things that touch me directly.”25 Mon&kov#’s first book, Eine Schädigung

23 Cf. Kaynar-Beckerov# 1993, p. 12: “Nemohu prˇech#zet libovolneˇ z jednoho jazyka do druh8ho. To jde u kratsˇ&ch textu˚, ale ne u tak velk8 formy jako je rom#n. Prˇed cˇesˇtinou m#mnesm&rny´ respekt. Pokazˇd8 zˇasnu, kolik spisovatelu˚ se tu najde. Tady bych sp&sˇ deˇlala filmy. V neˇmcˇineˇ m#m daleko m&nˇ z#bran a veˇtsˇ& odstup, ktery´ k psan& potrˇebuji.” 24 Kyncl 2005, p. 34. The interview, conducted in Czech, was originally published under the title “Spisovatelstv& je vrazˇedn8 povol#n&,” Ty´den 5. 7. 1998, pp. 52–56. The original text in Czech was not available. 25 Ibid.

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(Damage), was dedicated to Jan Palach.26 There is a rape scene, in which a young student is violated by a policeman who feels free to do whatever he likes at that time of political prosecution after suppressing the Prague Spring. The policeman kills the student him during the act. Mon&kov# tells her interviewer : The recollection of the sweating, sadistic, illiterate policeman, whom the law permitted to demand to see your ID and bully citizens at any time – it was in the middle of that scene, which brought to the surface all my fear and disgust … that I switched to German – in Czech the scene was unbearable. Czech, my mother tongue – there are whole sentences which have accompanied me from childhood, since I could first read. It is like a magic spell: quotation, pictures, words which open a space in memory.27

As we see, Mon&kov# needs the distance from her vernacular language, although it was a different distance than the one needed by Linhartov#. Czech is the tongue, which deeply affected Mon&kov# but it also is a “raped language” as well, pulling her into the abyss of the worst memories and nightmares. Her country, Prague, the countryside, the language shaped her identity. Another unquestionable thing is also the influence that Czech history had on Mon&kov#. During the interview, Mon&kov# admits that “[t]wo experiences shocked her consciousness to the core: the Russian occupation in 1968 and the self-immolation of Jan Palach. Since then, I have known that I am Czech.”28 Simultaneously, all those factors made Mon&kov# seek linguistic distance to allow her to write about her experiences. Renata Cornejo names Mon&kov# a “German writer.”29 I think that this classification is too unambiguous. What does it mean to be a “German writer” in the above context? I would rather think of Mon&kov# as “being elsewhere,” as Kundera calls it. However, the Czech reception of Mon&kov#’s works shows how difficult her case is for Czech critics and readers, who also wanted to treat her as the “German writer,” not very interesting for Czechs, despite the numerous prestigious awards obtained by Mon&kov# and her references to the Czech history. Mon&kov# talks about her compatriots’ approach to her with bitter irony.30 Trying to explain their neglect, I have to admit that the lack of Czech translation of Mon&kov#’s works undoubtedly delayed her introduction to the Czech readers, but it was not the only reason. In the eyes of Czech recipients, Mon&kov# was “suspect,” as were all Czech writers in exile. Commenting one of the first conferences about Czech literature in exile, the organizer said: 26 Jan Palach (1948–1969), a Czech student at Charles University in Prague. His self-immolation was a political protest against the 1968 invasion of Czechoslovakia by the Warsaw Pact armies that ended the Prague Spring. 27 Kyncl 2005, p. 34. The original text in Czech was not available. 28 Ibid. 29 Cornejo 2005. 30 Kyncl 2005, p. 30.

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An interest in the conference was considerable. The great hall in the Karolinum was filled by more than four hundred listeners, most of whom came from abroad: from the West, North and South of Europe, from the states neighboring Czechia, but also from Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, Croatia, from North and South America, from Australia and from the countries which have recently belonged to the Soviet Union (the Ukraine and Georgia). Home participants consisted only a small percentage of the party. Moreover, the interest in the event shown by the Czech media was extremely low. That lack of concern was difficult to understand but it was not difficult to notice.31

The situation changed, although slowly. A year later, Anton&n Meˇˇst’an can say : not only Czech critics have a problem with works written by Czech authors in different languages. However, the books by Ludv&k Asˇkenazy and Gabriel Laub written in German and those written in French by Milan Kundera, Veˇra Linhartov#, Ivo Fleischmann started to be introduced into the lexicons of Czech literature. In 1998, Slovn&k ˇcesky´ch spisovatelu˚ od roku 1945 presented an entry on Libusˇe Mon&kov# (1945–1998), who wrote and published her works only in German, while the Czech translation of her books gradually appeared in Czechia were translated by other persons. Mon&kov# is treated as a German author in Germany, but in Czechia, she could be considered a Czech author who wrote in German.32

Conclusion Let me stress that the Czech linguistic conversion is a phenomenon with little similarity in the rich Polish exile literature. I would even risk saying more: it would be difficult to find a similar case in the literature of any of the neighboring countries. A parallel ideological process forced writers from other Central European countries under communist rule to emigrate, but it did not result in a 31 Broucˇek / Hruby´ 2000, p. 7: “Z#jem o symposium byl znacˇny´. Velkou posluch#rnu Karolina zaplnilo na cˇtyrˇi stovky fflcˇastn&ku˚, z nichzˇ veˇtsˇina prˇijela ze zahranicˇ&: ze z#padn&, severn& a ˇ eskou republikou, ale i z Madarska, Rumunska, Buljizˇn& Evropy, ze st#tu˚ soused&c&ch s C harska, Jugosl#vie, Chorvatska, ze severn& a jizˇn& Ameriky, s Austr#lie a take ze zem&, kter8 jesˇteˇ ned#vno byly soucˇ#st& Soveˇtsk8ho svazu (Ukrajina, Gruzie). Dom#c& fflcˇastn&ci tvorˇili jen prˇekvapiveˇ malou cˇ#st – a tak8 z#jem dom#cich medi& byl nefflmeˇrneˇ n&zky´. Manko z dom#c& strany bylo neprˇehl8dnuteln8 a teˇzˇko pochopiteln8.” 32 Meˇsˇt’an 2002, p. 40: “V rozpac&ch stoj& cˇesˇt& – a nejen cˇesˇt& – liter#rn& historici prˇed beletri& cˇesky´ch autoru˚, psanou v jiny´ch jazyc&ch nezˇ v cˇesˇtineˇ. Zd# se, zˇe naprˇ. neˇmecky psan# d&la Ludv&ka Asˇkenazyho nebo Gabriela Lauba, francouzsk8 texty Milana Kundery, Iva Fleischmanna a Veˇry Linhartov8 a cizojazycˇn# d&la dalsˇ&ch cˇesky´ch exilovy´ch autoru˚, p&sˇ&c&ch take cˇesky, se uzˇ z prakticky´ch du˚vodu˚ po pr#vu ocitaj& v deˇjin#ch a lexikonech cˇesk8 literatury. Prˇitom Slovn&k cˇesky´ch spisovatelu˚ od roku 1945 ve sv8m 2. D&lu z roku 1998 uv#d& autorsk8 heslo Libusˇe Mon&kov8 (1945–1998), kter# psala a vd#vala beletristick# d&la jen neˇmecky – a cˇesk8 prˇeklady teˇchto knih, postupneˇ vych#zej&c& v cˇesky´ch zem&ch, jsou d&lem jiny´ch osob. V Neˇmecku je ovsˇem Mon&kov# povazˇov#na za neˇmeckou spisovatelku, u n#s by se mohla oznacˇit za cˇeskou spisovatelu, p&sˇ&c& neˇmecky.”

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linguistic conversion or only rarely. Only a few Polish writers decided to abandon Polish. The most famous examples include Stefan Themerson (born in 1910) and the much less known Jerzy Pietrkiewicz (Peterkiewicz; born in 1919). Therefore, our curiosity about the reasons for the Czech phenomenon is absolutely justified. Why is it so special? In my opinion, it was the Austrian heritage that provoked Czech writers to abandon their vernacular when writing abroad. More precisely, it was the Bohemian idea of the nation described by Bernard Bolzano, even if it was not the one who laid the foundation of the Czech nation. Bolzano’s notion lost the competition with Jungmann’s language-oriented idea of the nation, but the former still managed to implant his idea in the Czech culture. If the Habsburg Monarchy had not supported a multilingual and multicultural character of own state, Bolzano’s idea would have faded over time. However, Austro-Hungary existed long enough to leave the cultural imprint of multilingualism among Czechs. Although it seemed suppressed by the national enthusiasm after the First World war, it actually remained ready to use. As I said above, Bolzano protested against linguistic nationalism. He considered the nation as an agreement between an individual and the society, while the principle of this agreement could be freely negotiated and renegotiated. Bolzano’s concept resulted from the multicultural and multinational character of the Habsburg Monarchy, which produced a specific model of biography that we may call “the Habsburg biography.” Bolzano himself had Italian and German roots and thought of himself as a German-speaking Czech philosopher. If my interpretation is right, the question that remains why did Bolzano’s idea returned only after 1968? I think that it resulted from the pressure put on the Czech society after 1948 and, then, the “normalization.” The communist government intended to educate the Czech society according to a highly limited norm of citizenship and patriotism. It was not “natural” for the society whose country belonged to the Habsburg Monarch for so long, with its tradition (written and remembered) as part of the multicultural and multilingual world. This lost Habsburg world was open to different norms and values, within the limits of its political system. That openness created a space of freedom even in under absolute monarchy. The communists pretended to be a “democratic” power, but they wanted to frame every citizen into a very narrow model of howit-should-be. This attempt revived the dreams about the Habsburg heritage, which did not limit one’s personality. In his essay The Danube Claudio Magris quotes Robert Reiter who “had learned to think with the mentality of several people.”33 This phenomenon of “[t]hinking “with the mind of several peoples”34 33 Magris, 1989, p. 292; Magris 2006 p. 344: “aver imperator a pensare con la mentalit# di piF popoli.” 34 Magris, 1989, p. 292; Magris 2006, p. 345: “in piF popoli.”

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appears modified in the Czech case. I presume that for Czech emigrant writers it was not an experience of “multinational thinking.” Linguistic conversion was rather an opportunity to pass “the limit of … language, which is the limit of [the] world.” It was an experience of liberation from the stable structures of thinking and the obviousness of reality. In a very narrow nationalistic interpretation, that experience of abandoning the vernacular language may be viewed as a lack of patriotism. I do not think so. Ultimately, this conversion enriched the Czech literature rather than impoverished it.

Bibliography Sources and Primary Literature Bauer, Michal: Milan Kundera pod dveˇma tyraniemi, in: Bauer, Michal (ed.): Jak reflektujeme cˇeskou literaturu vzniklou v zahranicˇ& Sborn&k refer#tu˚ a diskusn&ch prˇ&speˇvku˚ z konference usporˇ#dan8 24.–25. 11. 1999, Praha 2000, pp. 89–109. Bílek, Petr A.: Hled#n& jazyka a interpretace v modern&m prozaick8m textu, Brno 2003. ˇ esˇi za hranicemi na prˇelomu 20. a 21. stolet&: Broucˇ ek, Stanislav / Hruby´, Karel (eds.): C ˇ echu˚ k sympozium o cˇesk8m vysteˇhovalectv&, exulantstv& a vztaz&ch zahranicˇn&ch C domovu 29.–30. 06. 1998, Praha 2000. Chuchma, Josef: Spisovatel8, kterˇ& zvolili svobodu, in: Sanquist 59 (2008), pp. 20–21. Cornejo, Renata: “Ich schreibe eigentlich tschechisch in deutscher Sprache.” Zur Rezeption von Libusˇe Mon&kov#s Werk in ihrem Heimatland, in: Broser, Patricia / Pfeiferová, Dana (eds.): Hinter der Fassade: Libusˇe Mon&kov#, Wien 2005, pp. 256– 276. Cornejo, Renata: Die Rezeption Mon&kov#s, in: Tschechien (Recepce Libusˇe Mon&kov8 v ˇ esk8 republice), Text presented at the conference “Libusˇe-Mon&kov#-Tagung (KonC ˇ esk8 Budeˇjovice / Budweis 11.–15. 11. 2003. ferencja Libusˇe Mon&kov#)”, C Czaplin´ska, Joanna: Nad ot#zkou dvojjazycˇnosti textu˚ Milana Kundery, in: Haman, Alesˇ / Novotny´, Vladim&r / Kopácˇ , Radim (eds.): Hommage a` Milan Kundera. Pocta Milanu Kunderovi: sborn&k k 80. spisovatelovy´m narozenina´m, Praha 2009, pp. 9–17. Hostovsky´, Egon: Liter#rn& dobrodruzˇstv& cˇesk8ho spisovatele v cizineˇ (aneb o ctihodn8m povol#n& kouzla zbaven8m), Praha 1995. ˇ esˇi jsou n#rod spoluzˇ#ku˚. Rozhovor s Libusˇ& Mon&kovou, Kaynar-Beckerová, Hana: C in: Liter#rn& Noviny 36 (1993), p. 12. Kosková, Helena: Francouzsk8 rom#ny Milana Kundery, in: Haman, Alesˇ / Novotny´, Vladim&r / Kopácˇ , Radim (eds.): Hommage a` Milan Kundera. Pocta Milanu Kunderovi: sborn&k k 80. spisovatelovy´m narozenina´m, Pocta Milanu Kunderovi, Sborn&k k 80. spisovatelovy´m narozenin#m, Praha 2009, pp. 29–43. Kosková, Helena: Milan Kundera, Jinocˇany 1998. Kratochvíl, Jirˇ&: Kunderovsk8 resum8, in: Kratochvíl, Jirˇ&: Prˇ&beˇhy prˇ&beˇhu˚, Brno 1995.

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Kundera, Milan: L‘Exil lib8rateur selon Vera Linhartova, in: Kundera, Milan: Une rencontre, Paris 2009, pp. 123–125. Kundera, Milan: Exile as Liberation According to Vera Linhartova, in: Kundera, Milan: Encounter. Essays, New York 2010. Kyncl, Petr : Writing is a Murderous Occupation. Libusˇe Mon&kov# interviewed by Petr Kyncl, in: Haines, Brigid / Marven, Lyn (eds.): Libusˇe Mon&kov# in Memoriam, transl. by Ilona B&lkov#, Graham Jackman and David Short, Amsterdam – New York 2005, pp. 29–39. Linhartová, Veˇra, La place de Roman Jakobson dans la vie litt8raire et artistique Tch8coslovaque, in: Armstrong, Daniel / Schooneveld, Cornelis Hendrik van (eds.): Roman Jakobson, Echoes of His Scholarship, Liesse 1977, pp. 220–221. Magris, Claudio: Danubio, Milano 2006. Magris, Claudio: Danube, transl. by Patrick Creagh, London 1989. Me˘ sˇtˇ ’an, Anton&n: Lesk a b&da cˇesk8 exilov8 literatury sedmdes#ty´ch a osmdes#ty´ch let, ˇ esk# literatura, kultura a spolecˇnost v in: Matonoha, Jan (ed.): Zˇivot je jinde…? C sedmdes#ty´ch a osmdes#ty´ch letech dvac#t8ho stolet&. Materi#ly z mezin#rodn& meˇ R 13–15. 06. 2001 v zioborov8 konference porˇ#dan8 5stavem pro cˇeskou literaturu AV C Praze, Praha 2002, pp. 35–41. ˇ esk# exilov# prjza sedmdes#ty´ch Papousˇek, Vladim&r : Exil jako mozˇnost a jako obrana (C ˇ esk# literatura, kultura a osmdes#ty´ch let), in: Matonoha, Jan (ed.): Zˇivot je Linde…? C a spolecˇnost v sedmdes#ty´ch a osmdes#ty´ch letech dvac#t8ho stolet& Materi#ly z meˇR zin#rodn& mezioborov8 konference porˇ#dan8 5stavem pro cˇeskou literaturu AV C 13–15. 06. 2001 v Praze, Praha 2002, pp. 43–51. Preisner, Rio: O cˇesk8 existenci, in: Preisner, Rio: Kdyzˇ mysl&m na Evropu, Praha 2004, Vol. II, pp. 927–943. Richterová, Sylvie: La Litt8rature tchHque en exil et le problHme du polyglottisme, in: Jechova, Hana / Wlodarczyk, H8lHne (eds.): Les effets de l’8migration et l’exil dans les cultures tchHque et polonaise, Paris 1987, pp. 49–60.

Secondary Literature Bílek, Petr A.: Rozbor d&la: Nesnesiteln# lehkost byt&, 14. 04. 2014, https://www.youtube. com/watch?v=-z7fO04h4Ws [15. 04. 2019]. Dyk, Viktor : Zemeˇ mluv& in Okno, transl. by V#clav Z. J. Pinkava, Praha 1921, available at: http://www.visegradliterature.net/works/cz/Dyk%2C_Viktor-1877/Zem%C4%9B_ml uv%C3%AD/en/63880-The_land_speaks [18. 03. 2019]. Jirousˇek, Bohumil / Blüml, Josef / Blümlová, Dagmar (eds.): Jaroslav Goll a jeho zˇ#ci, ˇ esk8 Budeˇjovice 2005. C Marek, Jaroslav : Jaroslav Goll, Praha 1991. Patocˇ ka, Jan: Veˇcˇnost a deˇjinnost. R#dlu˚v pomeˇr k pojet&m cˇloveˇka, Praha 2007. Seidlerová, Irene: Science in a Bilingual Country, in: Teich, Mikulasˇ (ed.): Bohemia in History, Cambridge 1998, pp. 229–243. Soucˇ ková Linhartová, Ladislava: Ladislav Fuks. V8vodkyn8 a kucharˇka – zjeven& biedermeieru, Praha 2017.

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Valden, Milan: Kundera, Milan: Nesnesiteln# lehkost byt&, 12. 11. 2006 http://iliteratura. cz/Clanek/20139/kundera-milan-nesnesitelna-lehkost-byti [15. 04. 2019].

Halyna Witoszynska

Public Parks and Gardens of Interwar Lviv in the Autobiographical Discourse after Second World War: Between Habsburg Tradition, National Aspirations, and Private Memories

Abstract The city of Lviv – the former capital of Habsburg Galicia with a rich multicultural legacy – exemplifies a space of divided memories and contested national narratives. This article analyzes the public parks and gardens of interwar Lviv in the autobiographical texts written after the Second World War : the Jesuit Gardens, Stryiski Park, and High Castle. On the one hand, they evoke the Habsburg traditions of urban development and political representation. On the other hand, they represent contested symbolic space, reflected in the collective historical memory of Ukrainian and Polish residents. Finally, they function as sites of individual memory that became parts of personal memories of both national groups. The article shows that although the parks and gardens under consideration were designed in the Habsburg period, this fact has almost no impact on their representation in autobiographical discourse. Instead, parks and gardens appear there as “autobiographic sites:” spaces of private memory. In this sense, the representations of these parks in the tradition of post-Second World War memoir discourse by both Polish and Ukrainian authors are very much alike, as the writers use the same discursive strategies, topoi, and motifs to an extent that we witness the construction of a separate “Lviv identity.” On the other hand, there exists a significant difference in their representations of parks and gardens, as lieux de m8moire in the collective national memory of the Ukrainians and the Poles. As my analysis shows, two parks – the Jesuit Gardens and High Castle – appear in the light of the Polish-Ukrainian antagonism that characterized the interwar period, the former associated with the Polish-Ukrainian War of 1918–1919, the latter with the city’s founding narrative. Keywords: Lemberg, lieux des m8moire, autobiographical site, memory site, collective and individual memory, Jesuit Gardens, Stryisky Park, High Castle

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Introduction Scholars who examine historical regions with multicultural legacy observe a close correlation between the notions of history, memory, and space. The leading German specialist in the field of cultural studies, Aleida Assmann, states the following in her article “Memory in the City – the future of the past:” As history takes place, it leaves its marks, scars and traces, which can be forgotten or highlighted, retrospectively becoming the focus of memory through acts of symbolization and the construction of narratives. The focus on places discards imperial and homogenizing master narratives to make room for multiple, fragmented, and contesting narratives. Being saturated with history, places can always become the site of divided memories and contested narratives.1

What exemplifies such a space is the Habsburg Galicia with its former capital Lemberg.2 From its founding in the thirteenth century by the Ruthenian prince Daniel of Halych to the onset of the Second World War, Lviv hosted a mixture of ethnicities, languages, religions, and cultures. Ruthenians, Poles, Jews, Armenians, Greeks, and Germans inhabited the city for almost seven centuries,3 until this coexistence came to an abrupt end during Second World War.4 In the first half of the twentieth century, this ethnically diverse historical area experienced turbulent social-political transformations, strongly influenced by processes of ethnic consolidation and nation-building. After the First World War, these changes caused a shift in borders and the emergence of new political units, based on the principle of the nation-state. Lviv’s turbulent history is reflected not only in the variety of its official names (Lemberg / Lwjw / Lviv / Lvov) but also in the continuous modifications of its urban space. The urban development of the city, simultaneously inhabited by several ethnic groups – the largest being Poles, Jews, and Ukrainians – cooccurred with the process of symbolic codification of contested urban space that has become especially apparent after the Polish-Ukrainian War of 1918–1919.5 This study concentrates on the public green spaces of interwar Lviv in the autobiographical texts written mostly after the Second World War, namely the 1 Assmann 2015, p. 929. 2 In this article I use “Lviv” to refer to the city as such, unless it refers to a particular historic period or reflects a perspective of a particular author. 3 For more about the history of Lviv, see Isayevych / Stebliy / Lytvyn 1996; Podhorodecki 1993. For a compact survey of the history of Lviv, see the Ukrainian historian Yaroslav Hrytsak in: Hrytsak 2005, pp. 47–73. 4 For more about the changes in the population structure of the city of Lviv, see Hrytsak 2003. On the religious and cultural diversity, see Wandruszka / Urbanitsch 1985. On the language diversity, see Hofeneder 2014. 5 For more about the Polish-Ukrainian War, see Mroczka 1998; Niciea 2009; Kozłowski 1990.

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Jesuit Gardens, Stryisky Park, and High Castle. Since most of these parks were designed and maintained in the Habsburg period, the analyzed texts primarily link them to Habsburg traditions of urban development and political representation. Furthermore, the parks represent contested symbolic space reflected in the collective historical memory of various national groups. Finally, the parks function as sites of individual memory, as they became parts of private memories of Lviv residents of both national groups. The article especially focuses on the functions that the municipal parks and gardens assumed in the collective and individual memory of Polish and Ukrainian citizens of Lviv. Because the interwar period in Galicia is often described as the peak of the competition between Polish and Ukrainian national programs,6 this article investigates the role that the public parks played in the process of creating a “national” image of this city. The below analysis elaborates texts that belong to the genre of autobiography and memoirs. Scholars often use autobiographies and memoirs as an instrument “to trace both cultural traditions and patterns of identity”7 in multicultural societies because of the close relation between the notions of identity, collective / individual memory, and narrative. Thus, when analyzing the Polish perception of Lwjw after the Second World War trauma and the loss of the Eastern territories, George G. Grabowicz claims that “the genre that arguably most eloquently captures the interface of the human and the collective dimensions of this reversal, of the perceived national tragedy, is the memoir.”8 Moreover, we should emphasize green spaces, because municipal parks and gardens are the topographic sites that appear most frequently in the majority of the analyzed authors. We will critically scrutinize in particular Highcastle: A Remembrance (originally Wysoki zamek) by Stanisław Lem, “Mjj Lwjw” (My Lviv) by Jjzef Wittlin, Lwowskie gawe¸dy (Yarns from Lviv) by Kazimierz Schleyen, Lviv – misto moyeyi molodosty. Spomyn, prysvyachenyj tinyam zabutych lvovyan (Lviv : The City of My Youth. A Recollection Dedicated to the Shadows of Forgotten Citizens of Lviv) by Stepan Shakh, Sto rokiv molodosti (The Hundred Years of Youth) by Mykola Kolessa, Sered lvivskych parkiv (Surrounded by Lviv Parks) by Oleksandr Nadraha, and Spohady z peredvoyennoho Lvova i voyennoho Vidnya (Memories of Pre-War Lviv and Wartime Vienna) by Roman Volchuk. This study analyzes multiple cultural perspectives of Ukrainian and Polish authors on the green urban space of the city within the theoretical framework of “spatial theory.” Recently, this approach considerably influences cultural and 6 For more, see Hann / Magocsi 2005. 7 Bergland 1993, pp. 445–446. 8 Grabowicz 2000, p. 323.

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literary studies.9 Besides the well-known theoretical concept of lieux de m8moire by Pierre Nora, we should define an additional term to describe another kind of memory sites, as proposed by the Polish scholar Małgorzata Czermin´ska. She defines the peculiar places of individual memory called “autobiographical sites”, by three types of reference: “creative work, biography and certain specific topographic area.”10 The representation of public green spaces in autobiographical discourse can thus be explored by connecting individual (“autobiographical”) and collective “memory” sites with “topographical sites,” which are certain geographical realities; in this case parks and gardens.

Parks and Gardens of Interwar Lviv: An Erased Habsburg Legacy? Since their design by Austrian municipal authorities between 1815 and 1848 for “public security considerations” and “to improve health conditions of the inhabitants,”11 the public parks and gardens constitute an important part of Habsburg legacy in Lviv. Markian Prokopovych, the author of the monograph Habsburg Lemberg: Architecture, Public Space, and Politics in the Galician Capital, 1772–1914,12 argues that “municipal concern with the maintenance of old private parks and the establishment of new green spaces was continuous throughout Habsburg Lemberg’s history.”13 In the course of his book, Prokopovych reveals the dual character of public green spaces in Lemberg, regarding them on the one hand as areas of symbolic Habsburg representation and, on the other hand, as green recreation spaces, used by different social groups for different purposes. Prokopovych observes that, throughout the nineteenth century, the municipal building authorities mainly focused on the transformation of the urban space into classicalist and imperial areas of symbolic representation. The situation changed entirely at the end of the nineteenth and especially at the beginning of the twentieth century. These changes resulted from the increasingly growing independence of the local municipal authorities. The fact that the city, “bound to the Empire administratively and to the nation locally, was at pains to clarify its own identity versus the national question,”14 made the authorities seek compromise that would combine loyalty to the imperial center with local national aspirations. The First World War and the subsequent collapse of the Austrian-Hungarian Monarchy intensified the national tensions between Poles 9 10 11 12 13 14

Winkler / Seifert/ Detering 2012, pp. 253–270. Czermin´ska 2011, pp. 183–200. Prokopovych 2006 p. 97. Prokopovych 2009. Prokopovych 2006, p. 71. Ibid., p. 97.

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and Ukrainians. This conflict culminated in the Polish-Ukrainian War of 1918–1919.15 Politically associated with the Second Polish Republic, the interwar period witnessed the Polish administrative authorities attempt to create a new Polish identity through a wide range of activities; whereas they presented the Habsburg past of the city as a period of occupation and oppression.16 This narrative also appears in the memoir discourse of some authors, mainly of Polish origin, who regard Lwjw as “a triumphant symbol of national assertiveness.”17 One of these authors was Kazimierz Schleyen, born in 1896 in Habsburg Lemberg. His 1954 memoirs Lwowskie gawe˛dy18 appeared during his exile in London. Schleyen’s verdict about the consequences of the Habsburg past of the city is undoubtedly negative. This becomes apparent in the language that he uses for his descriptions: Schleyen claims that despite “the 150 years of slavery [in the] claws of invaders […] impoverished, mistreated through chicanery, taxes, imprisoning of its best sons, the city grew in power of spirit in the aureole of martyrdom for the Polishness of its land.”19 As a result, Schleyen employs Lviv’s Habsburg past with a strongly negative connotation as period of occupation and suppression of its inherent “Polishness.” In contrast to Schleyen’s narrative, many Ukrainian authors and authors with Polish-Jewish identity create a neutral – if not positive – image of Lviv’s Habsburg past. For example, Jjzef Wittlin, a Polish author of Jewish origin, explains in his 1946 essay “Mjj Lwjw” written in American exile what “his” Lwjw means to him: “I left Lwjw in the autumn of 1922. In other words, ‘my Lwjw’ was mainly the Lwjw of the Austrian partition era, the capital of the ‘Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria and the Grand Duchy of Krakjw with the Duchies of Auschwitz and Zator’.”20 Wittlin refers to the entire Lviv as a lieux de m8moire21 and simultaneously creates and confirms the Habsburg “myth” of the city. This attitude of many authors to the Habsburg past is important to our understanding of the broader political context, in which emerged the national discourses on parks and gardens. Below, I present selected examples of Lviv’s green spaces and their representation in memoires.

15 16 17 18 19

Mark 1995, pp. 46–74. Horbach 1995, pp. 98–102. Grabowicz 2000, p. 322. Schleyen 1967. Schleyen 1967, p. 21: “150-letniej niewoli;” “w szponach zaborcy ;” “Zuboz˙ałe, zne˛kane szykanami, podatkami, wie˛zieniem najlepszych swych synjw, rosło w pote˛ge˛ ducha w aureoli me¸czen´stwa za polskos´c´ swej ziemi.” Unless specified otherwise, translations are my own. 20 Wittlin 2016, p. 19; Wittlin 1991, p. 13: “Opus´ciłem Lwjw jesienia˛1922 r. Czyli z˙e ‘mjj Lwjw’ był głjwnie Lwowem z czasjw zaboru austriackiego, stolica˛ ‘Krjlestwa Galicji i Lodomerii z Wielkim Ksie˛stwem Krakowskim, Ksie˛stwem Zatorskim i Os´wie˛cimskim’.” 21 Nora 1989, pp. 7–24.

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Yezuyitskyy Horod / Ogród Jezuicki The history of the Jesuit Gardens – initially Former Jesuit Park, then Tadeusz Kos´ciuszko Park, and now Ivan Franko Park – dates back to the seventeenth century.22 The patrician family Szolb-Wolfowicz funded the construction of this first park. Situated next to the Galician Diet – today a university building – the garden obtained its name from the Society of Jesus that owned and maintained the park until Joseph II, who released the estate to the city authorities in the course of his policy of reduction of religious orders. Thus, after the 1779 removal of the Society of Jesus, the park received the name of Former Jesuit Park. However, due to the policy of consolidation of the Polish national memory, the site was renamed after 1919 as Tadeusz Kos´ciuszko Park,23 and after the Soviet occupation of Western Ukraine, in 1945 it was given the name of the Ukrainian intellectual, poet, and writer Ivan Franko (1856–1916). All these changes follow the logic of the symbolic codification of contested space of the new “owners” of the city.

Fig. 1: Yezuyitskyy Horod / Ogrjd Jezuicki, a postcard. [Source: https://polona.pl]

It is remarkable that various authors comment on the habits of referring to this park by the residents of Lviv while describing this park. The memoirs most often 22 On the history of Jesuit Garden see Stankiewicz 1928, pp. 62–71; Krypyakevych 2009 pp. 84–85; Kucheryavyy 2008 pp. 26–35. 23 On the figure of Tadeusz Kos´ciuszko see Szyndler 1994.

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call the place Jesuit Park or Gardens but almost never by its official names. While reflecting on his personal loss of the Habsburg Lemberg and considering the multiple alternative scenarios of Lviv’s history, Jjzef Wittlin writes the following about the Former Jesuit Park: The official name of this old, enchanted park at the very heart of the city is Pojezuicki– literally “Post-Jesuit”. In days of yore, before the Voltairean edicts of Emperor Joseph II, it was the domain of the Society of Jesus. But show me a Lvovian who could spit out such a complicated name! “Where are you going?” “To the Post-Jesuit Garden!” […] Likewise, the relatively new name of the same garden, “Tadeusz Kos´ciuszko Park”, would never have crossed the lips of anyone in Lwjw.24

Neither the Habsburg name of the garden nor its “Polish” name that commemorates the polish national hero Tadeusz Kos´ciuszko (1746–1817), who led the 1794 national uprising against Imperial Russia and the Kingdom of Prussia, gained popularity among the citizens of interwar Lviv. Wittlin finds the explanation to this fact in the unique mentality of Lviv residents by constructing their separate identity, which stands in contrast to the identities of the residents of other Polish cities: “Not that the Lvovians had anything against the Commander-In-Chief, but from an innate abhorrence of seolemnity, which is so well loved in other parts of Poland.”25 Other memoirs confirm these common toponymic traditions of Lviv residents, that unofficial names of parks were more popular than the official ones. For instance, Kazimierz Schleyen makes a similar observation: “The authorities may for decades give names such as “Kos´ciuszko Park” or “Kilin´ski Park” that will not help. A resident of Lwjw would not even think to go anywhere else than to the “Jesuit Gardens” or “Stryiski Park.””26 This statement supports the hypothesis that – despite tensions between competing national programs of Poles and Ukrainians – the “national” seems to be weaker than the “local;” at least as far as the city’s toponymy is concerned. In contrast to Jjzef Wittlin, who was born in 1896 and grew up in the Habsburg Lemberg, Stanisław Lem was born in 1921 in Polish Lwjw. The Habsburg 24 Wittlin 2016, p. 18; Wittlin 1991, p. 11: “Oficjalna nazwa tego starego i zaczarowanego ogrodu w samym sercu miasta brzmi: Pojezuicki. Ongi, przed wolterian´skimi edyktami cesarza Jjzefa II, była to domena Towarzystwa Jezusowego. Lecz pokaz˙cie mi lwowianina, co by wykrztusił z siebie taka˛ skomplikowana˛ nazwe˛ ! – Doka˛d idziesz? – Do Ogrodu Pojezuickiego! […] Podobnie nikomu we Lwowie nie przeszłaby przez gardło ´swiez˙a stosunkowo nazwa tego samego ogrodu: Park im. Tadeusza Kos´ciuszki.” 25 Wittlin 2016, p. 18. Wittlin 1991, p. 12: “Nie z˙eby lwowianie mieli cos´ przeciw Naczelnikowi, tylko z wrodzonej nieche˛ci do solennos´ci, tak lubianej w innych stronach Polski.” 26 Schleyen 1967, p. 45: “Moga˛ sobie oficjalnie, choc´by przez dziesia˛tki lat, nazywac´ Parkiem Kos´ciuszki czy Parkiem Kilin´skiego, nic nie pomoz˙e. Lwowiakowi nie wpadnie nawet na mys´l, by pjjs´c´ gdzie indziej niz˙ do Ogrodu Jezuickiego lub Stryjskiego Parku.”

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history of the city seems to have no traces in his book of memoirs Wysoki zamek27 (Highcastle28) published in 1966. “His” Lwjw was primarily the city of his childhood and youth, full of autobiographic sites of memory, deprived of any national symbolic references. Lem is neither concerned with the Habsburg past of the city nor celebrates the city’s “Polishness.” Except for the last chapter of his book, where we clearly feel the anticipation of the future war with Nazi Germany, Lem’s vision of the city bears a rather intimate and private character. Therefore, Lem’s memorizes Lviv’s green spaces rather as childhood and weekend family strolls than as places loaded with national symbolism. Both the Former Jesuit Gardens and Stryiski Park seem like purely “autobiographical sites” portrayed through a child’s perception. For the Ukrainian conductor and composer Mykola Kolessa (1903–2006), who spent almost all of his life in Habsburg Lemberg, Polish Lwjw, Soviet Lvov, German Lemberg, and Ukrainian Lviv, the Jesuit Gardens were not only a private “autobiographical site” – as in the case of the Polish authors Wittlin and Lem – but a true lieux de memoire: a place in which crystallized the memories of the Ukrainian-Polish War of 1918–1919. Kolessa’s memoirs Sto rokiv molodosti29 emphasize the symbolic meaning of the park for the Poles: Many Polish “eagles” died in the Kos´ciuszko Park. It’s a pity. Poles were raised as patriots and those who took weapons to defend an allegedly polish Lwjw had to die. Many Ukrainians had to die, too. […] The arguments of both were justified, but those of the Poles less, because they were still occupiVrs. They got used to it for many centuries, since Casimir took possession of the Ukrainian lands, and they believed this land to be theirs.30

Within this context, it is remarkable that the Ukrainian author Kolessa does use the “Polish” name the Kos´ciuszko Park and not the “Ukrainian” name of Ivan Franko Park. This fact is even more surprising as, on the other hand, Kolessa reproduces the stereotyped Ukrainian national discourse about the “Ukrainness” of Lviv by calling the Poles “occupiers.” The Ukrainian autobiographical discourse on Lviv reproduced by Kolessa regards Poles as rivals in the struggle for the “Ukrainian” Lviv. However, the long period of time that separates Kolessa from the events that he describes – he recorded his memories in 1999–2000 – moderates the general attitude of his discourse: the feelings of sympathy to and 27 28 29 30

Lem 2013. Lem 1995. Kolessa 2014 Kolessa 2014, p. 91: “D `Qa[d ;_bcoi[Q XQTY^d\_ RQTQc_ `_\mbm[Yf ‘Swa\pc’. 1 i[_UQ. @_\p[wS SYf_SdSQ\Y ^Q `Qcaw_cwS, w cw, j_ SXp\Y XRa_o S ad[Y w R_a_^Y\Y ^wRY `_\mbm[YZ ýmSwS, Q\V TY^d\Y Z ]_\_Uw d[aQx^gw […]. Cw Z cw ]Q\Y aQgwo. 1\V `_\p[Y ]V^id, R_ S_^Y SbV W Rd\Y _[d`Q^cQ]Y. @aYSY[\Y XQ RQTQc_ bc_\wcm, SwU[_\Y ;QXY]Ya XQS_\_UwS d[aQx^bm[Y]Y XV]\p]Y, w SSQWQ\Y, j_ c_ xf^p XV]\p.”

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regret for all war victims regardless of their nationality are obvious in his descriptions. The use of the “Polish” name of the park instead of the “Soviet” one – even if it was the name of a Ukrainian intellectual – may also indicate that Kolessa regarded the “Polish” past of Galicia less negative than the period of Soviet occupation and, therefore, refused to use the toponymies imposed by the Soviet occupiers. For Roman Volchuk, the Ukrainian author of the Spohady z peredvoyennoho Lvova i voyennoho Vidnya,31 the Jesuit Gardens bear the traits of both an autobiographical and memorial site. On the one hand, it was the park in which he played during his childhood in the company of his nannies; on the other hand, he associates the site with the Polish-Ukrainian War of 1918–1919: At weekends, I used to visit the park with my father and, when passing by the university building, he showed me the plaster-covered bullet holes on the wall. During the “November days,” the Ukrainians protected the university building against the Polish rebels who were attacking from the Saint George Hill.32

What follows is a description of the November Days commemorations that took place in 1928 in front of Saint George Cathedral, brutally suppressed by the Polish police. The narrator was an eyewitness of these events, so he sums up his observations with the words: “The event is engraved on my memory forever.”33 One of the central historical events for the Ukrainian residents of Lviv at the beginning of the twentieth century is the November Uprising of 1918, which became a part of the collective national memory of the Ukrainians only ten years later. By referencing this event, Volchuk demonstrates the way communicative memory contributes to the process of constructing a collective national memory on the discursive level. Because the November Uprising also became a part of the national memory of the Polish residents of Lviv, embodied in the narrative of the Lwjw Eaglets (Orle˛ta Lwowskie),34 we find it in the Polish memoirs as well. Schleyen actively partook in the battles for the “Polish” Lwjw, so he mentions this event when describing this park: Enclosed by the slightly slanting Mickiewicz and Kraszewski streets, the Jesuit Gardens were situated almost in downtown, at the foot of the magnificent Diet building, which later became the university. During the Defense of Lwjw in 1918, there was a front line

31 Volchuk 2011. 32 Ibid., p. 21: “D Sw\m^w U^w p f_UYS U_ `Qa[d X RQcm[_], w c_Uw Sw^ `_[QXdSQS ]V^w UwaY S ]daQf SwU [d\m. 3 “\Ybc_`QU_Sw U^w” RdUY^_[ d^wSVabYcVcd _R_a_^p\Y d[aQx^gw SwU `_\mbm[Yf `_SbcQ^gwS, p[w ^Qbcd`Q\Y SwU T_aY bSpc_T_ OaQ.” 33 Ibid.: “Gp `_Uwp U_RaV SRY\Qbp ]V^w S `Q]’pcm.” 34 See more in Nicieja 2009.

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over there and bullet holes on the Diet building from the Defenders of Lwjw under the command of the author of these lines.35

The approach to the November Uprising is reflected in the language used by the authors who belong to different national camps. The Ukrainians Kolessa and Volchuk attribute the negative roles of “occupiers” or “rebels” to Poles, but they describe Ukrainians as positive characters of the events: the “defenders” and “protectors.” Whereas the Polish author Schleyen shares the opposite perspective. In his vision of the past events, Poles are the “defenders” of Lwjw and the November Uprising is called a “heroic epic of the Defense of Lwjw.”36 Interestingly, none of the above authors associated the Jesuit Gardens in one or another way with Lviv’s Habsburg past. Instead, the park is subject to private memories – an autobiographical site in the sense of Czermin´ska – or a place of memory linked with the traumatic experience of the Polish-Ukrainian War.

Stryyskyy Park / Stryjski Park “The Jesuit Gardens lost their significance the moment the Stryiski Park was set up in 1880,”37 wrote Oleksandr Nadraha, the author of Sered lvivskych parkiv. According to some memoirs that describe the interwar period, the Jesuit Gardens yielded popularity to the Stryiski Park in the imaginative green spaces hierarchy of Lviv residents. For instance, Lem reminisces that “the Jesuit Garden held no attraction for me, while Stryjski Park did,”38 and immediately explains: because it had a little lake in the shape of number eight and, on the right, there was a path that led to the end of the world. Perhaps because no one ever went there, but I don’t know. Or possibly someone told me this, unless I made it up myself and then believed it. Stryjski Park had a complicated topography and was also wonderfully close to the exhibition grounds of the Eastern Trade Fair.39 35 Schleyen 1999, p. 55: “Niemal w ´srjdmies´ciu Ogrjd Jezuicki uje˛ty w ramy lekko pochyłych ulic Mickiewicza i Kraszewskiego, u podnjz˙a wspaniałym gmachem Sejmu, w ktjrym mies´cił sie˛ pjz´niej uniwersytet. Te˛dy biegła linia bojowa w czasie Obrony Lwowa w 1918 r. i na pamia˛tke˛ nosił Sejm szczerby od kul polskich Obron´cjw pod dowjdztwem pisza˛cego te słowa.” 36 Ibid., p. 22: “w bohaterskiej epopei Obrony Lwowa.” 37 Nadraha 2004, p. 149: “%Xdxcbm[YZ T_a_U ScaQcYS awidhV ^Q X^Qhw^^o X fSY\Y^_o _b^dSQ^^p d 80-cYf a_[Qf BcaYZbm[_T_ `Qa[d.” 38 Lem 1995, p. 13; Lem 2013, p. 15: “Ogrjd Jezuicki nie stanowił z˙adnej atrakcji. Inaczej park Stryjski.” 39 Lem 1995, p. 13; Lem 2013, p. 15: “Było tam jeziorko o kształcie jsemki, a z prawej strony otwierała sie˛ alejka wioda˛ca na koniec ´swiata. Moz˙e dlatego, z˙e nigdy sie˛ tamte˛dy nie chodziło, nie wiem. Moz˙e mi ktos´ tak powiedział. Ale chyba jednak sam to wymys´liłem i nawet dos´c´ długo skłonny byłem w to wierzyc´. Park Stryjski miał topografie˛ zawiła˛ – jak

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Fig. 2: Stryyskyy Park / Stryjski Park, a postcard. [Source: https://polona.pl]

The above passage portrays the park through the prism of childhood memories, typical for Lem’s Highcastle. Like other topographical locations mentioned by Lem in the essay, the discourse on Stryiski Park lacks any political or social references. This absence was also noticed by Grabowicz, who foregrounds this distinctive quality of Highcastle as “a highly self-focused work, much more intent upon examining the workings of memory […]; the social, political, ethnic, and cultural element in general and not in reference to the invisible Other, which is all but absent.”40 Remarkably, Lem’s admiration for Stryiski Park, though expressed through the prism of child’s memories, appears in other authors. For instance, Schleyen spares no superlatives for it: “The claim that the Stryjski Park may be the most beautiful in the world can only be questioned by someone who has never seen it.”41 Schleyen’s picturesque description of Stryiski Park is enclosed in a shimmer of mysticism and even holiness, emphasized by attributes like “Temple Park,” “like in a church,” or “breathtaking,”42 because it is not “a work of human knowledge, which the residents of Lwjw only nurtured and sustained.”43 After a rather long introduction characterized by the abundance of metaphoric

40 41 42 43

rjwniez˙ wspaniałe sa˛siedztwo wystawowego terenu Targjw Wschodnich.” On Eastern Trade Fair see more in Dabrowski 2004, pp. 118f. Grabowicz 2000, p. 327. Schleyen 1999, p. 52: “Twierdzenie, z˙e Park Stryjski jast najpiekniejszym na s´wiecie moz˙e kwestionowac´ ktos´, kto go nie widział.” Ibid., p. 52: “Park ´swia˛tynia;” “Jak w kos´ciele.” Ibid.: “Nie jest on dziełem techniki ludzkiej, Lwowiacy tylko pomogli i piele¸gnowali.”

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language, Schleyen directs his attention to the two aspects of the Polish national memory, intimately linked with Stryiski Park. First, Schleyen points to the Jan Kilin´ski44 monument: “Near the lake is the Kilin´ski monument. Though he is a hero of Warsaw, everything Polish is honored in Lwjw.”45 Schleyen associates Jan Kilin´ski, the commander of the Warsaw Uprising of 1794, with his perceived “Polishness” of Lwjw. This narrative is markedly absent in Lem und Wittlin, as both authors remain impartial to any national objectives. Second, Schleyen refers to the Galician Provincial Exhibition with its highlight, Panorama Racławicka: To begin, let us direct our steps toward Racławice Panorama […]. Neither a resident of Lwjw, who has visited it for the hundredth time, nor a foreigner, who visits it for the first time, can admire it enough. And again, if someone can tell me a more magnificent and more majestic painting – please, do it. When would Racławice Panorama return to Lwjw?46

Along with utter admiration for the famous painting, this passage offers another implication, expressed in the last sentence above, namely a reference to the discourse of “Polishness” of Lwjw, which contains an anticipation that this city should become Polish again. Planned in 1879 by Arnold Röhring, Lemberg’s leading landscape architect, Stryiski Park acquired an additional symbolic for the residents of Lviv when it became the place of the Galician’s Provincial Exhibition in 1894. The exhibition was organized by the Galician public for the centenary of Kos´ciuszko’s Uprising to demonstrate “the local cultural and civilizational achievements.” In a short period of time, thousands visited this fair, including the Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph I.47 Together with its highlight, the painting Racławice Panorama, Stryiski Park became a surprisingly significant lieux de m8moire not only for Poles but also Ukrainians. “Like every Lwjw child, I visited Racławice Panorama, which was a great attraction,”48 reminisces Stanisław Lem. Planned as a symbolic representation of the Polish national memory and painted especially for the 44 For more about Jan Kilin´ski, a commander of the Warsaw Uprising of 1794, see Winnicka 1971. 45 Schleyen 1999, p. 53: “W pobliz˙u stawu pomnik Kilin´skiego. Choc´ to bohater Warszawy, wszystko co polskie jest drogie we Lwowie.” 46 Schleyen 1999, pp. 53f.: “Najpierw skierujemy swe kroki do Panoramy Racławickiej, dzieła Wojciecha Kossaka […]. Chodzi, chodzi Lwowiak po raz setny, czy obcy po raz pierwszy i nadziwic´ sie¸ nie moga˛. I znjw jez˙eli ktos´ potrafi wskazac´ pie¸kniejsza˛ na s´wiecie, bardziej majestatyczna˛ panorame¸ malarska˛ – to prosze¸. Kiedyz˙ Panorama Racławicka wrjci do Lwowa?” 47 Prokopovych 2009, pp. 242–259; Krypyakevych 2009, pp. 79–80; Kucheryavyy 2008, pp. 82– 89. 48 Lem 1995, p. 85; Lem 2013, p. 135: “Jak kaz˙de lwowskie dziecko chodziłem, rozumie sie¸, co jakis´ czas do Panoramy Racławickiej.”

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exhibition, Racławice Panorama depicts the victory of the Polish army over the Russians in the 1794 battle of Racławice, under the leadership of the Polish general Tadeusz Kos´ciuszko. Yet, it seems that this painting transgressed the boundaries of the national Polish narrative and became a part of common memory discourse for both Ukrainian and Polish authors. For example, Stepan Shakh (1891–1978)49 recalls in his Lviv – misto moyeyi molodosty : I could also admire the remnants of the 1894 Provincial Exhibition on the Former Exhibition Square – named East Trade Square during the Polish period since 1921 – when I came to live in Lviv. After paying ten kreuzer, I also admired Racławice Panorama, situated in a round building with a glass roof, which depicted the battle of the Polish insurgents led by Tadeusz Kos´ciuszko against the Moskovits. This painting was created by the two outstanding Polish artists Wojcech Kossak and Jan Styka.50

We discover another connotation in Shakh’s approach to the Galician Provincial Exhibition, namely an association of the Exhibition with loyalty to the Habsburg crown. This fact becomes even more apparent in the symbolical passage about his parents, who used to live in the Galician province. Shakh writes that they deliberately visited Lviv during the Exhibition to see it along with Emperor Franz Joseph I. This encounter made such a great impression on Shakh’s parents that they bought a portrait of the Emperor, which they then always kept at home, hanging next to the icons.51 Thus, the Galician Provincial Exhibition and Racławice Panorama entered the collective memory of the Ukrainian residents of Lviv. Such memory sites, common to both Poles and Ukrainians, allowed for the emergence of a separate collective identity of the residents of Lviv, as already claimed by Wittlin and Schleyen. More than half a century that passed after the opening of the Galician Provincial Exhibition and the time of narration – Shakh’s memoirs were first published in 1955 in Munich – contributed to the weakening of national antagonisms und the construction of a separate Lviv identity.

49 Shakh 1955. 50 Ibid., p. 126: “AVic[Y gwux ;aQuS_x SYbcQSY X 1984 a_[d `_UYS\pS cQ[_W w p, [_\Y `aYxfQS ^Q bcQ\_ U_ ýmS_SQ ^Q c. XS. @_SYbcQS_SwZ `\_jw, (XQ `_\mbm[Yf hQbwS SwU 1921 a. `a_XSQ^wZ `\_jVo “BfwU^Yf C_aTwS”). @_UYS\pS p bQ]V – X _`\Qc_o 10 [aVZgQawS, S _[adT\w] RdUY^[d Xw b[\p^Y] UQf_] “@Q^_aQ]d AQg\QSwg[d”, j_ `aVUbcQS\p\Q RwZ `_\mbm[Yf `_SbcQ^gwS X ]_b[Q\p]Y `wU `a_S_U_] TV^. CQUVp ;_bcoi[Q, [YbcY SYX^Qh^Yf `_\mbm[Yf ]Q\pawS 3_ZgVfQ ;_bbQ[Q w P^Q BcY[Y.” 51 Ibid.

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Vysokyy Zamok / Wysoki Zamek “What Heaven is to a Christian, Highcastle was to each of us,”52 writes Stanisław Lem about his high school years in interwar Lwjw. The transcendent character of this statement becomes even more evident in Lem’s further observations: Because [Highcastle] was not really a place, it was a state, so intensely perfect that it could be compared only with the first day of summer vacation – a day not yet touched, not yet begun, when the heart faints with deliciousness because everything is still ahead […]. It was not a Christian heaven full of modest prayer, but a nirvana – no temptations or desires, but blessedness that existed independently.53

Fig. 3: Union of Lublin Mound, a postcard. [Source: https://polona.pl]

The transcendent mode evoked in this passage is intensified through reference to the enduring, timeless space, deprived of any physical features, and compared to the state of nirvana. It is remarkable that historical allusions associated with the High Castle, so important to the Ukrainian and most Polish authors, hardly

52 Lem 1995, p. 58; Lem 2013, p. 95: “Tym, czym jest dla chrzes´cijanina niebo, był dla kaz˙dego z nas Wysoki Zamek.” 53 Lem 1995, p. 59; Lem 2013, p. 96f.: “Bo tez˙ nie było to włas´ciwie miejsce, ale stan doskonały, daja˛cy sie˛ w swej intensywnos´ci zestawic´ chyba tylko z pierwszym dniem wakacji – jeszcze nietknie˛tym, nienapocze˛tym, przed ktjrym serce zamierało w słodkim oszołomieniu, poniewaz˙ wszystko miało sie˛ dopiero stac´ […]. [T]o nie był rozmodlony, skromny raj chrzes´cijan´ski, ale raczej nirwana – z˙adnych pokus, zachcen´, błogos´c´ dzieja˛ca sie˛ sama przez sie˛ […].”

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appear in Lem’s text. If Lem does mention the history of the site, it is only to express its insignificance: In Highcastle there stood a broken wall, a ruin, but I hardly remember it. Thirty years had to pass before I thought about this and learned that Highcastle had been a magnificent building, given its name because there was a Lowcastle in the city. But ruins and venerable monuments were of no interest to me then.54

The High Castle as the city’s highest hill was the undoubtable heart of the Lviv’s cityscape not only for Lem. We find references to the park in almost every autobiographical text about the interwar Lviv. It is remarkable that the historic narrative of Lviv takes an important place in the memoirs of both Ukrainian and Polish authors. However, Vysokyy Zamok is for Ukrainians a part of the city‘s founding myth associated with the Ruthenian king Daniel of Halych, who constructed there the first wooden stronghold. The Polish national narrative mainly concentrates on the Lublin Union Hill, built in 1869–1890 thanks to the efforts of Franciszek Smolka. This discrepancy between the Polish and Ukrainian narratives on Wysoki Zamek / Vysokyy Zamok emerge from the memoirs of Oleksandr Nadraha and Kazimierz Schleyen. Born in 1885 in Berezhany, Nadraha wrote his memoirs Sered Lvivskych parkiv55 in 1937–1944. Like Stepan Shakh, Nadraha reproduces the “Ukrainian” narrative of Lviv by creating “places of memory” loaded with Ukrainian national symbols and attributes. Vysokyy Zamok is exactly such a place for Nadraha. The key role in the construction of such a narrative plays both the ancient and recent history. Thus, in the chapter “Vysokyy Zamok,” Nadraha foregrounds that he walks on the hill to argue that there is no other way to reach the top: you cannot witness the whole charm of the Castle Hill without noticing the defensive palings, walls, the towers of the prince’s castle, Bohdan’s56 regiments, the rebels of Mychaylo Kryvonos,57 Turkish janissaries,58 riders of Charles XII of Sweden;59 you cannot see the place without hearing the pitiful cry of Halshka Ostrogska.60 54 Lem 1995, p. 58; Lem 2013, p. 96: “Na Wysokim Zamku znajdował sie˛ ułomek muru, ruiny, ktjra˛ledwo pamie˛tam. Musiało upłyna˛c´ trzydzies´ci lat, abym zdołał sie˛ nad nim zastanowic´ i dowiedziec´ tego, z˙e Wysoki Zamek był nazwa˛ wspaniałej ongi budowli, a nazywał sie˛ tak, poniewaz˙ istniał tez˙ kiedys´ Niski, wewna˛trz miasta. Ale wtedy ruiny i inne czcigodne pamia˛tki wiekjw zupełnie mnie nie obchodziły.” 55 Nadraha 2004. 56 The regiments of Bohdan Khmelnytskyy (1595–1657), a Zaporozhian Hetman, who in 1658–1654 led a Cossack uprising against the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. 57 Actually Maksym Kryvonos (near 1600–1648), a Cossack leader of Khmelnytskyy Uprising, who wn 1648 conquered Vysokyy Zamok. 58 Janissaries were elite infantry units that – between the fourteenth and nineteenth centuries – formed the Ottoman Sultan’s household troops and the first modern standing army in Europe. See more in Goodwin 1999. 59 Charles XII of Sweden (1682–1718), a King of Sweden.

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Using the palimpsest technique, which evokes the effect of immediate presence of various historical layers in the same space, this elaborative description seeks to produce the effect of historical “legitimacy” of the Ukrainian discourse on Vysokyy Zamok in particular – and on the city of Lviv in general – associated with certain historical personalities who are part of the Ukrainian national narrative. In contrast to the Ukrainian authors, Schleyen in his description of Wysoki Zamek mostly concentrates on the Union of Lublin Mound. As the following passage demonstrates, he extends the meaning of the city’s Union of Lublin to the question of Europe’s security in general: The mound, constructed with the hands of Lwjw citizens, symbolizes the unity of Polish lands and the union of Poland with Western culture. To continue the words of Smolka, Europe will gain stability only when it comes back to its borders, the visible sign of unity with the West.61

This utterance acquires an even stronger emphasis in light of the introduction, in which Schleyen outlines the short history of the city. As expected, he associates the foundation of Lviv with the times of Casimir III the Great, regarding the early “Ruthenian” history of the city as a period of occupation of the primarily Polish territory : In 1940, six hundred years passed since the founding of Polish Lwjw. In 1360, Casimir the Great extended the rule of the Piast dynasty over Lwjw, surrounded it with a wall und constructed a stone castle. It was simply a return of the Red Land back to Poland, after three hundred years of the Kyiv princes and Tatar rule. For this land belonged to Poland even before the Normans conquered England.62

60 Nadraha 2004, p. 157: “[…] SYhdcY dbm_T_ hQad 8Q][_S_x T_aY, ^V ]_W^Q U_T\p^dcY ^Q ^wZ _R_a_^^Yf hQbc_[_\wS, ]dawS w SVW [^pW_T_ XQ]hYjQ, `_\[wS 2_TUQ^Q, hVa^w =YTQZ\Q ;aYS_^_bQ, cdaVgm[Yf p^YhaawS, iSVUbm[Yf aQZcQawS ;Qa\Q XII, ^V ]_W^Q `_hdcY Wa\ib^_T_ `\Qhd 4Q\mi[Y X ?bca_TQ.” Elizaveta Ostrogska (1539–1582), also known as Elz˙bieta or Halshka, was a Polish heiress, the daughter of Prince Illia Ostrogski and Beata Kos´cielecka. Due to her immense fortune, she was a desirable marriage object for many noble men and, as a result, the victim of a few intrigues. She spent some time in one of the Lviv monasteries, hiding from undesirable bridegrooms. Her tragic fate was a source of inspiration for many artists and writers. See more in Zagjrska 2006. 61 Schleyen 1967, p. 22: “Kopiec, usypany lwowskimi re¸kami, jest symbolem unii ziem polskich, unii Polski z kultura˛ Zachodu. Snuja˛c mys´l za słowami Smolki, Europa przyjdzie do rjwnowagi, gdy wrjci w jej granice ten widomy znak ła˛cznos´ci z Zachodem.” 62 Ibid., p. 16–17: “W roku 1940 mine˛ło szes´c´set lat od chwili załoz˙enia polskiego Lwowa. W roku 1340 Kazimierz Wielki rozcia˛gnal władze˛ piastowska˛ nad Lwowem, odwijdł miasto murem i murowany postawił zamek. Był to tylko powrjt Ziemi Czerwien´skiej do Polski po trzech wiekach władania ksia˛z˙a˛t kijowskich i Tatarjw. Bowiem ziemia ta nalez˙ała do Polski jeszcze w czasach zanim Normandowie najechali Anglie˛.”

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The Polish historic narrative of Lwjw fundamentally differs from the Ukrainian version of Lviv’s past, which associates the city’s founding narrative with the Ruthenian King Daniel of Halych, who named the city after his son, prince Leo (Lev). In contrast to Polish authors, the Union of Lublin has much less importance in the texts of Ukrainian authors, if any at all. For instance, Stepan Shakh describes the Union of Lublin Mound in a rather impartial manner : It was decided to lay the Union of Lublin Mound on the platform of the Highcastle in 1869 to commemorate the 300th anniversary of thV so-called Union of Lublin, which was to symbolize “the peaceful co-existence of Poles and Ruthenians in one crown land of Galicia.” The soil was brought to this Hill in carts by Lviv residents, mainly school youth, from a lower hill above the church of St. Nicholas, so-called Lysa Hora, on which once stood the original royal castle.63

Even if the expression “the peaceful co-existence of Poles and Ruthenians in one crown land of Galicia” does not imply any ironical connotation, Shakh still describes the Union of Lublin Mound rather soberly in comparison to Schleyen’s solemn depictions. On the level of symbolic representations, the discrepancy between the Ukrainian and Polish national discourses on Vysokyy Zamok / Wysoki Zamek illustrates a process of substitution of the medieval castle of the Ruthenian king with the Union of Lublin Mound as the Polish “site of memory” in the Habsburg Lemberg. That this symbolic rivalry for contested urban space existed in memoir discourse tradition is exemplified by the following passage from Shakh’s work. Recounting his visit to the City Theater, Shakh expresses his irritation about the painting by the Polish painter Henryk Siemiradzki, who “painted the landscape of Lviv from the Citadel Hill and not from the Highcastle, most probably in order to not paint St. George’s Cathedral, the main cathedral of the Greek Catholic population of the city who were mostly Ruthenian/Ukrainian.”64 Shakh’s assumption that it was a calculated intention of the Polish painter to choose a certain perspective and avoid the depiction of the St. George’s Cathedral – the main seat of the Greek Catholic Metropolitans – is typical for the Polish-Ukrainian rivalry in the symbolic representation of the city.

63 Shakh 1955, p. 131: “;_`Vgm ‘ýoR\w^bm[_x D^wx’ dfSQ\V^_ SYbY`QcY ^Q `\pce_a]w 8Q][_S_x T_aY S 1869 a. U\p XSV\YhQ^^p 300-\wc^m_x awh^Ygw XQ[\ohV^^p c. XS. ýoR\w^bm[_x D^wx, p[YZ ]QS bY]S_\wXdSQcY ‘XTwU^V b`wSWYccp `_\p[wS w adbY^wS S _U^w] [_a_^^w] [aQo 4Q\YhY^Q’. 8V]\o ^Q gVZ [_`Vgm S_XY\Y cQh[Q]Y \mS_S’p^Y, T_\_S^_ i[w\m^Q ]_\_Um, X ^YWh_x T_aY ^QU gVa[S_o bS. =Y[_\Qp, c. XS. ýYb_x T_aY, ^Q p[wZ ]QS [_\Ybm bc_pcY `VaSwb^YZ [^pWYZ XQ]_[.” 64 Ibid., p. 125: “[…] hdU_Sd [QacY^d `V^X\p Bu]waQUbm[_T_ S ]wbm[w] cVQcaw, ^Q p[wZ ]YcVgm X_RaQXYYS `Q^_aQ]Y ýmS_SQ, T\pUphY ^Q ]wbc_ X GYcQUV\m^_x T_aY, Q ^V X 3Yb_[_T_ 8Q][d, j_R ^V dXT\pU^pcY ]QRdcm [QcVUaY bSpc_T_ OaQ.”

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Conclusions Despite the fact that most parks and gardens of Lviv were founded or designed in the Habsburg era – thus formally linked with Habsburg legacy – the above analysis of autobiographical texts about interwar Lviv shows that this fact has almost no impact on their representation. Parks and gardens mainly appear in memoirs as “autobiographic sites,” that is, spaces of private, individual memory, often described in a very emotional, personal, sometimes nostalgic, anecdotal, picturesque, amusing, and admirable mode. In this sense, the representation of these parks in the tradition of post-Second World War memoir discourse by both Polish and Ukrainian authors is very similar, as both apply the same discursive strategies. The most vivid examples of such vision of Lviv come not only from Lem and Wittlin – who disregard national objectives – but also from authors with a very distinct sense of national identity like Schleyen, Kolessa, Shakh, and Nadraha. This observation applies to all three parks under consideration. The nationality of authors plays no significant role in this context. We notice similar topoi, motifs, and narratives in both Polish and Ukrainian works. These correspondences in the way of representation of public parks and gardens in the memoirs of authors from both nations give good reasons to argue about the construction, at least on the discursive level, of a separate “Lvivian identity,” which we encounter in texts of various authors. Nevertheless, there exists a significant difference in the representation of parks and gardens, should they have become lieux de m8moire in the collective national memory of Ukrainians and Poles. As my analysis above reveals, the Jesuit Gardens and the High Castle typically appear burdened with Polish-Ukrainian antagonism, which characterized the interwar period. The Jesuit Gardens evoke the memories of the 1918–1919 Polish-Ukrainian War, while the High Castle – Lviv’s diverging founding narratives. The case of Lviv’s parks and gardens as contested urban spaces confirms that they functioned as a productive source for the construction of the image of a national city for Polish and Ukrainian national narratives.

Bibliography Primary Literature Kolessa, Mykola: Sto rokiv molodosti. Spohady, Lviv 2014. Lem, Stanislaw: Highcastle: A Remembrance, transl. by Michael Kandel, New York 1995. Lem, Stanisław: Wysoki Zamek, Krakjw 2013. Nadraha, Oleksandr : Sered lvivskych parkiv, Lviv 2004.

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Shakh, Stepan: Lviv – misto moyeyi molodysty. Spomyn prysvjachenyy tinyam zabutych lvovyan, Myunchen 1955. Schleyen, Kazimierz: Lwowskie Gawe˛dy, Londyn 1967. Volchuk, Roman: Spomyny z peredvoyennoho Lvova ta voyennoho Vidnja, Lviv 2011. Wittlin, Jjzef: Mjj Lwjw, Warszawa 1991. Wittlin, Jjzef: My Lwjw, transl. by Antonia Lloyd-Jones, in: Wittlin, Jjzef / Sands, Philippe: City of Lions, London 2016.

Secondary Literature Assmann, Aleida: Memory in the City – the Future of the Past, in: Dreidemy, Lucile (ed.): Bananen, Cola, Zeitgeschichte: Oliver Rathkolb und das lange 20. Jahrhundert, Vol. 2, Wien 2015, pp. 926–938. Bergland, Betty : Autobiography and American Culture. Review: Eakin, Paul John (ed.): American Autobiography – Retrospect and Prospect, Madison 1991, in: American Quarterly. 45/3 (1993), pp. 445–458. Czermin´ska, Małgorzata: Miejsca autobiograficzne. Propozycja w ramkach geopoetyki, in: Teksty Drugie 5 (2011), pp. 183–200. Dabrowski, Patrice M.: Commemorations and the Shaping of Modern Poland, Bloomington 2004, pp. 118–119. Goodwin, Jason: Lords of the Horizons: A History of the Ottoman Empire, New York 1999. Hann, Christopher / Magocsi, Paul Robert (eds.): Galicia. A Multicultural Land, Toronto – Buffalo – London 2005. Hofeneder, Philipp: Übersetzungsprozesse in der Habsburgermonarchie: Galizien im Spannungsfeld von Sprachen, Varietäten und Schriftsystemen, in: Cwanek-Florek, Ewa / Nöbauer, Irmgard (eds.): Deutsch und die Umgangssprachen der Habsburgermonarchie, Wien 2014, pp. 185–206. Horbatsch, Anna-Halja: Polnische Stadt und ukrainische Minderheit. Nationale Gegensätze im Lemberg der Zwischenkriegszeit, in: Fäßler, Peter / Held, Thomas / Sawitzki, Dirk (eds.): Lemberg-Lwjw-Lviv. Eine Stadt im Schnittpunkt europäischer Kulturen, 2. ed., Köln–Weimar –Wien 1995, pp. 92–112. Hrytsak, Yaroslav / Susak, Viktor : Constructing a National City : The Case of L’viv, in: Czaplicka, John J. / Ruble, Blair A. (eds.): Composing Urban History and the Constitution of Civic Identities, Baltimore – London 2003, pp. 140–164. Hrytsak, Yaroslav : Lviv : a Multicultural History through the Centuries, in: Czaplicka, John (ed.): Lviv : a City in the Crosscurrents of Culture, Cambridge 2005. Isayevych, Yaroslav / Stebliy, Feodosiy / Lytvyn, Mykola (eds.): Lviv. Istorychni narysy, Lviv 1996. Kozłowski, Maciej: Mie¸dzy Sanem a Zbruczem. Walki o Lwjw i Galicije¸ wschodnia˛: 1918–1919, Krakjw 1990. Krypyakevych, Ivan: Istorychni prohody po Lvovi, Lviv 2009. Kucheravyy, Volodymyr : Sady i parky Lvova, Lviv 2008.

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Mark, Rudolf A.: Polnische Bastion und ukrainisches Piemont. Lemberg 1772–1921, in: Fäßler, Peter / Held, Thomas / Sawitzki, Dirk (eds.): Lemberg-Lwjw-Lviv. Eine Stadt im Schnittpunkt europäischer Kulturen, 2. ed., Köln – Weimar – Wien 1995, pp. 46–74. Mroczka, Ludwik: Spjr o Galicje˛ Wschodnia˛: 1914–1923, Krakjw 1998. Nicieja, Stanisław Sławomir : Lwowskie Orle˛ta. Czyn i legenda, Warszawa 2009. Stankiewicz, Zygmunt: Ogrody i plantacje miejskie, in: Janusz, Bohdan (ed.): Lwjw dawny i dzisiejszy, Lwjw 1928. Szyndler, Bartłomiej: Powstanie kos´ciuszkowskie 1794, Warszawa 1994. Podhorodecki, Leszek: Dzieje Lwowa, Warszawa 1993. Prokopovych, Markian: The Lemberg Garden: Political Representation in Public Greenery Under the Habsburg Rule, in: East Central Europe 33/1–2 (2006), pp. 71–98. Prokopovych, Markian: Habsburg Lemberg: Architecture, Public Space, and Politics in the Galician Capital, 1772–1914, West Lafayette 2009. Wandruszka, Adam / Urbanitsch, Peter (eds.): Die Konfessionen. Die Habsburgermonarchie 1848–1918, Vol. 4, Wien 1985. Winkler, Kathrin / Seifert, Kim / Detering, Heinrich: Die Literaturwissenschaften im Spatial Turn, in: Journal of Literary Theory 6/1 (2012), pp. 253–270. Winnicka, Halina: Jan Kilin´ski, Warszawa 1971. Zagórska, Sylwia: Halszka z Ostroga: mie˛dzy faktami a mitami, Warszawa 2006.

Magdalena Baran-Szołtys

Traveling to Post-Galicia and Uncovering the Habsburgian Past

Abstract This article argues that Habsburg Galicia was a superficial construct that owed its existence to produced depictions and different narratives from historical and literary sources from its beginnings in the eighteenth century. The cultural appropriation started with the works of travelers, philosophers, geographers, and writers, and it is especially well visible in travel narratives that continue to emerge until today. The paper shows which concepts, texts, and material heritage are used to construct an image of the Habsburg Galicia in contemporary literary or journalistic texts and what is the function of this image. The article employs a multidisciplinary and transnational approach to the historical space of Galicia in order to illustrate its polyphony with the help of various national literatures and cultures, hence conducting a comparative work. The paper analyzes texts of such authors as Martin Pollack, Kaspar Schnetzler, Roswitha Schieb, Andrzej Stasiuk, Yurii Andrukhovych, and Ziemowit Szczerek. Keywords: Galicia, travels, Habsburg legacy, Martin Pollack, Andrzej Stasiuk, Ziemowit Szczerek, Poland, Ukraine

Introduction Travel narratives like almost no other genre generate reflections about the traveler him- or herself – in comparison to the Other – and establish old or even new narratives based on a (not always sincere) self-discovery, or a self-fashioning. “The power to impose a shape upon oneself is an aspect of the more general power to control identity – that of others at least as often as one’s own,”1 indicates Stephan Greenblatt. A sort of self-fashioning was inherited to Austrian Galicia. Since its establishment, the Austrian crownland “Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria” was an artificial Habsburg construct, created in consequence of the 1 Greenblatt 1980, p. 1.

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Partitions of Poland in the late eighteenth century. The Partitions of Poland lead to the disappearance of the Polish state for 123 years and the almost equally long existence of Galicia under Habsburg rule. Before the First Partition of Poland in 1772, Galicia had neither history nor territory of its own, and even under the Habsburgs the territorial expands of Galicia altered. On that note, Galicia was a short form that quickly established itself in the common parlance. In reference to the territorial expand of what today is part of Poland and Ukraine, Galicia owned his existence only due to the First (1772) and Third Partition of Poland (1795) and the perseverance of Vienna.2 In consequence, all reference to the term Galicia in this understanding is part of the Habsburg legacy,3 although the name was not new at all. The House of Habsburg referred to the title claim of the Hungarian kings to the Old Russian principality Galich and Vladimir (in Ukrainian: Halych and Volodymyr), which was part of the Kievan Rus, integrated into the titles of the Hungarian Kings as “Rex Galiciae” since the reign of Bela III.4 The Austrian Empress Maria Theresa also bore the title of the Hungarian Queen and could, thus, raise a legitimate claim to this territory. The specific term Galicia comes from the town of Halych and their surroundings called Halychyna as a name for the region, a name most likely coming from the salt springs that occur nearby,5 but this is not proven. Whatever the case may be, it is essential that Galicia from the onset emerged from references to the past, strongly alienated and mythologized, beginning with the Habsburgian officials, who in the eighteenth century invoked the historical traditional thread rooted in the Middle Ages to resurrect the Habsburg’s right to this territory. This claim was a historically-based attempt to construct a legitimizing narrative about Galicia’s Austrio-Hungarian past, although it genuinely resulted from the proceedings of a realpolitik, and, apparently, not at all an attempt of the Habsburgs to recapture their old and forgotten lands out of sentimental reasons. The multiethnic landscape that became the basis of the Galician myth in all its diverse manifestations existed even before 1772, but the year of the First Partition of Poland establishes the annexation not only geopolitically but also intellectually.6 This cultural appropriation started with the works of travelers, philosophers, geographers, and writers,7 and it generated the meanings and pictures of Galicia that we associate with it until today in different 2 Mark 1994, p. 1. 3 Wendland indicates the beginning of a “Galician” history in the year 1141, when Volodymyrko Volodarovych expanded his territories through a relocation of the Rostislavichi realm seat from Przemys´l to Halych. See Wendland 2000, p. 391. 4 Mark 1994, p. 1. 5 Wendland 2000, p. 391. 6 Von Werdt 1998, p. 69. 7 Wolff 2004; Wolff 2010.

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national narratives. Mykola Riabchuk aptly summarizes the matter : “Galicia was invented by Austrians, appropriated by Poles, and reinvented and re-appropriated by Ukrainians.”8 But Galicia lives on in more than just these three national narratives. The end of the Habsburg Empire and the subsequent reorganization of Europe after the World Wars along with the migration from this area since the nineteenth century led to an afterlife of Galicia in various national narratives. Thus, Galicia became a transnational phenomenon that we may today read as a multireligious, multilingual, and polyethnic heritage. This article will focus on texts that are the legacy of this cultural appropriation: the travels to Galicia in the late twentieth and twenty-first century. These travels not only occur in this old Austrian territory but also explicitly label the travel as a “travel to Galicia,” a term that in Poland and Ukraine is not officially used in reference to this territory, but if used, it opens up diverse conscious and unconscious connotations and functions.9 Hence, travels to Galicia must be travels to a space dominated by the Habsburg legacy. Since this is not an analysis in sociology or political studies, I will not focus on the different dimensions Galicia opens in public discourse.10 Instead, I will show which concepts, texts, and material heritage from the Habsburgian times are used to construct an image of Galicia in contemporary literary and journalistic texts that deal with travels to Galicia and what is the function of this image. In most cases, Habsburg heritage emerges from literature that like no other medium influences the perception of old Austrian Galicia until today. Thus, the history of travels to Galicia is essential 8 Riabczuk 2015, p. 346. 9 Through their widespread modern appearance, the terms Galicja in Polish and Halychyna [TQ\YhY^Q] in Ukrainian reflect the high topicality of both national discourses, more prevalent than in the German / Austrian discourse, in which the names anyway remain significant. While the Austrian narrative mostly presents Galicia as a literary topos of a vanished world, the Ukrainian narratives regard Galicia as the origin of Ukrainian national consciousness, thus providing a strong identity and proof of Ukraine’s European heritage. Furthermore, the inhabitants of Halychyna still have a very conservative and nationalistic reputation in other parts of Ukraine. However, they perceive Galicia as a Ukrainian Piedmont. The Ukrainians assimilated the notion of a “national Piedmont” with its whole series of nationalistic discourses and arguments from Poles, for whom the nationalistic and antiimperial discourse was of paramount importance during the Habsburg times and even later. During the period of the Polish People’s Republic, Galicia notably represented freedom, autonomy, and strong national but also European identity, which almost completely disappeared after 1989. Today, Polish Galicia is linked to the highly exclusive, traditional, regional, and national identity, which most Poles in Poland only sometimes perceive as positive. Mykola Riabchuk suggests that the reinvention of Galicia as a Ukrainian Piedmont in the twentieth century was possible because of two legacies, the Habsburg’s imperial and the Polish anti-imperial one. This reveals the strong interdependent connection between all these legacies and discourses even today. See Kaszyn´ski 1987; Rinner / Zerischek 1988; Riabczuk 2015, Wierzejska 2015; Baran-Szołtys / Dvoretska / Gude / Janik-Freis 2018. 10 For a – not strictly academic – insight into and overview of this aspect, see Purchla / Kos 2015.

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for the construction and remembrance of this Habsburgian province; but the travelogues were crucial in its creation from the very beginning in the eighteenth century.

Establishing the Habsburg Galicia Travels to Galicia have a very long tradition in transporting an image from the province to a broader audience around the world. Texts about travels to Galicia appeared since the late eighteenth century and influenced the representation of Galicia both within and beyond its territorial boundaries. The first travel narrative appeared fourteen years after the creation of the Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria. It were Franz Kratter’s Briefe über den itzigen Zustand von Galizien. Ein Beytrag zur Staatistik und Menschenkenntnis11 (Letters about the Current State of Galicia. A Contribution to Statistics and Knowledge of Human Nature) in 1786. Other famous examples from German literature are Balthasar Hacquet’s Neueste physikalisch-politische Reisen in den Jahren 1794 und 95 durch die Dacischen und Sarmatischen oder Nördlichen Karpathen12 (Latest Physical-Political Journeys in the years 1794 and 95 through the Dacic and Sarmatic or Northern Carpathians; 1795), Samuel Bredetzky’s Reisebemerkungen über Ungern und Galizien13 (Travel Remarks about Hungary and Galicia; 1809), Karl Emil Franzos’ Aus Halb-Asien. Culturbilder aus Galizien, der Bukowina, Südrußland und Rumänien14 (From Half-Asia. Cultural Pictures from Galicia, Bukovina, South Russia and Romania; 1878), Joseph Roth’s Reise durch Galizien15 (Journey through Galicia; 1924), and Alfred Döblin’s Reise in Polen16 (Journey in Poland; 1926). Although the discourse about travels to Galicia is dominated by German texts, there also are popular Polish academic and literary sources like Seweryn Goszczyn´ski’s Dziennik podrjz˙y do Tatrjw17 (Journal of Travel to the Tatra Mountains; 1833), Z˙egota Pauli’s Wyja˛tki z podrjz˙y po Galicji odbytej w roku 183118 (Extracts from the Travel to Galicia in 1831; 1835), Jjzef Łepkowski’s Ułamek podrjz˙y archeologicznej po Galicji odbytej w 1849 roku19 (Fractions of an Archaeological Journey to Galicia in 1849; 1850), and Kazimierz Wodzicki’s 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

Kratter 1786. Hacquet 1796. Bredetzky 1809. Franzos 1878. Roth 1990. Döblin 1968. Goszczyn´ski 1958. Pauli 1835. Łepkowski / Jerzmanowski 1850.

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Wycieczka ornitologiczne w Tatry i Karpaty galicyjskie na pocza˛tku czerwca 1850 roku20 (Ornithological Excursion to the Tatras and Galician Carpathians at the Beginning of June 1850; 1851). The old German travel accounts present the otherness of Galicia as the background of the Habsburg Monarchy. From the eighteenth century, they characterized Galicia as “wild,” “backward,” and “barbaric.”21 The old travel accounts portrayed Galicia’s population as lazy and superstitious while Jews as foreign and rejected, which suggested that Galicia was a distinctive Eastern territory of inhumane conditions that needed to be enlightened and civilized by the new rulers. Thus, the myth of Galicia developed by the Austrians was a typical Enlightenment myth of Western superiority and civilizing mission.22 This picture of Galicia survived until today and is the epitome of the province. Although contemporary travels to Galicia lead to a historical space that no longer exists, the travels continue producing old images and are slowly transforming them. Galicia becomes a nostalgic place, an Atlantis, the memory world of one’s own childhood, literature, and history,23 a world that passed away and will never return.24 This (post-)Galician space remains popular among travelers, so even a hundred years after Galicia, the Habsburg heritage still plays a crucial role during their travels, although strongly shaped by nostalgia. The modern journeys construct an old, bygone past that is now considered Galician. These new travels mostly record actual movements in space. Alois Woldan aptly states that they do not reconstruct “a ‘lost world’ in the form of a literary anthology, but the documentation of this world based on reliable literary and historical sources, which amounts to the comparison with the current state.”25

The Multiethnic and Multinational Heritage The continual travels to the post-Galician area, with their persistently recurrent references to the historical province, clearly illustrate a fact that Alois Woldan foregrounds: “Galicia is a great narrative that still unites writers from different

20 21 22 23 24 25

Wodzicki 1851. Woldan 1998, p. 203. Riabczuk, p. 347. Lipin´ski 1988, pp. 55–64. Baran-Szołtys 2018. Woldan 2004, p. 92: “die Rekonstruktion einer, verschwundenen Welt in Form der literarischen Anthologie, sondern die Dokumentation dieser Welt anhand verlässlicher literarischer und historischer Quellen, die auf den Vergleich mit dem Ist-Zustand von heute hinausläuft.” Unless specified otherwise, all translations are my own.

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languages and cultures.”26 However, every language and culture – in this article mainly Polish and German-speaking – continues its own narrative of Galicia and, as the case may be, produces a Polish, Jewish or Austrian image of (post-)Galicia, in which Ukraine tends to serve as a background. We would have a hard time finding an actual polyphony of many equal voices in post-Galician travel narratives or even academic research on Galicia. This article employs a multidisciplinary and transnational approach to this historical space in order to illustrate the polyphony of Galicia with the help of various national literatures and cultures, hence conducting a comparative work. I selected the German-language literature as the basis of my analyses, because it offers a diverse publishing history and dominates the international Galician discourse. The German travel texts form a dominant canon of Galician literature that crosses own borders in many translations, thus shaping the image of Galicia around the world. The multinational approach represents the added value of doing justice to the polyethnic Galicia and the Galician tradition of multiple linguistic codes.

Rediscovery and Reimagination The most attentive feature of the modern travels to Galicia is their use of intertext as an elementary poetic device. This device rests upon historical and literary images mixed with personal experiences of the trip, which create a comparison with the presence and an update of the past images. Only one of the newer books makes an exception from this rule: the immediately classical Martin Pollack’s Nach Galzien. “When I wrote the book in the early 1980s, I could not travel to Galicia, so I did not travel to this area, and I had no idea what it looked like,”27 says the Austrian writer Martin Pollack (born 1944) about his futile attempt to travel to Galicia in the 1980s. Despite the impossibility of an actual trip, Pollack wrote his Nach Galizien. Von Chassiden, Huzulen, Polen und Ruthenen. Eine imaginäre Reise durch die verschwundene Welt Ostgaliziens und der Bukowina28 (After Galicia. Of Hasidim, Hutsuls, Poles and Ruthenians. An Imaginary Journey through the 26 Woldan 2015, p. 230: “dass Galizien ein großes Narrativ ist, das auch heute noch Schreibende aus den verschiedenen Sprachen und Kulturen vereint.” 27 Statement by Martin Pollack in the film Die literarischen Reisen des Herrn Pollack (The Literary Travels of Mr. Pollack). See Die literarischen Reisen des Herrn Pollack. Directed by Björn Kölz, Gernot Stadler. Austria: ORF, 2017, 45$; here: min. 13:13–13:22: “Als ich das Buch geschrieben habe, in den frühen 80er Jahren, konnte ich ja nicht nach Galizien, also nicht in diese Gegend reisen, und ich hatte keine wirkliche Ahnung, wie es hier aussieht.” 28 Pollack 1984.

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Vanished World of Eastern Galicia and Bukovina; 1984). It is a work that enjoys cult status today and is read by many travelers going to Galicia. After years of absence, Pollack placed the old Habsburg crownland of Galicia again in the center of public interest, first for German-speaking and, after translations also for other readers. At that time, it was difficult to travel around the territory of historical Galicia. The former West Galicia was then located in the People’s Republic of Poland, the former East Galicia was mostly in the Soviet Union; only to a small degree open to tourists. Like many others, Pollack did not receive an entry permit, so he travels in his imagination only, on the basis of literary works, maps, historical travel guides, and old newspaper articles. His book is a cleverly designed intertextual travelogue, which gives the reader such a remarkably realistic image of Galicia that it still determines its perception and travels today, although the entire text is based on sources and, thus, is a mere reconstruction of the past: the present post-Galicia is left out. Pollack’s imagined journey started a new method in remembering Galicia, which will be one of the leading ways to describe it at the end of the twentieth century : a travel based on texts. The imaginary journey into the past takes Pollack along the railway route of the Karl-Ludwigs-Bahn, which starts in Przemys´l and ends in Lviv, a substantial reference to the achievements of the Habsburgian past. Pollack uses literary sources from earlier Galician journeys and authors to construct his picture of a “vanished” Galicia: If you go there for a trip, you will discover a lot of things that remind you of the Kakanian past, a past many thought forgotten and buried. In cities such as Lviv, Chernivtsi, Brody, and Drohobych, the historical buildings – town houses, city theaters, train stations, churches, and synagogues – at first glance reveal historical similarities with other regions of the former Austro-Hungarian Empire that people are proud of again. But in the villages, for example in the Eastern Carpathians, one will also find traces and encounter landscapes, and people, present in the descriptions of Galician authors. This book should help during a search like this.29

The described concept of traveling to Galicia based on the “Kakanian past”30 is used by many of the travelers that followed in Pollack’s footsteps. Nevertheless,

29 Pollack 1984, p. 12: “Wer sich zu einer Reise dorthin aufmacht, der wird vieles entdecken, was an die kakanische Vergangenheit erinnert, die man längst vergessen und verschüttet glaubte. In Städten wie Lemberg, Czernowitz, Brody und Drohobycz lassen historische Gebäude – Bürgerhäuser, Stadttheater, Bahnhöfe, Kirchen und Synagogen – auf den ersten Blick historische Gemeinsamkeit mit anderen Regionen der ehemaligen Donaumonarchie erkennen, auf die man wieder stolz ist. Doch auch in den Dörfern, etwa in den Ostkarpaten, wird man bei einer Spurensuche fündig werden und Landschaften und Menschen begegnen, die man aus der Beschreibung galizischer Autoren kennt. Bei so einer Suche soll dieses Buch helfen.” 30 The term “Kakania” is per se an intertext. It was a fabrication by the Austrian writer Robert Musil after the abbreviation “k. k.” for “kaiserlich-königlich” (imperial-royal) in his famous

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we must also mention that the Kakanian past in Pollack’s performance is strongly connected with the Jewish past. After Pollack’s book and the transition of 1989/1991, Galicia regained popularity and the 1990s were an exceptional time for its attractiveness among travelers, particularly from the West. The following publications focus on Habsburg Galicia in literature and architecture along with the Jewish heritage, historically not strictly connected to Habsburg Galicia as it was a quality of the territory even before 1772, but always associated in collective memory with the crownland of Galicia. In the 1990s, Galicia was mostly reimagined: the present was only meant as a trigger for reimagining the past. In the 2000s, travelers began to increasingly journey to the post-Galician area to experience post-Soviet reality. In addition to the Galician heritage, visitors now show interest in the life of the region’s present inhabitants. The travels continue to mainly lead in the post-Soviet space of Ukraine, which reveals the realities of a newly democratic country. Thus, the Habsburgian past serves to explain the post-Soviet present, visible in works like Ernst Hofbauer’s (born 1941) Verwehte Spuren. Von Lemberg bis Czernowitz. Ein Trümmerfeld der Erinnerung31 (Scattered Tracks: From Lviv to Chernivtsi. A Debris Field of Memory ; 1999) or Der stille Bug. Reise durch ein zerrissenes Land32 (The Silent Bug River : Journey through a Torn Land; 2004) by Annette Dittert (born 1962) and Fritz F. Pleitgen (born 1938). One of the most outstanding German publications is Kaspar Schnetzler’s (born 1942) Meine galizische Sehnsucht. Geschichte einer Reise33 (My Galician Yearning. History of a Journey ; 1991), characterized by an innovative form. It is not a classic travelogue but a collection of different personal encounters, experiences, and impressions. There are twenty-seven short, demanding literary prose pieces that do not follow a chronological travel plan. The author calls them in a subtitle “Stories of a Journey.” The places he describes from a traveler’s perspective are Chernivtsi, Lviv, Ternopil, Pidvolochysk, Buchach, Chortkiv, and Sokolivka. What is striking is the absence of Drohobych and Ivano-Frankivsk, which appear in almost all other travelogues. He leaves out the Polish part of Galicia, as the trip concentrates exclusively on Eastern Galicia and further on Eastern European Jewry : “The history of Galicia is not to be imagined without the Eastern Jews. Soon, the Eastern Jews in Galicia will be only something for

novel Der Mann ohne Eigenschaften (The Man Without Qualities) whose first volume was published in 1930. 31 Hofbauer / Weidmann 1999. 32 Dittert / Pleitgen 2004. 33 Schnetzler 1991.

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imagination.”34 This quote suggests what Galicia means for Schnetzler : the Jewish heritage. On the one hand, his book addresses the downfall of Eastern Judaism and the Shoah while, on the other hand, reimagines the (literary) worlds of Galician writers such as Joseph Roth. Since the Jewish heritage is always part of the image of Galicia, I will not go into detail, but there are two aspects, which trigger the visibility of the Habsburgian heritage: literature and architecture. Schnetzler’s stories offer a literary-historical search for traces: “Since I was able to read: Galicia.”35 This nostalgia directly refers to the process of reading as, first, distraction and, then, preparation along with a prefiguration of his idea of Galicia, that is: “curiosity […] of which I have read in books.”36 Galician literature dominates the view of this space and makes it interesting in the first place. Mixed with nostalgia for the Habsburgian times, such readings become particularly evident in the story “Triumph der Normalität” (The Triumph of Normality). During the narrator’s two-hour stay at the Lviv’s station building restaurant, he meets his journalist colleague Joseph Roth, who commends him to sit down next to him and tells him the story of a men sitting opposite to them: Mischnigg. Roth also mentions his friend Dr. Skworonnek and is surprised that the narrator already knows this character from the novel Radetzkymarsch (Radetzky March; 1932). The characterization of Roth’s character suggests his imaginative universality : his hand is “weightless,”37 “his age was impossible to appreciate,”38 and “he sat there like a spider, lurking in an infinite calm, as if he did not belong to this world.”39 The text creates a superposition of reality and imagination as well as of the present and the past, which is fundamentally determined by space. Woldan indicates that, for Schnetzler, Galicia is a space that superimposes experience, tradition, and imagination.40 Through such overlapping of time strata, we find the Habsburg times not only appearing in characters and stories but also in the interior of the station building restaurant: “The dining room in its dimension and the fleeting charm of the decoration from the grand Imperial-Royal times.”41 The superimposition of time layers also appears in the symbols described by Schnetzler, as in the stucco medallion “from which the double-headed eagle had flown away to make room for the hammer and 34 Ibid., p. 38: “Die Geschichte Galiziens war ohne die Ostjuden nicht zu denken; bald sind die Ostjuden in Galizien nur noch zu denken.” 35 Ibid., p. 161: “Seit ich lesen konnte: Galizien.” 36 Ibid., p. 131: “Kuriosität […], von der ich in Büchern gelesen habe.” 37 Ibid., p. 53: “gewichtlos.” 38 Ibid., p. 51: “sein Alter war unmöglich zu schätzen.” 39 Ibid.: “er hat dagesessen wie eine Spinne, in einer unendlichen Ruhe lauernd, als gehöre er nicht zu dieser Welt.” Again, a reference to Roth’s Das Spinnennetz (The Spider Web; 1923). 40 Woldan 2004, p. 94. 41 Schnetzler 1991, p. 50: “Der Eßsaal kündete in seiner Dimension und dem abblätternden Charme der Dekoration von großartigen, von k.u.k. Zeiten.”

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sickle.”42 The description of places creates a contemporary picture of the past: the double-headed eagle is not extant in the present, the author only makes a tribute to him: just as the charm of the decoration of the great Imperial-Royal times. Galicia is not only projected by Roth but also by the nature of the characteristics of the places: the interiors and the architecture. Station buildings as places of transition play an extraordinary role in this construction. Suffice to read the description of the last station of Karl-Ludwigs-Bahn in Pidvolochysk: “And yet [the Habsburg Monarchy] shines, the past here seems less distant than the Western European present. Here, it is as if the magnet Vienna still works.”43 Austrian Galicia is omnipresent in Schnetzler’s book: the connection between Vienna and Galicia still exists, even if only in imagination.

Exploration and Instrumentalization This reference to Vienna opens up a thematic spectrum of expanding Galicia in a way often used by Polish authors referring to this past: in the context of Central Europe and reflections about oscillations between the concepts of the East and the West – significant until today – and in form of negotiations on their own national identity in the post-socialist era. Therefore, comparison to the German texts foreground a nostalgic narrative focused on the Kakanian and Jewish heritage, while the Polish texts follow a harsher political and anthropological agenda. In the Polish context, travels to Galicia remain closely linked to the Polish-centric concept of Kresy.44 Both concepts are interrelated, historiographical, mystifying, and overlapping in contemporary discourses. Their development is clearly separated but both played an important role in the formation of Polish national identity. As memory spaces, both Galician and Kresy discourses assume important functions in the national narrative by belonging to the Polish myth of the East.45 This article is dedicated to an analysis of the 42 Ibid.: “aus dem der Doppeladler weggeflogen war, um Hammer und Sichel Platz zu machen.” 43 Ibid., p. 111: “Und doch scheint sie [die Doppelmonarchie], scheint die Vergangenheit hier weniger weit weg als die westeuropäische Gegenwart. Hier ist als ob der Magnet Wien noch wirkte.” 44 The term Kresy refers to the former Polish eastern territories, known in Polish as “Kresy (Wschodnie)” or simply “kresy.” The “kresy” of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth described by Wincenty Pol must be distinguished from their historical meaning. See Schimsheimer 2018, pp. 37–55. 45 While Galicia goes back to the actual existing crownland “Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria,” Kresy originally stems from a legend about knight Mohort. Between 1840 and 1852, Wincenty Pol wrote a long poem Mohort. Rapsod rycerski z podania (Mohort. Knight’s Rhapsody from the Pass; 1854), which transformed this legend into literature and described

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Habsburg heritage, so it focuses on the Galician aspect. In such a manner, this aspect also appears in Ukrainian literature of the 1990s, a fact highlighted in the travelogue of Roswitha Schieb (born 1962), a distinctly outstanding publication Reise nach Schlesien und Galizien. Eine Archäologie des Gefühls46 (Trip to Silesia and Galicia: An Archeology of a Feeling; 2000), which reveals a new approach, as the narrator first journeys in the footsteps of her own family past in Silesia. The narrator and author is the daughter of two Germans displaced from Silesia. The historical context is clearly defined: the forced relocations and expulsions of the Polish population from Eastern Galicia and the Germans from Silesia in the 1940s. Since Schieb is interested in Galicia mainly because of the displaced Poles, the Polish sources receive a higher status (among others Jan Parandowski, Jjzef Wittlin), but the Habsburgian heritage also receives a special role. Schieb refers back to Galicia in a different way than Schnetzler : she does not reimagine the past but, instead, gives voice to the people she meets in Lviv, her cicerones. For example, we witness these devices in her conversation with Yurii Andrukhovych (born 1960): Why does he not live in Lviv but in the southern provincial town of Ivano-Frankivsk, once Stanislau? Why has he chosen to concentrate on Galician history and the Imperial-Royal times? Why does he write in Ukrainian? All aspects that Andrukhovych mentions refer to the Habsburg past. Thus, the new Ukrainian-Galician literature of the 1990s – addressed by Andrukhovych with the term the Stanislau Phenomenon – gathers such authors as Taras Prokhasko (born 1968), Yurii Izdryk (born 1962), and Halyna Petrosanyak (born 1969).47 Andrukhovych’s characterization of this Ukrainian literary group clearly refers to a selected past: “we can build on traditions that inspire us […] the kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria, and the Imperial-Royal past.”48 Andrukhovych mentions that during the Soviet times the reference to the Habsburg past was forbidden. Schieb determines the meaning of the Habsburg legacy for the West at the beginning of her book: “Galicia […] is largely forgotten in the West, except in the case of some culturally interested people, for whom the books of Joseph Roth and Karl Emil Franzos and the historical shtetl photographs of Roman Vishniac has how Mohort defended the southeastern borders of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. This poem spread relatively quickly in the second half of the nineteenth century and influences even today’s afterlife of Kresy. That is, the notion of Kresy remains problematic for Ukraine, Belarus, and Lithuania even today, because it determines a relation which may be read as symbolic of Polish colonialism. Hence, the term Kresy is politically incorrect and shows an exclusively Polish perspective. See Pol 1909; Kolbuszewski 1995, p. 6; Bakuła 2014, pp. 96–123; Golec 2017, p. 7f. 46 Schieb 2000. 47 See Dvoretska 2015. 48 Schieb 2000, p. 121: “wir können an Traditionen anknüpfen, die uns reizen, und die während der Sowjetzeit umfassend getilgt werden sollten, das Königreich Galizien und Lodomerien und die k.u.k.-Vergangenheit […].”

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become a melancholic projection screen.”49 Authors like Andrukhovych also use the Habsburg past of Galicia as a projection screen, but one that argues for Ukraine’s membership in Europe. Hence, he foregrounds Galicia’s Habsburg heritage and roots the Ukrainian national idea of belonging in the cultural traditions of the West.50 Besides the “Ukrainian pro-European apologetics,”51 the myth of Galicia “is an expression of protest against colonialism and post-Soviet mentality”52 and a “formal […] solution on the lever of images to play the ‘spirit’ of Habsburg’s standard ‘set’ of images of Austrian aesthetics.”53 A similar strategy employs Andrukhovych’s friend, the most famous Polish “Galician” author Andrzej Stasiuk (born 1960), who refers to Galicia especially in his works from the 1990s. He adds an additional feature to the heritage of Habsburg Galicia, different than Schnetzler but similar to Andrukhovych, which is the connection to Central Europe with all its cultural and geopolitical dimensions connected to the heritage of the Habsburg Empire. Stasiuk’s idea of his “own Central Europe” uses references to the times of the Habsburg past that are usually connected to transnationalism and the Jewish heritage, as well as the historical Austrian Galicia with its multiethnicity and the cult of Emperor Franz Joseph I. But it always stays a very private Europe: to find its center, Stasiuk places the spike of a compass where he lives (Wołowiec), at the former territory of Austrian Galicia in the Lower Beskids, and extends the other part to where he was born (Warsaw), everything in such circle is his Europa S´rodkowa, his “own Central Europe:” So I place the spike in the place where I am now, and everything indicates that I will remain. I place the second arm where I was born and where I have spent most of my life. This forms the elementary size if we try to reconcile our own biography with space. A distance of about three hundred kilometers in a straight line lies between my Wołowiec and Warsaw. Obviously, I cannot resist the temptation, so I plot a three hundred kilometer circle around Wołowiec to determine my own Central Europe.54

49 Ibid., p. 8: “Galizien […] ist im Westen weitgehend in Vergessenheit geraten, außer bei einigen kulturell Interessierten für die Galizien durch die Bücher von Joseph Roth und Karl Emil Franzos sowie die historischen Schtetl-Fotografien von Roman Vishniac zu einer melancholischen Projektionsfläche geworden ist.” 50 Dvoretska 2017. 51 Tkachyk 2015, p. 276. 52 Ibid., p. 275. 53 Ibid., p. 276. 54 Stasiuk 2000, p. 77f.: “Wbijam wie˛c igłe˛ w miejscu, gdzie teraz jestem, i wszystko wskazuje na to, z˙e pozostane˛. Drugie ramie˛ ustawiam tam, gdzie sie˛ urodziłam i spe˛dziłem wie˛ksza˛ cze˛s´c´ z˙ycia. To jest w kon´cu podstawowa wielkos´c´, gdy prjbujemy pogodzic´ własna˛ biografie˛ z przestrzenia˛. Mie˛dzy moim Wołowcem a Warszawa˛ jest w linii prostej circa trzysta kilometrjw. Oczywis´cie nie moge˛ sie˛ oprzec´ pokusie i wykres´lam wokjł Wołowca trzystukilometrowy kra˛g, z˙eby okres´lic´ swoja˛ s´rodkowa˛ Europe˛.”

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In this circle, we find towns such as Cluj-Napoca, Arad, Szeged, Budapest, Zˇilina, Katowice, but no Germany or Russia.55 In the perhaps most quoted passage of his essay “Dziennik okre˛towy”56 (The Captain’s Log; 2000), the features of Stasiuk’s “own Central Europe” become evident: it is ‘private’ and a ‘space in-between.’57 The narrator recalls the Empire a couple of times, for example, when looking at the weather forecast in television and concluding ironically : “It rains almost in the whole Empire.”58 Later, he tries to “reimagine a summer day one hundred years ago:”59 I am standing at a town’s inn window and watch as the wagon drivers harness horses on the muddy common land and cover the cargo on the wagons with tarpaulins. They exchange Hungarian, perhaps also Slovak, Ukrainian, or Polish words. […] It is the eighteenth of August: the day of His Majesty’s birth.60

The text reconstructs this vanished world and reflects on it from today’s perspective: “The countries of the Habsburgs are slowly swelling like diseased tissues and try to lead their own lives. Article 19 of the Constitution is like a time bomb, and this bomb will tear the Monarchy to pieces.”61 It is a creative construction of the public and cultural past of the space of Habsburg Monarchy and an attempt to simultaneously position Poland in Europe: a periphery that becomes a center first and foremost because of the Habsburg heritage; but also because of its private character. Thus, even if he does not precisely consider Galicia, Alfrun Kliems describes Stasiuk’s literary works from the 1990s as characterized by anti-urbanism, underground aesthetic, and regional determinism, which tend to produce structurally aggressive fantasies of a reruralized ‘East.’62 This anti-urbanism foregrounds the periphery present in all of Stasiuk’s texts, not only the ones from the 1990s, a strategy that shifts the Habsburg heritage into the center of Stasiuk’s post-socialist Poland to construct an anti-urban narrative. But contrary to Andrukhovych’s narrative, Stasiuk performs a cartography of East Central Europe against Russia and the West.63 55 56 57 58 59 60

Ibid. Stasiuk 2000. Marszałek 2010, p. 52. Ibid., p. 122: “Teraz padało prawie w całym dawnym Cesarstwie.” Ibid.: “i prjbowałem sobie wyobrazic´ letni deszczowy dzien´ sprzed wieku.” Ibid., p. 122: “Stoje˛ w oknie wiejskiego zajazdu i patrze˛, jak na błotnistym majdanie wozacy zaprze˛gaja˛ konie i okrzwaja˛ płachtami ładunki na wozach. Pokrzykuja˛ po we˛giersku, moz˙e po słowacku, moz˙e po ukrain´sku albo polsku. […] Jest osiemnasty sierpnia – urodziny Najjas´niejszego Pana.” 61 Ibid., p. 122: “Ziemie Habsburgjw puchna˛ powoli jak chore tkanki i prjbuja˛ z˙yc´ własnym z˙yciem. XIX artykuł Konstytucji to bomba z opjz˙nionym zapłonem, i to ona rozsadzi monarchie˛.” 62 Kliems 2011, p. 197. 63 Baran-Szołtys 2018.

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Stasiuk introduces a concept of Central Europe different to the one Kundera proposed on the basis of the re-creation of the nineteenth century Habsburg Empire against the West.64 This implies that Stasiuk works not on a unifying European narrative starting from Galicia but creates a geopoetic based on the harsh differences between the East and the West.65 Intriguingly, the befriended and often publically connected authors, Stasiuk and Andrukhovych, construe entirely different Galician narratives of Europe.66

Reflections and Irony A new and refreshing concept of Galicia appears in Ziemowit Szczerek’s (born 1978) Przyjdzie Mordor i nas zje, czyli tajna historia Słowian67 (Mordor Will Come and Eat Us; or, the Secret History of Slavs; 2013). Thanks to the irony, hyperbole, and gonzo style characteristic of Szczerek’s novel, it breaks stereotypes, performs self-reflections, and negotiates identities through a general confrontation with history and its instrumentalizations, not to mention satirizes he nostalgic Kresy tourism. In this sense, Przyjdzie Mordor deconstructs Habsburg Galicia. Although Galicia plays an important role in the text, from the Polish narrator’s perspective it is connected with Polish history and Kresy. Nevertheless, he still refers to the Habsburg legacy when making the Ukrainians the subject of discussion: a similar topical Polish-Ukrainian connection to the one between Stasiuk and Andrukhovych. Describing several trips to Ukraine, the first-person narrator Łukasz Pon´czyn´ski – Szczerek’s alter ego – writes gonzo articles for the Polish press and a dissertation on Western Ukrainian Separatism, a topic that introduces the Habsburg history of Galicia. For the most part, Przyjdzie Mordor describes experiences in the former Galicia and, thus, also provides a specific image of Western Ukraine, which differs culturally, historically, and architecturally from Eastern Ukraine. Thus, Szczerek creates an implicit commentary on the tensions and differences between East and West Ukraine and critically examines the Galician image of Poles and Western Ukrainians. Szczerek presents Galicia in three forms. First, in relation to the Poles who formerly lived there and the history of Poland in this area (reference to Kresy literature and tourism); second, by searching for literary traces, especially Bruno Schulz (reference to nostalgic journeys also by western authors / tourists); and 64 65 66 67

Kundera 1984. See also: Llop 2017. Czaplin´ski 2016, p. 265. For more, see Bagłajewski 2007; Weretiuk 2011; Woldan 2015; Wierzejska 2017. Szczerek 2013.

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third, in the presentation of Galicia as a cultural-political argument of the Western Ukrainians (reference to the discourse of the Western Ukrainian Separatism). This last feature is dominated by Habsburg legacy : it legitimizes the Ukrainian or Western Ukrainian affiliation to the West, a classical role in the Ukrainian discourse on Galicia. The motif appears on the backdrop of the discussions of Galician / Western Ukrainian intellectuals-separatists. Their favorite Lviv restaurant “Zielona karafka” (The Green Carafe) is stylized into a Central European location. Its walls depict Franz Joseph, all the inscriptions are in Ukrainian, but in Latin script, and later they sing a drunken hymn to the Austrian Emperor. The novel creates a hopeless picture of this movement. Taras, the narrator’s Ukrainian friend, considers only the Galician part of Ukraine to be part of Central Europe and accuses the Ukrainians from other areas to be “Ruskie”68 (Russians / Ruthenians): “Only we are distinguished from this gray Russian mass, we Ukrainians from Halychyna, from Galicia, if you prefer, and they – they are all the same, it’s one Russian folk.”69 Due to Galicia’s Austrian heritage, Western Ukraine can separate itself from the rest of Ukraine and demand its Western character : “You have to break with the russificated, stepped Eastern Ukraine and cultivate the things in Galicia, which bind it to the world of the West. And join this world.”70 Meanwhile, the steppe in the quote is a positive mark of Ukraine in Polish romanticism, which again confirms the complexity of the relationship between Poland and Ukraine. In contrast, the Polish idea of Galicia refers to the Polish, not the Habsburg period, although Poles still use the term “Galicja” and not, for example, “Małopolska:” “Galicia was behind the dirty curtains. Now it’s Ukrainian, not Polish. And it all looked as if I had entered the area of alternative history of my own country. And in the end, this was really true.”71 Thus, Galicia as a term in 68 This term makes the identity and term confusion even more obvious. We must mention here the pejorative and colloquial character of the word “rusek” or the adjective “ruski.” This makes further alienation visible which, although historically conditioned, does not conform to the present: The Poles see the Ukrainians as “ruskie, ” therefore as Russians. This is well understood in the German translation of the text, in which “ruski” is translated as “Russian.” However, the word originally refers to the inhabitants of the former Kresy Wschodnie and means Ruthenian or Ukrainian. A term widely used today in the Polish culinary context for a type of dumplings – “pierogi ruskie” – which literally means “Ruthenian pierogi;” often mistranslated as “Russian pierogi.” 69 Szczerek 2013, p. 68f.: “Tylko my sie˛ od tej szarej ruskiej masy odrjz˙niamy, my, Ukrain´cy z Hałyczyny. Z Galicji, jes´li wolicie. A oni – oni wszyscy sa˛ tacy sami. To jeden ruski lud.” 70 Szczerek 2013, p. 69f.: “Trzeba oderwac´ sie˛ od zruszczonej, zestepowionej wschodniej Ukrainy i piele˛gnowac´ to w Galicji, co wia˛z˙e ja˛ ze ´swiatem Zachodu. I przyła˛czyc´ sie˛ do tego s´wiata.” 71 Ibid., p. 10: “Za brudnymi firankami cia˛gneła sie˛ Galicja. Teraz juz˙ ukrain´ska, nie polska. I wygla˛dało to wszystko tak, jakbym wjechał na teren historii alternatywnej własnego kraju. Tak zreszta˛ było naprawde˛.”

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Przyjdzie Mordor does not look back to the Austrian period, but to the Polish one, which envisions the exclusionary character of the Polish narrative that the text elaborates but does not explicitly perform. To make it clear, Szczerek’s text strongly ironizes the Polish narration about “Galicja” that, in the end, is the basis of and one of the most prevalent themes of his book. Ukraine appears here as an “alternative history of my own [Polish] country” is deprived of its own history, which in relation to Lviv is hardly acceptable for Poles, as the text suggests: And then Lviv began. This city should not exist – I thought, looking out the window. The Polish myth of its execution is so strong that it simply should not exist. And it so happened that it stands peacefully like nothing happened, and more: it insolently appeared more-or-less like before its regional apocalypse.72

From the Polish perspective, the Ukrainian Lviv holds an apocalyptic character, which requires no mention of the Habsburg legacy.73

Conclusion As I discuss above, from its very beginnings, Galicia was a superficial construct that owed its existence to artificial images and different narratives from historical and literary sources. Until today, this Galician tradition continues with its different narratives, but after 1989/1991 the scale and the function of the produced images received a broader scale. While German writers continue to reproduce Galicia on the basis of nostalgic reimaginations of Galician perceptions from literature and places characterized by the Habsburg times, the Polish and Ukrainian narratives use Galicia as an argument in their attempts to renegotiate and stabilize their national, Central (or even Western) European narrative after the collapse of the Soviet Empire. Nevertheless, all the analyzed travelogues share the use of the function of travel to negotiate their own image through selfdiscovery and self-fashioning, an important feature of the genre, present from its early stages. Over the course of the past thirty years, there continued a constant production of Galician travel texts that refer to the Habsburg past of the area. The past lost none of its popularity and repeatedly attracts wide public interest by constantly renegotiating contemporary issues through the space that keeps Galicia current, constantly updated, and in perpetual afterlife. 72 Ibid.: “A potem zacza˛ł sie˛ Lwjw. To miasto nie powinno istniec´ – mys´lałem, patrza˛c przez okno. Polski mit jego stracenia jest tak mocny, z˙e po prostu nie powinno go byc´. A ono stało sobie w najlepsze i w dodaktku bezczelnie wygla˛dało mniej wie˛cej tak, jak przed swoja˛ regionalna˛ apokalipsa˛.” 73 See Wierzejska 2015.

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Secondary Literature Bakuła, Bogusław: Colonial and Postcolonial Aspects of Polish Borderlands Studies: An Outline, in: Teksty Drugie 1 (2014), pp. 96–123. Baran-Szołtys, Magdalena / Dvoretska, Olena / Gude, Nino / Janik-Freis, Elisabeth: Einleitung der HerausgeberInnen, in: Baran-Szołtys, Magdalena / Dvoretska, Olena / Gude, Nino / Janik-Freis, Elisabeth (eds.): Galizien in Bewegung. Wahrnehmungen – Begegnungen – Verflechtungen, Göttingen 2018, pp. 11–20. Baran-Szołtys, Magdalena: Visions of the Past: Revised in the Present, Recreated for the Future. Nostalgia for and Travels to Galicia in Polish Literature after 1989, in: BaranSzołtys, Magdalena / Dvoretska, Olena / Gude, Nino / Janik-Freis, Elisabeth (eds.): Galizien in Bewegung. Wahrnehmungen – Begegnungen – Verflechtungen, Göttingen 2018, pp. 75–91. Baran-Szołtys, Magdalena: Andrzej Stasiuk’s Galician Middle Europe: Half-Dark, Empty, and Boundless, in: Baran-Szołtys, Magdalena / Glosowitz, Monika / Konarzewska, Aleksandra (eds.): Imagined Geographies. Central European Spatial Narratives between 1984 and 2014, Stuttgart 2018, pp. 87–129. Bagłajewski, Arkadiusz: Mit Galicji a idea ‘mojej Europy’ (Stasiuk – Andruchowycz – Topol), in: Trybus´, Krzysztof / Kała˛z˙ ny, Jerzy / Okulicz-Kozaryn, Radosław (eds.): Kresy, Dekonstrukcja, Poznan´ 2007, pp. 69–87. Czaplin´ski, Przemysław: Poruszona mapa. Wyobraz´nia geograficzno-kulturowa polskiej literatury XX i XXI wieku, Krakjw 2016. Dvoretska, Olena: ‘Phänomen Stanislau’ als eine besondere kulturelle Erscheinung, in: Büttner, Ruth / Hanus, Anna (eds.): Galizien als Kultur- und Gedächtnislandschaft im kultur-, literatur- und sprachwissenschaftlichen Diskurs, Frankfurt a. M. 2015, pp. 225–237. Dvoretska, Olena: In Search of the Other Europe: The City of Ivano-Frankivs’k in the Works of Yurii Andrukhovych, in: Central Europe 15/1–2 (2017), pp. 4–17. Golec, Janusz: Od Wiednia do Czerniowiec. Galicja i Bukowina w wybranych niemieckoje˛zycznych utworach literackich, Lublin 2017. Greenblatt, Stephen: Renaissance Self-Fashioning. From More to Shakespeare, Chicago 1980. Kolbuszewski, Jacek: Kresy, Wrocław 1995. Kliems, Alfrun: Aggressiver Lokalismus: Undergroundästhetik, Antiurbanismus und Regionsbehauptung bei Andrzej Stasiuk und Jurij Andruchovycˇ, in: Zeitschrift für Slawistik 56/2 (2011), pp. 197–213. Riabchuk, Mykola: Reinventing Galicia: From Imperial Imagination to Post-imperial Mythmaking, in: Molisak, Alina / Wierzejska, Jagoda (eds.): Galician Polyphony. Places and Voices, Warszawa 2015, pp. 345–359. Rinner, Fridrun / Zerinschek, Klaus (eds.): Galizien als gemeinsame Literaturlandschaft, Innsbruck 1988. Lipin´ski, Krzysztof: Die ‘Habsburgische Atlantis’ in Galizien, in: Rinner, Fridrun / Zerinschek, Klaus (eds.): Galizien als gemeinsame Literaturlandschaft, Innsbruck 1988, pp. 55–64. ´ ski, Stefan H. (ed.): Galizien – eine literarische Heimat, Poznan´ 1987. Kaszyn

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Llop, Iris: A Narrative Construction: The Idea of Central Europe in Milan Kundera’s Writings, in: Baran-Szołtys, Magdalena / Glosowitz, Monika / Konarzewska, Aleksandra (eds.): Imagined Geographies. Central European Spatial Narratives between 1984 and 2014, Stuttgart 2018, pp. 27–49. Mark, Rudolf A.: Galizien unter österreichischer Herrschaft. Verwaltung – Kirche – Bevölkerung, Marburg 1994. Marszałek, Magdalena: Anderes Europa. Zur (ost)mitteleuropäischen Geopoetik, in: Marszałek, Magdalena / Sasse, Sylwia: Geopoetiken. Geographische Entwürfe in den mittel- und osteuropäischen Literaturen, Berlin 2010, pp. 43–67. Purchla, Jacek / Kos, Wolfgang / Komar, Z˙anna / Rydiger, Monika et al. (eds.): Mythos Galizien, Wien – Krakjw 2015. Schimsheimer, Christof: Galizien und die Kresy als polnische Erinnerungsorte im Vergleich, in: Baran-Szołtys, Magdalena / Dvoretska, Olena / Gude, Nino / JanikFreis, Elisabeth (eds.): Galizien in Bewegung. Wahrnehmungen – Begegnungen – Verflechtungen, Göttingen 2018, pp. 37–55. Tkachyk, Natalia: The Myth of Galicia in the Works of Yurii Andrukhovych, in: Molisak, Alina / Wierzejska, Jagoda (eds.): Galician Polyphony. Places and Voices, Warszawa 2015, pp. 273–285. Wendland, Anna Veronika: Galizien. Westen des Osten, Osten des Westens, in: Österreichische Osthefte 42/3–4 (2000), pp. 389–421. Werdt, Christoph von: Halycˇ-Wolhynien – Rotreußen – Galizien: Im Überlappungsgebiet der Kulturen und Völker, in: Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropa 46 (1998), pp. 69–99. Weretiuk, Oksana: Jurij Andruchowycz i Andrzej Stasiuk o toz˙samos´ci ukształtowanej przez historie˛, in: Porjwnania 9 (2011), pp. 89–100. Wierzejska, Jagoda: ‘Idealized Land of Harmony and Happiness?’ Remarks on the Polish Discourse on Galicia, in: Molisak, Alina / Wierzejska, Jagoda (eds.): Galician Polyphony. Places and Voices, Warszawa 2015, pp. 323–343. Wierzejska, Jagoda: (Post-)bordering Galicia in Ukrainian and Polish Post-colonial Discourse: The Cases of Yurii Andrukhovych and Andrzej Stasiuk, in: Journal of European Studies 47/2 (2017), pp. 174–189. Woldan, Alois: Nachwort, in: Simonek, Stefan / Woldan, Alois (eds.): Europa erlesen. Galizien, Klagenfurt 1998, pp. 203–207. Woldan, Alois: Zum deutschsprachigen Galiziendiskurs nach der Wende von 1989/1991, in: Grimberg, Martin (ed.): Polendiskurse. Convivium. Germanistisches Jahrbuch Polen 1993–2003, Bonn 2004, pp. 87–105. Woldan, Alois: Regionale Identität am Beispiel von Andrzej Stasiuk und Jurji Andruchovycˇ, in: Woldan, Alois: Beiträge zu einer Galizienliteratur, Frankfurt a. M. 2015, pp. 353–366. Woldan, Alois: Galizien-Literatur – Texte und Kontexte, in: Purchla, Jacek / Kos, Wolfgang / Komar, Z˙anna / Rydiger, Monika et al. (eds.): Mythos Galizien, Wien – Krakjw 2015, pp. 223–230. Wolff, Larry : Inventing Galicia. Messianic Josephinism and the Recasting of Partitioned Poland, in: Slavic Review 63/3 (2004), pp. 818–840. Wolff, Larry : The Idea of Galicia. History and Fantasy in Habsburg Political Culture, Stanford 2010.

Larissa Cybenko

The Geopoetics of the Habsburg Heritage: Yurii Andrukhovych’s Overcoming of Political Restrictions and Divisions1

Abstract It was only during the political transition of the 1990s that one could turn toward the Habsburg heritage. The new generation of intellectuals in Western Ukraine turned particularly actively to the Habsburg past of their homeland. They began to interpret “Galicia” as a European cultural landscape. What appears most productive in the interpretation of this cultural and literary phenomenon is the concept of geopoetics, which emerged as an alternative to geopolitics in the context of the spatial turn in the humanities. This article analyzes the work of the Ukrainian author Yurii Andrukhovych from the perspective of geopoetics. The geographical conditions which Andrukhovych presents in his literary essays and novels allow him to re-read former Habsburg territories in Ukraine and describe the causes, conditions, and forms of the extinction of the cultural tradition of the Danube Monarchy. Andrukhovych develops with geopoetics his own geoculturology that become a criticism of Soviet and National Socialist geopolitics of the former Galicia. Keywords: Habsburg heritage, Galician literature, modern Ukrainian literature, Yurii Andrukhovych, geopolitics, geopoetics, geoculturolgy

Introduction The western regions of Ukraine are successors of the Habsburg Danube monarchy. Beside the Chernivtsi Oblast (province) that conveys the former Cisleithanic Northern Bukovina, there is the Zakarpattia Oblast in the former Transleithanian territory and the three regions of the former Eastern Galicia – Lviv Oblast, Ivano-Frankivsk Oblast, and Ternopil Oblast – which also were an ethnically and religiously heterogeneous part of the crownland “Galicia and 1 A special thank you from the author of this article and the editors of this volume goes to Vitaly Chernetsky for providing the manuscript of the published English translation of Andrukhovych’s text Twelve Circles. Unless an English translation of Andrukhovych’s quoted texts was available, the author of this article translated them from Ukrainian to German or quoted the German published translations and Mikołaj Golubiewski translated them from German to English.

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Lodomeria” under Vienna’s administration. In the twentieth century, the history of this region was traumatic as the collapse of the Habsburg Empire was followed by several political and cultural cataclysms. The Second World War became the deepest turning point: the joint attack of Nazi Germany and the Soviets on Poland – which also included post-Habsburg Eastern Galicia – triggered the Second World War and became a catastrophe for the local population. After the mass exterminations, deportations, and forced resettlements, there emerged a “double space:” while the material witnesses of the past were preserved as places of remembrance, albeit damaged, the social and cultural space of Western Ukraine was reconstituted. Under the Soviet rule, established here first temporarily in 1939–1941 and then for several decades from 1944, with a few exceptions, people settled in the former territories of the Austro-Hungarian province – Polish and Romanian in the interwar period – from other regions who had no connection to the “Habsburg past.” On the other hand, the Soviet administration instrumentalized Galician history and notoriously erased the former Austrian rule to establish Soviet social and cultural models, which corresponded to the regime and dogmas of “socialist realism” that emerged in Stalinist times. Therefore, there occurred a temporal discontinuity in the political-liberal and multicultural tradition, which did not correspond with the Soviet ideology, hence was adapted, reduced or removed. However, due to the spatial continuity, the cultural heritage of the Danube Monarchy in the former Habsburg territories in Ukraine could not be completely destroyed. Nevertheless, one could only turn toward Habsburg heritage during the political changes in the late 1980s and early 1990s, when the Soviet totalitarian rule dissolved and the new generation of intellectuals in Western Ukraine embraced the Habsburg past of their homeland in a discourse contrary to the geopolitics of the real socialism. This process was particularly active in the region, where traces of the culture of Old Austria had been preserved – especially in the streets and buildings of the cities, but also in the traditions of the older generation. In the last years of the Soviet regime Ivano-Frankivsk, formerly Stanislau, became the second largest city of Eastern Galicia after its capital Lviv, formerly Lemberg. The cultural phenomenon of Ivano-Frankivsk saw a tremendous response in the intellectual circles of all the Ukraine around 1990. The artistic work of such authors as Yurii Andrukhovych, Taras Prokhasko, Yurii Izdryk, and Volodymyr Yeshkilev reinvigorated the theme of “Galicia” along with numerous references to the culture of the Danube Monarchy. They juxtaposed Soviet geopolitics with a new perspective. The Soviets sought to erase the memory of the period of historical affiliation of the Western Ukrainian territories to the Habsburg Monarchy and the presence of the culture of the multinational state in the region; even the use of the name “Galicia” was undesirable. The new perspective was – to begin with Taras Prokhasko’s words, they began to interpret Galicia as part of “a universal

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space of the European landscape outside of time.”2 Below, I will show how current Ukrainian literature overcomes the political restrictions and divisions of totalitarianism in the former Galicia. To that end, I will focus on the role of the Habsburg cultural heritage, greatly relevant to the shaping of the new “Central European” geoculturology of Ukrainian intellectuals and influenced the new, post-totalitarian geopolitics.

The Geopoetic Turn toward Galician Space Thanks to numerous translations, the work of one of the main protagonists of the Ukrainian cultural scene both inside and outside Ukraine, Yurii Andrukhovych, occupies an extraordinary place in the process of returning to the “Habsburg heritage.” His first great success included him in the literary group “BuBaBu,”3 whose members began to write and perform their texts in a carnivalesque way shortly before the 1990s transition, which became one of the most striking features of Andrukhovych’s work. His energetic, ironic, hyperbolic, grotesque, and audacious style later received the name of “flying sparks of the narrative art,” and he himself that of the “Ukrainian author-dervish.”4 In his literary essays, he also mocks the attribution of his work to the “Stanislau phenomenon:”5 For some time (since that promising beginning in the nineties, which should have farreaching consequences), many speak of the magical city of Stanislau. […] Thus the “Stanislau phenomenon” was born, a term about which so much was said, mostly nonsense, to this day that one involuntarily stops believing in it. It really is so, but it is something very personal, this feeling of belonging to a city that is absolutely unique on the world map. How can you justify this with words and logical evidence?6

2 Prokhasko 1996, p. 13: “hQbcY^Q d^wSVabQ\m^_T_ `a_bc_ad uSa_`VZbm[_T_ \Q^UiQecd `_XQ hQb_].” The author of this article translated them from Ukrainian to German and Mikołaj Golubiewski from German to English, unless the English translation was available. Cf. Cybenko 2015; Dvoretska 2017. 3 Ukrainian: “Burlesk-Balahan-Buffonade” (Burlesque-Mess-Buffoonery). 4 Focus, qtd. after : Andruchowytsch 2007, Cover: “Funkenflug der Erzählkunst;” “ukrainischen Autoren-Derwisch.” 5 Cf. Dvoretska 2015. 6 Andruchowytsch 2003, p. 55f.: “Vor einiger Zeit, (mir scheint, seit jenem verheißungsvollen Beginn in den neunziger Jahren, der weitreichende Folgen haben sollte) ist die Rede von der magischen Stadt Stanislau aufgekommen. […] So wurde das ‘Stanislauer Phänomen’ geboren, ein Begriff, über den bis heute so viel und vor allem so viel Blödsinn geredet wurde, daß man unwillkürlich aufhört, an ihn zu glauben. Das ist wirklich so, aber es ist etwas sehr Persönliches, dieses Gefühl, zu einer Stadt zu gehören, die auf der Weltkarte absolut einzigartig ist. Wie soll man das mit Worten und logischen Beweisführungen begründen?”

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What is especially noteworthy here Andrukhovych’s turn to Galicia, which is the scene of most of his essayistic and some literary texts, be it in form of his hometown of Ivano-Frankivsk / Stanislau or Lviv / Lemberg and the Ukrainian Carpathians.7 His focus on the geographical area of the former Habsburg territories in Ukraine is not accidental. While studying at the Maxim Gorki Literature Institute in Moscow, Andrukhovych became a member of the Crimean Club founded in 1995 by the Russian poet Igor Sid, which successfully espoused Kenneth White’s idea of geopoetics, a project on the border between poetry and science, between concrete geography and “spiritual space.”8 As Magdalena Marszalek and Sylvia Sasse emphasize, within the framework of the spatial or topographical turn,9 geopoetics “experienced interesting popularity especially in Central and Eastern European literatures,”10 where it “reorganized Europe’s political geography since 1989.” The term geopoetics is suitable “for analyzing and describing different correlations and interferences between literature and geography,” as it provokes the “question about the role of geographical attitudes, perceptions, or materialities” in literary practice and production, “regardless of whether they are culturally constructed or given naturally.”11 One of the semantic nuances of geopoetics is the shift in emphasis from poiesis to geo. Moreover, the program of the Crimean Club highlighted the connection between artistic creativity and geographical space, not to mention the aura of the place. However, Andrukhovych focused not on the Crimean peninsula but his everyday space: Galicia. Accordingly, his contains several examples that correspond to this theoretical orientation. For instance, the collection of essays Dezoriyentatsiya na mistsevosti (Disorientation on Location; 1999)12 and the essay about “the Stanislau phenomenon”13 along with two novels Dvanadtsyat obruchiv14 (Twelve Circles15 ; 2003) and Kokhantsi yustytsiyi (Lovers of Justice; 2017).16 7 8 9 10 11

12 13 14 15 16

Dvoretska 2018. White 1987; cf. Marszalek / Sasse 2010, p. 7f. Bachmann-Medick 2006, pp. 284–328; Weigel 2002. Marszalek / Sasse 2010, p. 7: “eine interessante Konjunktur erlebt, vor allem im Bereich der mittel- und osteuropäischen Literaturen;” “Neuordnung der politischen Geographie Europas seit 1989.” Ibid., p. 9: “zur Analyse und Beschreibung unterschiedlicher Korrelationen und Interferenzen zwischen Literatur und Geographie;” “Frage nach der Rolle geographischer Einstellungen, Wahrnehmungen oder Materialitäten;” “unabhängig davon, ob diese kulturell konstruiert oder natürlich gegeben sind.” Andrukhovych 1999. In: Andruchowytsch 2003, pp. 51–59. This essay previously appeared in Polish in Gazeta Wyborcza daily. Andrukhovych 2003. Andrukhovych 2015. Andrukhovych 2017. The English translation of Jurii Andrukhovych’s newest novel Kokhantsi yustytsiyi (Lovers of Justice) is not yet available.

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Fictional Regional Studies in the Essays and Novels about Former Galicia In the literary essays from Dezoriyentatsiya na mistsevosti (Disorientation on Location; 1999), Andrukhovych combines several facts from the history of Galicia with fiction, as explains even the title of the collection and the names of the individual texts: “Vstup do heografiyi” (Introduction to Geography),17 “Chas i mistse abo moya ostannya terytoriya”18 (“Time and Place, or My Final Territory”),19 “Carpathologia Cosmophilica.”20 The author describes his method of representing the geographic space of the region as an “attempt of fictional regional studies.”21 In Twelve Circles, Andrukhovych creates a link between Austria and Galicia, between Vienna and the actual place of action: the eastern Carpathians near Ivano-Frankivsk. The latest novel by Andrukhovych, Kokhantsi yustytsiyi from 2017, changes according to the symptomatic subtitle Paraistorychnyy roman u vosmy z polovynoyu seriyach (Parahistorical Novel in Eight and a Half Episodes) in the period from the seventeenth to the twentieth century, which gives it a “cinematic” character. But the place of action always remains the same: Galicia with the cities of Stanislau and Lviv and their surroundings. The literary elaboration of geographic conditions allows Andrukhovych to reread the former territories now the Habsburg Empire that now make part of Ukraine. For the study of the geopoetic specifics of Andrukhovych’s rereading and his own image of geoculturology, we first must define and distinguish to notions: geopoetics and geoculturology.

Geopoetic Approaches to Habsburg Heritage Susi K. Frank’s understands geopoetics primarily as a technical-instrumental approach “in the sense of poietik8, namely as the processes of the symbolic construction of a geo-space and its specific combination.”22 Following Frank’s approach, Andrukhovych considers such “texturally figurative methods, motifs that can solidify into topoi, mythopoetic strategies that make use of their reservoir of images, narrative patterns, specific chronotopoi, procedures for the semantic construction of space, the construction of boundaries, the dynamics or 17 18 19 20 21 22

Andrukhovych 1999, pp. 32–50. Andrukhovych 1999, pp. 115–122. Andrukhovych 2018, pp. 80–87. Andrukhovych 1999, pp. 15–24; Andrukhovych 2018, pp. 70–79. Andruchowytsch 2003, p. 12; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 15: “B`a_RQ ew[cYS^_T_ [aQuX^QSbcSQ.” Frank 2010, p. 27: “im Sinne der Bedeutung von poietik8: nämlich als die Verfahren der symbolischen Konstruktion eines Geo-Raumes und ihre je spezifische Kombination.”

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statics of space.”23 All these elements directly refer to the history of the region during the Habsburg Monarchy, but also later, during the Second Polish Republic in the interwar period, and especially under the Soviet regime. Thus, Andrukhovych describes in the essay “Erz-Herz-Perz” – on the basis of a “family record” – how the heir to the throne Archduke Franz Ferdinand with “his wife and a few vice-heirs” rides through Stanislau toward the railway station “to take a nighttime train to Chernivtsi.”24 This mention of the capital of the crownland of Bukovina is not accidental. Under the Habsburg administration, Chernivtsi rose to one of the most important cultural centers in the northeast of Austro-Hungary. Besides his grandmother’s memories, Adrukhovych applies literary fiction (“I paint in the rest myself”25) to present the procession by mentioning the representatives of several strata of the population of Stanislau, to whom all “this attraction” was accessible.26 He also notes that “everyone” belongs to this “idyllic evening scene, under the invisible wings of the Empire,” when “this world order seems to be the only possible, certain and stable one.”27 Among those who welcome the procession are the dragoons, gendarmes, Ukrainian patriots, Christians, and Jews along with “the gymnasium professor Dutka, who knew nineteen languages.”28 The heterogeneity of this social and cultural space builds on the myth of the “good old days,” very popular in Galicia during the following Polish and Soviet periods. The remark that this idyll was an “evening scene”29 and that Franz Ferdinand’s travels ended in Sarajevo becomes one of the narrative patterns that oppose this myth. Its deconstruction is Andrukhovytch’s conclusion to this atmospheric scene in his hometown: “All that remains is a mood, a fleeting notion, an impression, an aftertaste – but these things are so subjective that it’s difficult to glean any useful, philosophical generalizations from it.”30 The geopoetic method in this essay also includes the enumeration of the topoi of Austro-Hungarian culture’s presence in the historic part of Stanislau. “These 23 Ibid.: “textuell figurative Verfahren, Motive, die sich zu Topoi verfestigen können, mythopoetische Strategien, die sich am mythopoetischen Bildreservoir bedienen, narrative Muster, spezifische Chronotopoi, Verfahren der semantischen Raumkonstruktion, der Konstruktion von Grenze, der Dynamik oder Statik des Raums usw.” 24 Andrukhovych 2018, p. 55; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 5: “`_SY^V^ RdS adiYcY ^Q HVa^wSgw.” 25 Andrukhovych 2018, p. 56; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 6: “aVicd U_]Q\m_Sdo bQ].” 26 Andrukhovych 2018, p. 56; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 6: “5_ a_XSQTY U_`djV^_ Sbwf.” 27 Andrukhovych 2018, p. 56; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 6: “dbw S_^Y `aYbdc^w S gwZ ^QUSVhwa^wZ wUY\wx, `wU ^VSYUY]Y]Y [aY\Q]Y w]`Vawx. […] – bSwc_`_apU_[ XUQucmbp uUY^_ ]_W\YSY], `VS^Y] w ^V`_adi^Y], w]`Vawp Swh^_o.” 28 Andrukhovych 2018, pp. 56; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 6: “j_ X^QS UVS’pc^QUgpcm ]_S.” 29 Andrukhovych 2018, p. 56; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 6: “S gwZ ^QUSVhwa^wZ wUY\wx.” 30 Andrukhovych 2018, p. 57; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 7: “8Q\YiQucmbp cw\m[Y ^QbcawZ, ]Y]_RwW^V SaQWV^^p, impression, `aYb]Q[ – Q gw aVhw ^Qbcw\m[Y bdR’u[cYS^w, j_ T_Uw SYS’pXQcY X ^Yf p[Vbm SQacwb^V bSwc_T\pU^V dXQTQ\m^V^^p.”

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details come from an early twentieth-century small-railway travel guide,” which contribute “to the completeness of the picture:”31 Its downtown and nearby streets are lined with two-storey buildings (for the most part), promenades, casinos, and shops with exotic goods, caf8s with Colombian coffee, pastry shops with candies fruit and biscuits. Churches: Greek Catholic (cathedral), Roman Catholic (“Fara”), Armenian, Lutheran, a synagogue with four cupolas constructed in the Mauritanian style. Statues of Mary the Mother of God and of John the Baptist, erected in honour of the retreat of the Russians in 1742. […] A bronze statue of Emperor Francis I. The city library that includes, among others, over eight thousand volumes of historical works alone. Hotels: “Union,” “Central, ” “Europe,” “Habsburg,” “Imperial.” Single-storey villas surrounded by flower gardens. The most popular street, Lindengassee [sic!], or Linden St – leads to the Empress Elizabeth city park.32

The combination of textual figurative images of the earlier cultural and denominational diversity allows Andrukhovych to symbolically construct the topography of Stanislau under Habsburg rule. This is followed by the hint that there is nearly no such city today. Andrukhovych links the beginning of the annihilation of the Habsburg past with the Soviet administration and the associated outbreak of the Second World War. He employs mytho-poetic strategies: Our local apocalypse began not too long ago – in September of 1939, when abandoned to the winds, “upper-class” homes were settled by other people, the newly arrived from far away plains, where one-eyed giants with eight fingers live, where they drink vodka like water, even instead of water, where they eat raw meat, and dancing bears perform in churches…33

According to Andrukhovych, the intruders began “to take over the whole culture”34 and shift it “to the East.”35 In this geographic context, Andrukhovych 31 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 60; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 10: “S_^Y bcS_aoocm `_S^_cd _RaQXd.” 32 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 59f.; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 10: “BVaVU]wbcp w `aY\VT\w Sd\Ygw US_`_SVaf_S_x XQRdU_SY (`VaVSQW^_), `a_]V^QUY, [QXY^_ w [aQ]^Ygw X V[X_cYh^Y] c_SQa_], [QS’pa^w X [_\d]RwZbm[_o [QS_o, gd[Va^w X gd[QcQ]Y w Rwb[SwcQ]Y. GVa[SY: TaV[_-[Qc_\Ygm[Q ([QcVUaQ), aY]_-[Qc_\Ygm[Q (eQaQ), Swa]V^bm[Q, \ocVaQ^bm[Q, bY^QT_TQ X h_cYa]Q RQ^p]Y S ]QSaYcQ^bm[_]d bcY\w. EwTdaY bSpcYf =Qawx =QcVaw 2_W_x cQ :_Q^Q FaVbcYcV\p, b`_adUWV^w ^Q hVbcm SwUbcd`d a_bwp^ d 1742 a. […] 2a_^X_SYZ `Q]’pc^Y[ gwbQaVSw EaQ^gd ü. =wbm[Q RwR\w_cV[Q X Rw\mi p[ 8 cYb. c_]wS \YWV wbc_aYh^Yf `aQgm. 4_cV\w: ‘D^w_^’, ‘GV^caQ\m’, ‘%Sa_`Q’, ‘4QRbRdaÔ’, ‘ü]`VawQ\’. ?U^_`_SVaf_Sw Sw\\Y S _c_hV^^w [Swc^Y[wS. þQZ`_`d\pa^wiQ Sd\Ygp – Lindengasse, QR_ W ýY`_SQ – `a_]V^du U_ ]wbm[_T_ `Qa[d w]V^w gwbQaVS_x %\YXQSVcY.” 33 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 60; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 10: “þQiQ ]wbgVSQ Q`_[Q\w`bQ `_hQ\Qbp ^V cQ[ SWV Z UQS^_ – d SVaVb^w caYUgpcm UVS’pc_T_, [_\Y S `_\YiV^w ^Q `_cQ\d Sbw] SwcaQ] ‘`Q^bm[w’ `_]Vi[Q^^p SbV\Y\Ybp w^iw \oUY, `aYRd\mgw X UQ\V[Yf awS^Y^, UV WYSdcm _U^__[w SV\Vc^w X Swbm]_]Q `Q\mgp]Y, UV T_aw\[d `’ocm, ^QhV S_Ud, w ^QSwcm XQ]wbcm S_UY, UV xUpcm bYaV ]’pb_, Q cQ^goohYf SVU]VUwS `_[QXdocm d gVa[SQf…” 34 Andruchowytsch 2003; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 11: “þQZ\VTiV Rd\_ XQf_`YcY […] dbo go [d\mcdad.” 35 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 60; Andrukhovych 1999, S. 11: “^Q bfwU.”

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places the reason for the annihilation of the old Habsburg culture: the ideology of the Soviet regime. Because the culture “which the newly arrived treated with an easygoing, proletarian disdain”36 was bourgeois.

Geopoetic Methods in Twelve Circles Andrukhovych also applies geopoetics as a method of symbolic construction of a geographic space in his novel Twelve Circles.37 He presents an episodic place of action, which references the Habsburg past even if the whole story occurs in the former Galicia (Lviv and the Carpathians) immediately after Ukraine’s declaration of independence. It is a “Habsburg-era train station buildings”38 in the mountains, one of those “one of those faÅades, despite countless and senseless changes, still reminds you of Viennese Secession architecture.”39 The station testifies to the aura of the place. What is particularly productive is the turn to geopoetics in the final scene of the novel, when Andrukhovych presents the imaginary flight to Vienna of the protagonist – the Austrian photographer with a Habsburg-like name Karl-Joseph Zumbrunnen – from Eastern Carpathians through “his lunar corridor.”40 Zumbrunnen is similar to the protagonist of Joseph Roth’s novel Das falsche Gewicht (Weights and Measures; 1937), Anselm Eibenschütz, killed in Galicia, a space alien to him. Andrukhovych actually presents Karl-Joseph as a person who has relinquished his “anthropomorphic qualities”41 when his dead body remains in Galicia – a striking symbol by Andrukhovych! – and as a person who in reality is “a little cloud, a Drop in the Ocean, simply a drop, a full stop, a particle of lunar,” but also “everything.”42 The movement type of flight allows Andrukhovych to mentally map the panorama of the geographic space between Galicia and Vienna from a bird’s-eye view in order to bridge the gap between them, thus reminding readers of their former affiliation within the same geopolitical space. Andrukhovych explicitly describes this in his essay “Erz-Herz-Perz:” “Just think 36 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 60; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 11: “U_ p[_T_ `aYRd\mgw XSY[\Y bcQSYcYbp X \VT[Y] `a_\VcQabm[Y] `aVXYabcS_].” 37 Andrukhovych 1999; Andrukhovych 2015. 38 Andrukhovych 2015, p. 27; Andrukhovych 2013, p. 28: “TQRbRdaXm[_T_ UYXQZ^d.” 39 Andrukhovych 2015, p. 27; Andrukhovych 2013, p. 27: “X cYf, p[w bS_x]Y ^V_U^_aQX_S_ w RVXT\dXU_ X]w^oSQ^Y]Y eQbQUQ]Y SbV W ^Qcp[Qocm ^Q hQbY SwUV^bm[_T_ ]_UVa^d.” 40 Andrukhovych 2015, p. 349; Andrukhovych 2013, p. 281: “þV `_[YUQohY bS_T_ ]wbph^_T_ [_aYU_ad.” 41 Andrukhovych 2015, p. 348; Andrukhovych 2013, p. 281: “Q^ca_`_]_ae^wbcm.” 42 Andrukhovych 2015, p. 349; Andrukhovych 2013, p. 281: “þQb`aQSUw Sw^ RdS f]QaY^[_o, ;aQ`\Vo S ?[VQ^w, `a_bc_ [aQ`\Vo, [aQ`[_o, hQbc[_o ]wbph^_T_ bSwc\Q. þQb`aQSUw Sw^ RdS dbw].”

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about it – there was a time when my city belonged not to the same state entity that included Tambov or Tashkent, but to the one that included Venice and Vienna! Tuscany and Lombardy belonged within the same border as Galicia and Transylvania.”43 The common geopolitical space that Andrukhovych describes in the essay and in the novel means for him “Central Europe.” The geopoetic reading of the mental map from the final scene of Twelve Circles appears for Andrukhovych to be a fantastic mixture, a hybrid of literature and painting, names and visions.44 The Habsburg nostalgia also surfaces from the paraphrase of the well-known formula of the ceremonial “permission” of the late Emperor Franz Joseph I into the Capuchin crypt. In Twelve Circles it is Karl-Joseph Zumbrunnen who is asked three times before the “Wall of Light:” “Who demands to be let in?”45 His first “involuntary” answer is: “I am His Majesty the Emperor of Austria and the King of Hungary.”46 The future-oriented final scene of this episode means: – And then the Wall stopped being a wall, and became a Staircase of Light, and it led – surprising though it may seem – upward. / (Let us imagine that everything happened exactly like this. For what else remains there for us? A body on the pushed together writing desks?).47

Andrukhovych’s carnival attention for the image of the deceased Emperor in the Capuchin Crypt episode indicates the relevance of the Habsburg past for his work.

43 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 58; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 8: “@_Ud]QcY cw\m[Y – Rd\Y Z cQ[w hQbY, [_\Y ]_u ]wbc_ ^Q\VWQ\_ U_ uUY^_T_ UVaWQS^_T_ dcS_aV^^p ^V X CQ]R_S_] w CQi[V^c_], Q X 3V^Vgwuo cQ 3wu^^_o! C_b[Q^Q Z ý_]RQaUwp `VaVRdSQ\Y S ]VWQf, uUY^Yf wX 4Q\YhY^_o cQ CaQ^bY\mSQ^wuo.” 44 Cf. Andruchowytsch 2005, p. 13 [in Pollack 2005]. 45 Andrukhovych 2015, p. 350f.; Andrukhovych 2013, p. 283: “Fc_ U_]QTQucmbp RdcY S`djV^Y]?” 46 Andrukhovych 2015, p. 351; Andrukhovych 2013, p. 283: “;Qa\-:_XVe w ^VXhdSbp p[ SwU`_SwS: – P – :_T_ Pb^wbcm, gwbQa.” The Habsburg nostalgia is also reflected in the paraphrase of the well-known formula of the ceremonial “permission” of the late Emperor Franz-Joseph in the Capuchin crypt. In Dvanadtsyat obruchiv (Twelve Circles) it is Karl-Joseph Zumbrunnen who is asked three times before the “Shining Wall:” “Who desires admittance?” His first “involuntary” answer is: “I, His Apostolic Majesty, Emperor of Austria, King of Hungary.” The future-oriented final scene of this episode has a meaning: “1Sbcawx, [_a_\m DT_ajY^Y.” 47 Andrukhovych 2015, p. 352; Andrukhovych 2013, p. 284: “– C_ ]_WVi dSwZcY, – ]_SY\_ SaVicw SwU Bcw^Y. ü c_Uw Bcw^Q `VaVbcQ\Q RdcY bcw^_o, Q bcQ\Q BSwc\Y]Y Bf_UQ]Y, w S_^Y `a_SQUY\Y – p[ gV ^V UYS^_ – ST_ad. (DpSw]_ b_Rw, j_ SbV bcQ\_bp bQ]V cQ[. 2_ j_ XQ\YiQucmbp ^Q]? Cw\_ ^Q U_[d`Y Xbd^dcYf `Ybm]_SYf bc_\Qf?).”

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Topography of Galicia’s Destruction in the Novel Lovers of Justice The costs of totalitarian geopolitics counted thousands of human lives and the new post-war division of the region: instead of the “shining steps that lead upward,” the “Iron Curtain” fell as after the inferno of the Second World War. Thus, the Ukrainian writer criticizes the Soviet and National Socialist geopolitics of the twentieth century with the help of geopoetic method. Andrukhovych also uses geopoetics as a technical-instrumental approach in his latest novel Lover of Justice. One of the themes of these sarcastic macabre stories is the depiction of the states of destruction and extermination of Galicia as the region of cultural diversity by the two totalitarian powers during the Second World War. The two regimes acted similarly, as shows the topography of annihiliation. According to Andrukhovych, one of the common Soviet and Nazi tendencies in their mass executions is the choice of the same “topographical features.”48 As a result, Galicia transformed into a palimpsest of the dead, where “the places of execution form layers, so that the victims of both [totalitarian powers] in the ground are so intertwined with each other that out of them grows common grass.”49 Past violence lends the place the aura of death: “The city S. was in the middle of the shootings, they occurred every day and every night, they could destroy anyone, they were the only master of the situation, the owner of the city.”50 The cost of totalitarian geopolitics were thousands of human lives and the new division of the region in the postwar period. The “Iron Curtain” fell as a result of the inferno of the Second World War. Thus, Andrukhovych uses the geopoetic method to criticize the Soviet and Nazi geopolitics of the twentieth century.

Geoculture Studies of the “Central Europe” As noted by Susi K. Frank, Andrukhovych “in his texts and commentaries juxtaposes geopolitics with geopoetics,”51 in which he shapes his own geoculturology. Frank simultaneously emphasizes that we cannot clearly distinguish the terms geopoetics and geoculture in the case of Andrukhovych: “[his writing is] not so much about geopoetics as it is about geoculturology […], about the 48 Andrukhovych 2017, p. 201: “eQ[cYh^_ _U^w Z cw bQ]w c_`_TaQewh^w `aY[]VcY.” 49 Ibid.: “w `Vaiw, w UadTw SYRYaQ\Y U\p bS_xf ]Qb_SYf V[XV[dgwZ eQ[cYh^_ _U^w Z cw bQ]w c_`_TaQewh^w `aY[]VcY. C_] ]wbgp bcaQcY SXQu]^_ ^Q[\QUQocmbp, Q b[Y^dcw ^Q U^_ WVacSY _U^Yf w UadTYf `VaV`\V\Ybp ]wW b_R_o cQ[ cwb^_, j_ X ^Yf `a_a_bcQu b`w\m^Q caQSQ.” 50 Ibid., p. 206: “=wbc_ B. WY\_ SbVaVUY^w a_Xbcaw\d, Sw^ SwURdSQSbp j_U^p w j_^_hw, Sw^ ]wT X^YjYcY [_W^_T_, Sw^ RdS uUY^Y] `Q^_] bYcdQgwx, T_b`_UQaV] ]wbcQ.” 51 Frank 2010, p. 23: “in seinen Texten und Kommentaren Geopoetik gegen Geopolitik.”

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culturological definition, construction, and performative composition of ‘EastCentral Europe,’ about situating Ukraine in this area and strictly demarcating it from Russia.”52 By “Russia,” she means the Soviet regime, which today still is a typical association in the West. According to Frank, geoculturology becomes for Andrukhovych a discursive strategy.53 According to Frank’s definition, geoculture is supposed to describe “a discourse of knowledge that assumes and postulates geographical spaces or regions as geocultural units, analyzes them as given objects and simultaneously constructs them semantically and semioticly and thus pursues, not least for ideological and political goals.”54 Among other things, Andrukhovych justifies his geopolitical goal – to situate Ukraine in EastCentral Europe – with the historical affiliation of former Galicia to the Habsburg Monarchy. As Frank further emphasizes, the discursive strategy of geoculturology is “to reinforce the postulate of a regionally specific cultural space by reconstructing its historical origin in relation to and interaction with geographical conditions and to construct geocultural units with common cultural identity, common cultural memory, common cultural production (current variant), and common relation to space or spatial life practice.”55 However, we should not forget that, in contrast to geopoetics, “there is no performative aspect in the self-understanding of geoculturology, [… since] geoculturology is mostly descriptive-constative, since it first presupposes what it may then construct.”56 From this theoretical background, we may find striking examples in Andrukhovych’s texts that bear witness to his geoculturology, which leads to the redefinition of Galicia. If Galicia, as we read in his essay “Carpathologia Cosmophilica,” is usually referred to as “a border, an edge, a neighbourhood of an empire, a neighbourhood of culture and civilization,”57 then according to Frank, 52 Frank 2010, p. 37f.: “hier nicht so sehr um Geopoetik, wie um Geokulturologie […], um die kulturologische Bestimmung, Konstruktion und performative Setzung ‘Ostmitteleuropas’ und um die Situierung der Ukraine in ihm und in strenger Abgrenzung von Russland.” 53 Cf. Frank 2010, p. 31. 54 Ibid.: “ein Wissensdiskurs bezeichnet werden, der Georäume bzw. Regionen als geokulturelle Einheiten voraussetzt, postuliert, sie als gegebene Objekte analysiert und sie gleichzeitig semantisch und semiotisch konstruiert und damit nicht zuletzt auch ideologische und politische Ziele verfolgt.” 55 Ibid., p. 34: “das Postulat eines regional spezifischen Kulturraums mithilfe der Rekonstruktion seiner historischen Entstehung in Beziehung zu und Wechselwirkung mit den geographischen Bedingungen zu erhärten und geokulturelle Einheiten mit gemeinsamer kultureller Identität, gemeinsamem kulturellen Gedächtnis, gemeinsamer Kulturproduktion (aktuelle Variante), gemeinsamer Beziehung zum Raum bzw. räumlicher Lebenspraxis zu konstruieren.” 56 Ibid., p. 32: “der Aspekt des Performativen im Selbstverständnis von Geokulturologie nicht […] gegeben [ist] da Geokulturologie sich zumeist als deskriptiv-konstativ versteht, da sie voraussetzt, was sie de facto vielleicht erst konstruiert.” 57 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 58; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 17: “XQSiV Rd\Q ]VWVo, [aQu], _[_\YgVo w]`VawZ, _[_\YgVo [d\mcda w gYSw\wXQgwZ.”

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Andrukhovych leads here to a “reversal of geocultural poles” of this “border or demarcation zone into a space of connection and dialog.”58 Among his theses that Andrukhovych lists as the apology of “deceased Austria”59 is the “unceasing” linguistic and ethnic diversity of this world, which would have helped “the Ukrainian component” to preserve.60 Thanks to “our Austro-Hungarian history,” there opened “up new geographic possibilities for us,” which “taught us to look West with love for ist tender twilight.”61 Andrukhovych is perfectly clear that there is a “cult of the Austria-Danube myth” in post-Galicia, including the interwar period. However, this myth allows him to speak in this context geoculturally of a violated Europe. He sees the causes and conditions of this situation in the fact that “here, in this territory”62 the desire for modernization and innovation – although belated – surfaced during Galicia’s belonging to the Habsburg Monarchy but was destroyed “brutally, from outside.”63 Andrukhovych describes the form of this destruction as follows: by blood, ashes, and world wars, but also by dictatorships, concentration camps, and massive ethnic cleansings – in such a manner, in this part of the world, modernism was halted, killed, and cut off at the knees, all versions of modernism – Vienna (the standard), Prague, Cracow, Lviv, Drohobych, after which an after-modern wasteland came.64

The author spatially shapes the consequences of extermination: modernity is replaced by “a massive hollowness with an endlessly open potential, a nothingness that promises a lot.”65 He also employs the motif of emptiness in the novel Twelve Circles, in which the Austrian protagonist characterizes Galicia’s memory space as follows: “Here it appears the twentieth century did bring a horrific catastrophe, something like a tectonic break, as a consequence of which everything that had happened and existed earlier – say, before 1939 – fell into 58 Frank 2010, p. 39: “geokulturologischen Umpolung [dieser] peripheren Grenz- bzw. Abgrenzungszone in einen Raum der Verbindung, des Dialogs.” 59 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 57; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 7: “1`_\_Twp ^VRwW[Y 1Sbcawx.” 60 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 57; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 7: “XRVaVWV^_ d[aQx^bm[YZ b[\QU^Y[.” Cf. Woldan 2015, p. 47f. 61 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 58; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 8: “S_^Q SwU[aY\Q U\p ^Qb ^_Sw TV_TaQewh^w ]_W\YS_bcw, ^QShYSiY UYSYcYbp ^Q 8QfwU X \oR_S’o U_ Z_T_ ^wW^_T_ b]Va[Q^^p.” 62 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 85; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 120: “bQ]V cdc, ^Q gwZ cVaYc_awx.” 63 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 85; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 120: “`VaVaSQ^Y] RadcQ\m^_ XX_S^w.” 64 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 85; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 120: “X [a_S’o, `_`V\_] w bSwc_SY]Y SwZ^Q]Y, Q cQ[_W UY[cQcdaQ]Y, [_^gV^caQ[Q]Y Z SV\VcV^bm[Y]Y Vc^wh^Y]Y hYbc[Q]Y – cQ[ d gwZ hQbcY^w bSwcd Rd\_ Xd`Y^V^_, SYRYc_, SYawXQ^_ U_ ^_TY ]_UVa^wX], RdUm-p[YZ – SwUV^bm[YZ (VcQ\_^^YZ), `aQXm[YZ, [aQ[wSbm[YZ, \mSwSbm[YZ, Ua_T_RYgm[YZ.” 65 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 85; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 120: “^Qc_]wbcm `aYZi\Q `wb\p]_ UVa^wbcYh^Q `dbc[Q, SV\Y[Q SYhVa`Q^wbcm X RVX[_^Vh^_ SwU[aYc_o `_cV^gwZ^wbco, SV\Y[Q RQTQc__RwgpohQ `dbc[Q.”

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oblivion.”66 As Andrukhovych writes in Lovers of Justice, it was “one of the consequences of the secret protocol to the Ribbentropp-Molotov Pact that in September [of 1939] that Soviets marched into our city.”67 The “unprotected” geographic space of Galicia was predestined for new appropriation, as a result of which the undemocratic regime could settle there for several decades, whose character Andrukhovych describes as “criminal- and assassin-like:”68 “There came times [when] the silence was not only golden but simply survival itself.” The cost was the obliteration the history of former Galicia and its rewriting in the spirit of the new ideology.69

Symbolical Meaning from “Galicia” to “Central Europe” For Andrukhovych, “Central Europe” an alternative to totalitarian regimes, which means for him – as for the Polish poet and essayist Krzysztof Czyz˙ewski whom Andrukhovych mentions – “a special state of soul, a special way of looking at the world.”70 Andrukhovych uses this term as a “territorial ephemeron,” a kind of “geographical ghost, a parallel reality.”71 Andrukhovych sees the possibility of counteracting the extinction of historical memory in postmodernity, which he himself describes as “as a not-yet-fully formed, but already noticeable, aftertotalitarianism,”72 geoculturally linked with the latest developments in Central Europe after the transition from communism. Galicia becomes for him a “a gap between millennia,”73 a territory of postmodernity. In this way, Andrukhovych establishes a connection to the European cultural space, which he sees in his native region’s direct link to the Habsburg heritage. 66 Andrukhovych 2015, p. 7; Andrukhovych 2013, p. 12: “B[\QUQucmbp SaQWV^^p, ^wRY d USQUgpc_]d bc_\wccw cdc b`aQSUw SwURdSbp WQf\YSYZ [QcQ[\wX], j_bm ^QhV cV[c_^wh^YZ X\Q], d^Qb\wU_[ p[_T_ SbV, j_ bcQ\_bp Z wb^dSQ\_ aQ^wiV, b[QWw]_, `VaVU caYUgpcm UVS’pcY] a_[_], `a_SQ\Y\_bp S ^VRdccp.” 67 Andrukhovych 2017, p. 77: “?U^Y] wX ^Qb\wU[wS cQu]^_T_ `a_c_[_\d U_ dT_UY ]wW U_Ra_Uwp]Y AwRRV^ca_``_] w =_\_c_SY] cQ xf^w]Y UVaWQSQ]Y bcQ\_ cV, j_ d SVaVb^w XTQUQ^_T_ a_[d U_ ^Qi_T_ ]wbcQ S]QaidSQ\Y b_SwcY.” 68 Andrukhovych 2017, p. 27: “[aY]w^Q\m^_-QbQbY^bm[YZ fQaQ[cVa.” 69 Andrukhovych 2017, p. 27: “þQbcQSQ\Y hQbY, [_\Y ]_ShQ^^p SYpS\p\_bp ^QSwcm ^V X_\_c_], Q bQ]Y] SYWYSQ^^p].” 70 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 86; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 121: “‘GV^caQ\m^Q %Sa_`Q – gV _b_R\YSYZ bcQ^ Udiw, _b_R\YSYZ b`_bwR bcQS\V^^p U_ bSwcd’, [QWV ]wZ `aYpcV\m ;iYic_e HYWVSbm[YZ.” 71 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 84; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 120: “ü cdc ]V^w `_cawR^Q jV _U^Q cVaYc_awQ\m^Q VeV]VaYUQ, cQ[Q b_Rw TV_TaQewh^Q `aY]QaQ, `QaQ\V\m^Q aVQ\m^wbcm.” 72 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 85; Andrukhovych 1999, S. 120: “P a_Xd]wo gV ‘`_bc-]_UVa^V’ w p[ ^VU_be_a]_SQ^d, Q\V SWV SwUhdcd `wb\p-c_cQ\wcQa^wbcm.” 73 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 87; Andrukhovych 1999, p. 122: “gV bQ]Q 4Q\YhY^Q, djV\Y^Q ]wW cYbph_\wccp]Y.”

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His cultural-historical diagnosis is that post-totalitarian Galicia needs a dialog that will join the post-Tsarist and the post-Habsburg Ukraine. On the other hand, one should continue the geocultural orientation of Ukraine toward the West. The cultural-historical phenomena of “Galicia” and “Central Europe” become for Andrukhovych a symbol of his “final territory,” as reads the title of his book’s eponymous essay. He is “in the middle of it,” his line of defense is he himself, he has no other choice than to defend this final strip. Thus, Andrukhovych combines the two phenomena with his own work: And I will dare to add: it is a provincial space where everyone knows that they actually belong in the centre, because the centre is simultaneously nowhere and everywhere, and that is why from the heights and the depths of our own office you can easily see everything, including New York or some Moscow.74

Andrukhovych creates his own “reality [, which] is but the shadow of the word,” as goes the title of the second volume of the complete edition of the writings of Bruno Schulz that Andrukhovych translated into Ukrainian75. Schulz was a Polish-speaking Jewish author from Galician Drohobych, who was literally erased by the Soviets and murdered by the Nazis. As with Schulz, Andrukhovych’s hometown and its surroundings become “that select region, that private district, the most singular of towns” that Schulz calls “The Republic of Dreams.”76 Thus, Andrukhovych creates for himself an independent territory of creation, which he locates in the “Central European-Galician” space.

Conclusion We may conclude that the turn to the idea of geopoetics as a cultural and literary strategy as a counter-discourse of the geopolitics of real socialism proves productive. The work of Yurii Andrukhovych is particularly rich in examples from this research perspective. The geography of his literary essays and novels allows him to reread the former Habsburg territories in Ukraine and describe the causes, conditions, and forms of the extermination of its cultural tradition in former Galicia. As a result, Andrukhovych sets a new geopolitical goal: to situate former Galicia (as the whole of Ukraine) in eastern Central Europe or culturally 74 Andruchowytsch 2018, p. 86; Andrukhovych 1999, pp. 121f.: “1 p ^QSQWdbp U_UQcY: gV cQ[Q `a_Sw^gwp, UV [_WV^ X^Qu, j_ Sw^ ^Qb`aQSUw `VaVRdSQu S bQ]_]d gV^caw, R_ gV^ca u ^wUV w SboUY S_U^_hQb, Q c_]d X SVaiY^ w ^YXY^ S\Qb^_x a_Rwc^w ]_WV gw\[_] b`_[wZ^_ UYSYcYbp ^Q SbV w^iV S[\oh^_ X þmo-:_a[_] hY p[_obm =_b[S_o.” 75 Schulz 2000, p. 362: “rzeczywistos´c´ jest cieniem słowa.” 76 Schulz 2018, p. 223; Schulz 2000, p. 300: “wybrana kraina, prowincja osobliwa, to miasto jedyne na ´swiecie;” “Republika marzen´.”

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in “Central Europe.” By means of the geopoetic method, Andrukhovych comes to his own geoculturology, which become a criticism of the twentieth-century Soviet and Nazi geopolitics. He sets geopoetics against geopolitics, because mostly means “overcoming political restrictions and divisions with poetic means.”77 Andrukhovych’s cultural-historical diagnosis is that, here, in posttotalitarian Galicia, writers should being a dialog. Thus, Yurii Andrukhovych creates his “own territory,” his own “Galicia,” and his own “Central Europe,” which exist for him in a spiritual reality. Hence, he continues to write postGalician cultural history. Translated from German by Mikołaj Golubiewski

Bibliography Primary Literature Andruchowytsch, Juri: Atlas. Meditationen, in: Pollack, Martin (eds.): Sarmatische Landschaften. Stimmen aus Litauen, Belarus, der Ukraine, Polen und Deutschland, Frankfurt a. M. 2005, pp. 13–27. Andrukhovych, Yurii: Dezoriyentatsiya na mistsevosti, Ivano-Frankivsk 1999. Andruchowytsch, Juri: Das letzte Territorium. Essays, transl. by Alois Woldan and Sofia Onufriv, Frankfurt a. M. 2003. Andrukhovych, Yurii: My Final Territory : Selected Essays, transl. by Mark Andryczyk and Michael M. Naydan, Toronto 2018. Andrukhovych, Yurii: Dvanadtsyat obruchiv, Kyjiv 2003, [Charkiv 2013]. Andruchowytsch, Juri: Zwölf Ringe, transl. by Sabine Stöhr, Frankfurt a. M. 2005 [2007]. Andrukhovych, Yuri: Twelve Circles, transl. by Vitaly Chernetsky, New York City 2015. Andrukhovych, Juri: Kokhantsi yustytsiyi, Chernivtsi 2017. Prokhasko, Taras: Mystetstvo je zvilnennyam landshaftu, in: Prokhasko, Taras: Landshaft, Ivano-Frankivsk 1996, p. 13. Schulz, Bruno: Die Zimtläden und alle andere Erzählungen, transl. by Joseph Hahn, München, Wien 1966. Schulz, Bruno: Die Wirklichkeit im Schatten des Wortes. Aufsätze und Briefe, transl. by Mikolaj Dutsch und Joseph Hahn, München, Wien 1967. Schulz, Bruno: Opowiadania, eseje, listy, Warszawa 2000. Schulz, Bruno: Collected Stories, transl. by Madeline G. Levine, Chicago 2018.

77 Marszałek / Sasse 2006: “die politischen Beschränkungen und Teilungen mit poetischen Mitteln zu überwinden.”

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Secondary Literature Bachmann-Medick, Doris: Cultural Turns. Neuorientierungen in den Kulturwissenschaften, Reinbek bei Hamburg 2006, pp. 284–328. Cybenko, Larissa: Transformationen eines zentraleuropäischen Kulturraumes infolge der historischen Wenden im 20. Jahrhundert: Ihre narrative Konstitution in der gegenwärtigen Literatur Galiziens, in: Hess-Lüttich, Ernest W. B. / Czeglédy, Anita / Kovács, Edit / Szatmári, Petra / Zakariás, Emese (eds.): Wendepunkte in der Kultur und Geschichte Mitteleuropas. Frankfurt a. M. 2015, pp. 97–108. Dvoretska, Olena: Eine Konstruktion Mitteleuropas: Die imaginäre Stadt Jalivec’ in Taras Prokhaskos Roman Neprosti, in: Baran-Szołtys, Magdalena / Dvoretska, Olena / Gude, Nino / Janik-Freis, Elisabeth (Hg.): Galizien in Bewegung. Wahrnehmungen – Begegnungen – Verflechtungen, Wien 2017, pp. 91–106. Dvoretska, Olena: In Search of the Other Europe: The City of Ivano-Frankivsk in the Works of Yurii Andrukhovych, in: Central Europe, 15/1–2 (2017), pp. 4–17. Dvoretska, Olena: Phänomen Stanislau als eine besondere kulturelle Erscheinung, in: Hanus, Anna / Büttner, Ruth (eds.): Galizien als Kultur- und Gedächtnislandschaft im kultur- und sprachwissenschaftlichen Diskurs, Frankfurt a. M. 2015, pp. 225–237. Frank, Susi K.: Geokulturologie – Geopoetik. Definitions- und Abgrenzungsvorschläge, in: Marszałek, Magdalena / Sasse, Susi K. (Hg.): Geopoetiken, Berlin 2010, pp. 19–42. Marszałek, Magdalena / Sasse, Sylvia: Antonycˇs Geist. Ein Interview mit Yurii Andruchovycˇ, in: Novinki, 03. 11. 2006, http://www.novinki.de/html/zurueckgefragt/In terview_Andruchovyc.html [20. 10. 2018]. Marszałek, Magdalena / Sasse, Sylvia: Geopoetiken, in: Marszałek, Magdalena (Hg.): Geopoetiken, Berlin 2010, pp. 7–18. Weigel, Sigrid: Zum “topographical turn”. Kartographie, Topographie und Raumkonzepte in den Kulturwissenschaften, in: KulturPoetik. Zeitschrift für kulturgeschichtliche Literaturwissenschaft 2 (2002), pp. 151–165. White, Kenneth: Pl8ments de g8opo8tique, in: White, Kenneth: L’Esprit nomade, Paris 1987, pp. 272–293. Woldan, Alois: Galizische Topoi als Argumente in der ukrainischen Identitätsdebatte (zwischen Vereinnahmung und Aneignung), in: Woldan, Alois: Beiträge zu einer Galizienliteratur, Frankfurt a. M. 2015, pp. 41–57.

Katarzyna Kotyn´ska

From Intellectual Trends to a Business Model: Habsburg Monarchy in Modern Ukrainian Culture

Abstract This paper analyzes the reasons for awakening of interest in the Habsburg era of Galician (now in the Western Ukraine) history in recent fifteen years. The chosen elements of the “Habsburg” history entered the resources of popular literature and gained recognition of the wide audience. I focus on two series of modern Ukrainian detective novels, written, respectively, by Bohdan Kolomiychuk and Andriy Kokotyukha. The action of both happens in the 1900s Lviv, and both were published by Folio, an Eastern Ukrainian commercial publisher. I focus on the migration of ideas from the intellectual circles of 1990s–2000s to business circles in subsequent years. Moreover, I analyze the ways of transformation of the old local stories into a successful market product, attractive for a nationwide audience. Keywords: Ukrainian culture, heritage, Habsburg Monarchy, Galicia, detective novels

Introduction The era of Habsburg Monarchy in Galicia definitively ended in 1918. For decades, it mostly served as a mere background of memoirs written more often by Poles than Ukrainians. By the end of the twentieth century, the interest in Habsburg Monarchy has faded in Polish collective memory. However, it is at that time when Ukrainian intellectuals from Lviv began to pay scrupulous attention to the Habsburg part of their history and, after another fifteen years, Kaiser und Königreich past became a source of profitable tourist brands, especially in Lviv.1 Recently, the Habsburg-influenced Western Ukrainian history becomes surprisingly popular among the general Ukrainian public. How is the Habsburg world (or utopia) fashioned in writing and popular imagination today? This paper analyzes the reasons for this awakening of interest in the Habsburg era and the following migration of ideas from intellectual circles toward the business ones on the example of two series of Ukrainian detective novels. Furthermore, I 1 Cf. Kotyn´ska [2019].

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will pay attention to the ways of transformations of selected “Habsburg” elements of history, indispensable for the creation of successful tourist attractions. At the beginning of the twenty first century, the idea of “Galician separatism” gained popularity in some circles of the Ukrainian intellectuals in Lviv. The image of a potentially independent Galicia with Ukrainian language and culture – in a striking contrast to the Central and Eastern Ukraine – emerged through a recollection of the idyllic memory the Habsburg era, heavily mythologized in the Ukrainian collective memory and literature. What served as the source of comparison here was the memory of the Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria as part of a powerful Western European empire and a land in which every nation had equal political rights and Ukrainians received encouragement to develop their own cultural identity.

Post-Habsburg Nostalgia: Between Arts and Politics As noted by Adam Koz˙uchowski, the phenomenon of post-Habsburg nostalgia remains an important factor in the shaping of Polish and Ukrainian national identity.2 Scholars often attribute the popularity of this old political idea to the specific historical circumstances: after a long period of relatively peaceful life in multicultural Empire, there happened a violent collapse of the world: the First World War. Like Ukrainian historians Yaroslav Hrytsak or Vasyl Rasevych, Koz˙uchowski states that the Habsburg era armed Western Ukrainians with a sense of cultural independence.3 A group of Ukrainian intellectuals, among others the journalist Volodymyr Pavliv and the painter Vlodko Kostyrko, constructed a utopian yet colorful vision of an independent Galician state, tightly connected to the “orderly” Western civilization and separated from the “barbarian” Eastern Ukraine, thanks to the history of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Ola Hnatiuk4 refers the critical opinions of the historian Yaroslav Hrytsak and points out that this utopia was certainly artistically appealing but historically unfounded and largely built on antimodern nationalist beliefs. In the middle of 2010s, no one in Ukraine seriously considers the ideas of the old Galician separatist; if we exclude the jeremiads by artistic provocateurs who seriously call own actions “a specter of Galician separatism,” as in the case of a discussion organized in January 2015 by Lviv right-wing conservatives after the reedition of the Istoriia korolivstva Halychyny (History of the Kingdom of Ga2 Koz˙uchowski 2009. 3 Hrytsak 1996; Rasevych 2014. 4 Hnatiuk 2003, p. 225–229. About Habsburg nostalgia see also Dubasevych 2017.

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licia; 2004) by the mysterious and unknown Stanislav-Roland Perfetskyi.5 The obvious postmodern mischief published under the pen name of the protagonist of a – postmodern, again – novel Perverzia (Perverzion; 1997) by Yurii Andrukhovych,6 served as a departing point for a serious debate on threats to state unity and the need of a renewed strong patriotic formation of children and youth.7 Today even Kostyrko and Pavliv emphasize that one should distinguish between “Galician separatism” as a literary or artistic concept that strengthen the sense of local patriotism and a political idea that denies Ukraine’s unity. Pavliv’s updated video declaration on the importance of local Galician patriotism for the whole country received a sensational headline: “Pavliv renounces the idea of Galician separatism.”8 In fact, today, during the ongoing Russian-Ukrainian war, the word “separatism” lost its innocence and artistic potential. It is evident that this kind of political movement is dangerous for the country’s strength and unity, even if the art concept itself might still appear invigorating, as in the case of Bavarian / German identity interaction, following Taras Vozniak’s reference: Moreover, we should distinguish between “Galician separatism” as a political idea or provocation and as Galician or Volhynian local patriotism, which perfectly fits the Ukrainian political project. The mentality of any country consists of various local patriotisms in combination with national patriotism. One does not exclude the other. Being Bavarian does not impose a duty to fight for independent Bavaria. Generally, being Bavarian means being German. Although Bavarians clearly differ from other Germans.9

Meanwhile, Galician cultural dissimilarity and distinct history become increasingly interesting to other regions in Ukraine. For the last decade, numerous commercial projects in Lviv addressed both foreign and domestic tourists with 5 Perfetskyi 2014, first edition: 2004. 6 Andrukhovych 1997 / Andrukhovych 2005. 7 For more details see press release: “Kruhlyi stil ‘Halytskyi separatyzm: prychyny, vytoky ta zahrozy’”, http://lounb.org.ua/index.php/2010-12-13-13-53-17/22-measures/472-stil [18. 07. 2017]. 8 “Pavliv zrikaietsya haytskoho separatyzmu”, video material of the web portal Varianty : https://varianty.lviv.ua/22004-pavliv-zrikaietsia-halytskoho-separatyzmu [18. 07. 2017]. 9 Vozniak 2011: “þV ]V^i SQW\YS_ `a_SVbcY jV _U^V a_X]VWdSQ^^p – a_X]VWdSQ^^p ]wW ‘TQ\Ygm[Y] bV`QaQcYX]_]’ p[ `_\wcYh^_o wUVuo hY `a_S_[Qgwuo, cQ TQ\Ygm[Y] hY S_\Y^bm[Y] aVTw_^Q\m^Y] `Qcaw_cYX]_], p[w gw\[_] cQ `_S^wbco d[\QUQocmbp S d[aQx^bm[YZ `_\wcYh^YZ `a_V[c. =V^cQ\m^wbcm Sbwf [aQx^ b[\QUQucmbp X aVTw_^Q\m^Yf `Qcaw_cYX]wS cQ XQTQ\m^_^Qgw_^Q\m^_T_ `Qcaw_cYX]d. 3_^Y ^V bd`VaVhQcm _U^V _U^_]d. 2dcY RQSQagV] ^V `VaVURQhQu _R_SpX[_S_ R_a_cYbp XQ ^VXQ\VW^d SwU þw]VhhY^Y 2QSQawo. 2dcY RQSQagV] p[ `aQSY\_ w _X^QhQu RdcY ^w]gV]. F_hQ RQSQagw pb[aQS_ SwUawX^pocmbp SwU w^iYf ^w]gwS.” Unless specified otherwise, all translations are my own.

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the city’s past as their springboard10 The growing interest in Lviv’s past is part of a wider phenomenon, as Ukrainian regions actually lived in isolation for decades. There was almost no need, interest, or – importantly – logistic possibility to travel across the country ; that is, no affordable and convenient train or air connection. Art critic and co-organizer of breakthrough festivals “DonKult” (Kyiv 2014, Lviv 2015), “GaliciaKult” (Kharkiv 2016), and “SlobodaKult” (Uzhhorod 2017), Lubov Morozova descirbes this change well by presenting the culture of selected regions at the other end of Ukraine: This is our main idea: to consolidate Ukrainian regions that are most distant from each other and inaccessible for many people. Travelling from Kharkiv to Uzhhorod takes up to twenty-four hours. It seems that no Kharkiv artist included in the project [SlobodaKult] has ever been in Uzhhorod. We cannot talk about the unity of our country and cultural exchange when there is no logistic possibility to meet each another. […] / If those sad things had never happened – the revolution and war – the regions would remain with only imaginations about each other. The annexation of Crimea and eastern aggression constantly encourage our efforts in the field of culture.11

Modern Detective Novels about the Good Old Times The changes are visible both in the field of high and popular culture. The interest in Lviv increased due to the good tourist policy of the City Council. Many consider Lviv a good destination for a family weekend or city break for several years now, while guests from Central and Eastern Ukraine appreciate its atmosphere and “European vibe.” This creates a growing audience for popular projects. Indeed, we may get the impression that Ukrainian popular culture simply fell in love with the “good old” Habsburg theme. In addition to Lviv’s prolific and highly successful projects of city guides, businessmen, editors, and festivals coorganized by the City Council – like the Coffee Fest, the Batyar Day, or the Chocolate Fest – Kharkiv’s publisher Folio prepared two series of very popular detective stories that happen in the 1900s Lviv. However, only Bohdan Kolomiychuk lives in Lviv, while the other author, Andriy Kokotyukha, is not affiliated with Lviv at all – he was born in Central Ukraine and lives in Kyiv. 10 Cf. Kotyn´ska [2019]. 11 Radzievska 2017: “Cdc wUVp – `_uU^QcY `a_cY\VW^w ^QZSwUUQ\V^wiw aVTw_^Y D[aQx^Y, [dUY \oUY ^V XQSWUY U_xWUWQocm. 3wU FQa[_SQ U_ DWT_a_UQ – U_RQ xXUY. 8 cYf [d\mcda^Yf UwphwS FQa[_SQ, p[Yf ]Y XQ\dhQu]_ U_ `a_V[cd, XUQucmbp, W_U^Q \oUY^Q jV ^V Rd\Q S DWT_a_Uw. @a_ p[d uU^wbcm [aQx^Y w [d\mcda^YZ _R]w^ ]Y ]_WV]_ T_S_aYcY, p[j_ ^V ]_WV]_ UwbcQcYbp _UY^ U_ _U^_T_ \_TwbcYh^_? […] P[RY ^V bd]^w `_Uwx – aVS_\ogwp, SwZ^Q – c_ aVTw_^Y w UQ\w Rd\Y R XQ[_^bVaS_SQ^w d bS_xf dpS\V^^pf _UY^ `a_ _U^_T_. 1^V[bwp ;aY]d w QTaVbwp ^Q bf_Uw SVbm hQb `wUic_Sfdu j_bm a_RYcY S [d\mcdaw.”

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Why has the Habsburg-influenced Western Ukrainian history gained so much attention of the general Ukrainian public today? How is the Habsburg world (or utopia) fashioned in writing and popular imagination today? This paper does not consider historical facts. I do not ask “what and when exactly happened.” Instead, I survey the modes of use and interpretation of these facts. Moreover, this article answers why we should analyze popular texts instead of works for more demanding readers. When speaking about literature and collective imagination, we anyway consider the clearest representations of common images, ideas, and stereotypes as they appear in mass literature. Moreover, we notice action in the opposite direction as well. Anna Łebkowska points out that, “The attention of scholars is drawn to, among other topics, crime novels, constructed in a way where the main protagonist (a detective) is situated at the meeting point of cultures, creating the necessity for analyzing constantly intertwined cultural perspectives.”12 Mariusz Czubaj develops this idea in his monograph on crime novels Etnolog w Mies´cie Grzechu (An Ethnologist in Sin City). Czubaj states that “crime literature underwent visible anthropologization. The main question has changed from ‘who killed?’ to ‘why has it happened in this or that way?’ (we are also much more interested in the cultural influences than in the individual psychological aberrations of the offender).”13 In the case of Lviv, the huge mass of “cultural influences” of any kind provides a fertile ground for developing cross-cultural stories, as the recent fifteen years saw many examples of popular novels in both Polish and Ukrainian that explore the city’s past. What is new in the case of the two series by Folio is the presentation of the Austro-Hungarian era as a background of Ukrainian popular novels in the form accessible to readers from any part of Ukraine. This historical background was absent in such novels until recently, even if it appeared after 1991 in a few published memories and certain intellectual debates in Lviv.14 Everything changed in 2014 when the big publishing house Folio launches two series of novels concentrated in the 1900s Lviv. Let us underline that their main concept corresponds well with Czubaj’s idea of the “anthropologization” of crime literature.15 Even if entertaining, whodunit detective puzzles predominantly serve as pretexts for depicting a wide panorama of the Habsburg Lviv as the then local center of politics, science, and culture, and the capital of a province. 12 Łebkowska 2012, p. 37. 13 Czubaj 2010, p. 186: “[…] literatura kryminalna zantropologizowała sie˛, przesuwaja˛c cie˛z˙ar z pytania ‘Kto zabił?’ na kwestie˛ : ‘Dlaczego stało sie˛ tak a tak?’ (przy czym odpowiedzi najcze˛´sciej poszukuje sie˛ w sferze kultury, nie zas´ jednostkowej, psychologicznej aberracji sprawcy).” 14 Kotyn´ska 2015, pp. 19–45. 15 Czubaj 2010, p. 53: “antropologizacja powies´ci kryminalnej.”

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Folio’s initiative was innovative. The authors employed that part of history as the background of their bestselling novels, which the general Ukrainian view not so long ago considered “local” Galician and of no importance for the “Large Ukraine” (Central, South and East). Folio took advantage of the growing social prestige of detective novels16 and the popular image of colorful and charming Habsburg Ukrainian Lviv. Along with a growing influx of tourists, popular literature strengthens the importance of Western Ukrainian and Galician history in constructing the general Ukrainian self-image. In other words, what began as a business project turns out to be a considerable support in incorporating the Western Ukrainian, pro-Western, and anti-Eastern historical narration into the mainstream. Let us begin with the presentation of the main protagonists of both series and their places in the presented world. Andriy Kokotiukha brings to life a young vigorous and smart lawyer Klym Koshovyi, who comes to Lviv in search of refuge after an escape from Tsarist prison in Kyiv. Koshovyi hopes to find a better life in the more civilized, as he believes, Habsburg city, described as “European:” “[Koshovyi’s] father would prefer him not to run away from problems only to Europe, and he mentioned other possibilities.”17 In turn, Kolomiychuk’s novel describes the whole Galicia as “free Europe,” as we read in the scene of Austrian-Russian border post: “Recently a guy named Chvak managed to dig a real tunnel under the border fence… And imagine […]: when we caught him, the poor soul declared that he had had the best intentions. You understand, it is a hard life over there, with those Moscovites, and the tunnel was supposed to serve as a road to free Europe.”18 Generally, the contrast between the barbaric and cruel Moscow and the orderly European world of the Austro-Hungarian Empire serves as the key concept on which Kokotiukha and Kolomiychuk establish their narratives. Nevertheless, Kolomiychuk’s main protagonist is the opposite of Koshovyi, as the former chooses a typical noir convention with a “hardboiled” embittered antihero: the experienced police commissioner Adam Vistovych. Both authors present the 1900s Lviv with a real passion supported by the historical knowledge of their consultants: Ihor Lylo and Vasyl Rasevych for Kolomiychuk, and Marian Mudryi for Kokotiukha. In both series, readers find not only simple topographical details but also reconstructions of restaurants, 16 Burszta / Czubaj 2017. 17 Kokotiukha 2015, pp. 105–106: “2Qcm[_ ^V UdWV f_cwS, QRY bY^ cw[QS SwU `a_R\V] bQ]V U_ %Sa_`Y, ^Qcp[QS ^Q w^iw ]_W\YS_bcw.” 18 Kolomiychuk 2016, p. 100: “?bm ^Vj_UQS^_ _UY^ cQ[YZ ^Q `awXSYjV HSQ[ Xd]wS SY[_`QcY `wU `aY[_aU_^^_o XQT_a_WVo b`aQSW^wbw^m[YZ cd^V\m… DpS\pucV – `a_U_SWYS Sw^, – [_\Y ]Y Z_T_ S`wZ]Q\Y, c_ ^VR_aQ[ `_hQS a_X`_SwUQcY, j_ f_cwS \YiV U_RaQ. =_S\pS, x] cQ] X ]_b[Q\p]Y SQW[_ WYSVcmbp, w cd^V\m ]QS RY RdcY U_a_T_o d Sw\m^d %Sa_`d.”

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coffee houses’ atmosphere, or colorful samples of specific Lviv’s urban slang. The meticulous research attracts the attention of the more picky audience, even if there are some differences between both authors. As an experienced craftsman, Kokotiukha uses local details as important components for his presentation of tensions between characters and developing the plot. Kolomiychuk’s novels mostly utilize the city details as simple theatric props. What is important for the construction of the presented world and narration is that both protagonists, Vistovych and Koshovyi, are Ukrainians and, as such, they belong to the national minority of Lviv, which is at the time a culturally Polish and politically Austrian city. Therefore, they live and act at the meeting point of cultures, so they need cultural competence to work with representatives of various nationalities, who speak various languages. That is, we encounter here a distinction between the cultural and the political affiliation of Lviv along with Vistovych’s and Koshovyi’s position of “double outsiders.” In stark contrast to many modern popular novels that occur in the “Old Lviv” (from the sixteenth century to the 1930s),19 Kolomiychuk’s and Kokotiukha’s Lviv does not simply appear as “Ukrainian” or “Polish.” Even if both protagonists are Ukrainian whose native language is Ukrainian – not to mention the language of the narrator – they encounter different attempts to nationally mark Lviv’s space in their everyday work and life, and they listen to arguments in favor of different options of the political future of the city. First and foremost, the 1900s Lviv is a Habsburg city and part of the great Austro-Hungarian Empire. This allows the authors to showcase national quarrels and particular ambitions from a comfortable distance and with a healthy measure of irony. Polish and Ukrainian voices sound with more or less equal force in these books, even if both Koshovyj and Vistovych would prefer a Ukrainian future for the city. However, we should remember that the most sarcastic images are those of the Galician Russophiles who strive to transfer the province under the power of the Russian Tsar. Vistovych and Koshovyi are both entangled in a web of interethnic relationships. Commissioner Vistovych is Ukrainian but his first name, Adam, sounds Polish to Ukrainians. It may allude to a complicated story of his family, which probably had one or more Polish ancestors or relatives. Vistovych’s wife is a Polish actress Anna Kalisz, which makes their marriage a complete disaster. Noteworthy, this is a popular, propagandist, and preventive depiction of PolishUkrainian marriages in popular literature of the interwar period, both Polish and Ukrainian. Vistovych’s mistress, Beila, is a Jewish raised in Polish culture.20 And his commandant Schechtel is an old Austrian officer, apparently looking for an ally from the non-dominant, non-Polish group: 19 E. g. Lemko 2009; Nurowska 2008; Jaszczuk 2004; Vynnychuk 2012. 20 Kolomiychuk 2014, p. 17.

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I want to tell you something, Vistovych – said Schechtel after a short break – and I hope that will clear up many things… You are Ruthenian, and do many Ruthenians serve in Lviv police? A few corporals, two sergeants, and only one commissioner – you. I know that you are Catholic, but this is a minor detail… May you recall thanks to whom you are here? / – I owe it to you, commandant – the Commissioner replied.21

Kokotiukha’s protagonist Koshovyi immediately befriends a typical Lvivian Jew, the wise kind-hearted all-knowing dentist Jjzef Szacki. After a few initial conflicts and misunderstandings, his second important ally becomes a mysterious beauty, Magda, a Polish widow who seeks independence from the patriarchal world. Moreover, during his first hours in Lviv, Koshovyi meets a typical Lvivian cabby, who always speaks the language of his passenger, be it Ukrainian, Polish, or German. The cabby is to show the innate multiculturalism and openness of Lviv. Koshovyi matches this landscape very well, as he is able to switch from language to language depending on the situation. He speaks perfect Polish thanks to his Polish nanny, Ukrainian is his mother tongue, he learned German at school, and knows Russian as a subject of the Russian Empire. Ten years and six books later, in 1916, the second year of the First World War, this balance and equality of languages is no longer possible, as Polish-Ukrainian controversies about the political future of L’viv / Lwjw and Galicia grow tense. The choice of the conversation language is no longer a matter of communication or simple convenience. It becomes a political declaration.22 Interestingly, this carefully constructed multicultural polyethnic world has minor flaws. Thanks to the elements with which the author does not create the fantastic world but simply recalls Ukrainian “common knowledge,” we can easily identify the general Ukrainian perspective. The differences between collective memories of neighboring nations are natural and frequent.23 Here I want to present only one typical aspect: Polish historiography and collective memory considers many historical figures of nineteenth century as an undisputable part of the separate Polish history, while neglecting their Ruthenian / Ukrainian roots as “unimportant.” Meanwhile, modern Ukrainian historiography carefully describes the multicultural and multiethnic origins and connections of Lvivian or Galician noblemen and intellectuals, with a tendency to include them in the Ukrainian collective memory. This is the case of Count Włodzimierz Dzieduszycki / Volodymyr Didushyckyi, 21 Kolomiychuk 2014, p. 11: “– P SQ] UVj_ b[QWd, 3wbc_SYhd, – `a_]_SYS IVfcV\m `wb\p `QdXY, – w b`_UwSQobm, SwU gm_T_ RQTQc_ `a_pb^Ycmbp… 3Y adbY^, Q hY RQTQc_ adbY^wS b\dWQcm d \mSwSbm[wZ `_\wgwx? 5V[w\m[Q [Q`aQ\wS, USQ eV\mUeVRV\w, Q [_]wbQa cw\m[Y _UY^ – SY. 8^Qo, SY [Qc_\Y[, Q\V gV SWV UVcQ\w… =_WV, SY `aYTQUQucV, XQSUp[Y [_]d SY ^Q gwZ `_bQUw? / – 8QSUp[Y SQ], `Q^V XQbcd`^Y[d, – SwU`_SwS [_]wbQa.” 22 Kokotiukha 2017, p. 27. 23 Cf. Traba / Hahn 2015.

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the founder of the famous Lviv natural history museum, occasionally presented in Kolomiychuk’s Viaznytsia dush (Prison of Souls; 2015) as “Didushyckyi” without any additional commentary.24 We easily find a perfect illustration of this historiographical duality in Dzieduszycki’s biography in Polish and Ukrainian Wikipedia. In the Polish version, there are no traces of his Ukrainian roots and no Ukrainian sources are mentioned. On the contrary, the Ukrainian biography does quote and enumerate the Polish studies about Dzieduszycki.25 It obviously is a part of a wider phenomenon, typical for the past of the Polish-Ukrainian borderland, called by Natalia Yakovenko “parallel worlds:”26 the facts, figures, events, important for both Polish and Ukrainian history, are presented from the national point of view. Their affiliation to more than one culture is omitted. The most visible difference between the Polish and Ukrainian vision of the Habsburg Lviv in the above novels is probably the general hierarchy of languages and state affiliation of the city. The German name, Lemberg, appears in both novel series simply as a proper name in the right period of time, even if the corresponding adjective is usually derived from the Ukrainian toponym Lviv : lvivskyi (ýmSwS: \mSwSbm[YZ). Poles could hardly imagine Lwjw as Lemberg with no subtext. Furthermore, Polish novels usually present the state structure of the Austro-Hungarian Empire only as a formal framework filled with predominantly Polish cultural life, while German would appear as an exclusively foreign language or – even more – a language of the invader.27 In contrast, the novels under scrutiny present German as a neutral working language of official contacts and a lingua franca of the multinational empire. It is especially visible in the last Kolomiychuk’s novel, Vizyt doktora Froida (Dr. Freud’s Visit; 2016). Moreover, Kokotiukha’s series reveal details that confirm his status of a “foreigner” in Lviv. As I mentioned above, Kokotiukha was born and still lives in Central Ukraine, in Kyiv. There are noticeable differences in standard language between Central, Eastern, and Western Ukraine. The differences exist through history and differently influence the developments in standard Ukrainian. The problem of Ukrainian language varieties received many studies and discussions, among others by Ivan Matviyas and Michael Moser.28 Thus, even a careful preparation and meticulous work could not prevent Kokotiukha and his Kharkiv proofreader from using some language forms typical of Eastern Ukrainian, unfamiliar to Lviv city-dwellers. Nevertheless, this matter is not about linguistic mistakes but the different viewpoints on standard Ukrainian and its functioning 24 Kolomiychuk 2015, p. 97. 25 State for 21. 07. 2017, copies of Polish and Ukrainian wiki-biographies of Dzieduszycki / Didushyckyi in the archive of the author. 26 Yakovenko 2002. 27 Cf. Parandowski 1959; see also Kotyn´ska, 2015, pp. 33–45. 28 Matviias 1998; Mozer 2011.

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in certain surroundings: in this case, Lviv and Kyiv / Kharkiv. Let us emphasize that those tiny failures of conscious stylization are more of an exception than a norm. For example, nobody in Lviv would decline the name of the district Pidzamche (@wUXQ]hV) according to the adjectival paradigm as in the following sentence: “A half an hour later, they drove toward Pidzamche” (“8Q `wST_UY^Y S_^Y xfQ\Y S Rw[ @wUXQ]h_T_”).29 In such syntactic position, Lviv residents constantly apply declination. That is, Pidzamche declines as the noun sontse (b_^gV, sun) and not as the adjective zelene (XV\V^V, green). Thus, the phrase in Lviv would read as follows: “8Q `wST_UY^Y S_^Y xfQ\Y S Rw[ @wUXQ]hQ.” Pidzamche along with other Western Ukrainian toponyms of that kind – like Slavske (B\QSbm[V) or Mukacheve (=d[QhVSV) – traditionally and nowadays are declined as nouns, but in Central and Eastern Ukraine they are confused with adjectives because of their endings. Another example is even more interesting. One of the protagonists, the Polish mob boss, is called Gustav Silezkyi (4dbcQS Bw\VXm[YZ). His surname derives from the Ukrainian variant of the Silesian region, Silezia (Bw\VXwp) in Ukrainian, but S´la˛sk in Polish. Thus, in the natural environment of interwar Lviv his name would read S´la˛ski, or Shlonskyi (I\m_^bm[YZ). Nevertheless, the potential Shlonskyi most readers would fail to understand and associate this name with the appropriate toponym of Silesia. In my opinion, Kokotiukha encountered here a typical translator’s puzzle: he had to choose between representation and adaptation. Finally, the book series under analysis show a certain regularity concerning interethnic relations, which is typical of the present Ukrainian collective memory about the 1900s Lviv. Both Koshovyi and Vistovych need allies as does commissioner Schechtel in the quotation above. Their alliances are forged in implicitly (culturally) Polish Lemberg, between members of minorities. Koshovyi finds his best friend and protector in the Jewish dentist Szacki, Vistovych in the Austrian commandant Schechtel and, after an accident on the Vistula River, in the helping hand of rabbi Kalman from the Krakjw district of Kazimierz;30 last but not least, Koshovyi finds support from Magda, a Polish woman in a world dominated by men.

29 Kokotiukha 2017, p. 146. Here and in the next paragraph emphasis added – K. K. I am grateful to Natalia Rymska for pointing out this problem. 30 Kolomiychuk 2015, p. 120.

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Summary Despite the notorious problems with anti-Semitism in Ukraine, the Jewish component of Galician history becomes increasingly present in the discussions, presentations, and public space of Lviv. Of course, it is difficult to evaluate whether the Polish history of Lviv is more or less neglected than the Jewish one in the public Ukrainian discourse. Nevertheless, I would venture as far as to say that Jewish and Habsburg history of Lviv seem somehow easier to include in Ukrainian collective memory than the Polish one. Lviv of Kokotiukha and Kolomiychuk apparently consists part of Western, civilized Austro-Hungarian Empire with a clearly indicated center in Vienna (not Warsaw or Krakjw, or, on the other side, Kyiv). In contrast, the Russian Empire is depicted as a dangerous menace and a barbarian land, “Halb-Asien.”31 It appears that the Lemberg of old, a gentle European city with direct rail connection to Krakjw, Vienna, and Venice,32 where no one has to beg for a Schengen visa since 2017, may be appealing not only for its inhabitants but also to many Ukrainian readers, tired of the everyday troubles. In a way, this popularity stems from the need for participation in “real Europe” and escape from the space of former Soviet Union shared with Russia. The equal rights extended in Habsburg Lviv to different nationalities, including Ukrainians, remain an unattained model for Ukraine, with its continuing disputes about the sphere of official language use and everyday domination of Russian. Of course, Habsburg era equality is largely overrated and mythologized, as it is in the Polish imagination. However, the nostalgia, the safe historical distance, and the mythologized multiculturalism provide the foundation for the return of some elements of Habsburg history. The popular detective novels domesticate Habsburg themes and sometimes present them from a purely Ukrainian viewpoint, even slightly Ukrainized. Of course, accents do shift as the protagonists are Ukrainians. Ukrainian is the main language of their everyday life, even if they must speak Polish or German at work. Historically, the Ukrainian-speaking circle in Lemberg was relatively small, but even if the reader is aware of this, it helps to create the impression of continuity of the Ukrainian Lviv. As much as the discussed series of detective novels represent only a part of a wider phenomenon, all this is certainly important for the strengthening of Ukrainian self-awareness.

31 Cf. Franzos 1876. 32 Cf. Andrukhovych 2005; Andrukhovych 1999.

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Secondary Literature Burszta, Wojciech J. / Czubaj, Mariusz: Kryminalna odyseja oraz inne szkice o czytaniu i pisaniu, Gdan´sk 2017. Czubaj, Mariusz: Etnolog w mies´cie grzechu. Powies´c´ kryminalna jako s´wiadectwo antropologiczne, Gdan´sk 2010. Dubasevych, Roman: Zwischen kulturellem Gedächtnis, Nostalgie und Mythos. Die Erinnerung an die Habsburgermonarchie in der Ukraine nach dem Zusammenbruch der Sowjetunion, Wien 2017. Hnatiuk, Ola: Poz˙egnanie z imperium. Ukrain´skie dyskusje o toz˙samos´ci, Lublin 2003. Hrytsak, Yaroslav : Narysy istorii Ukrainy : formuvannia modernoi ukrainskoi natsii, Kyiv 1996. ´ ska, Katarzyna: Contemporary Lviv : Facing the Past – Reinterpreting the Past; to Kotyn be published in: Fellerer, Jan / Pyrah, Robert (eds.): Lviv – Wrocław: Parallel Cities? Myth, Memory and Migration, c. 1890–present, Budapest [2019]. ´ ska, Katarzyna: Lwjw: o odczytywaniu miasta na nowo, Krakjw 2015. Kotyn

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Koz˙ uchowski, Adam: Pos´miertne dzieje Austro-We˛gier. Obraz monarchii habsburskiej w pis´miennictwie mie˛dzywojennym, Warszawa 2009. Kruhlyi stil ‘Halyts’kyi separatyzm: prychyny, vytoky ta zahrozy,’ http://lounb.org.ua/ index.php/2010-12-13-13-53-17/22-measures/472-stil [18. 07. 2017]. Łebkowska, Anna: Between the Anthropology of Literature and Literary Anthropology, in: Teksty Drugie 2 (2012), pp. 19–29. Matviias, Ivan: Varianty ukrainskoi literaturnoi movy, Kyiv 1998. Mozer, Mikhael [Moser, Michael]: Prychynky do istorii ukrainskoi movy, Vinnytsia 2011. Pavliv zrikaiet’sya hayts’koho separatyzmu, https://varianty.lviv.ua/22004-pavliv-zrikaiet sia-halytskoho-separatyzmu [18. 07. 2017]. Rasevych, Vasyl: Fantazii na temu Halychyny, 2014, https://zaxid.net/fantaziyi_na_ temu_galichini_n1331727 [19. 07. 2017]. Traba, Robert / Hahn, Hans Henning (eds.): Polsko-niemieckie miejsca pamie˛ci, Vol. 1– 4, Warszawa 2012–2015. Voznyak, Taras: Pryvydy halytskoho separatyzmu ta ultranatsionalizmu yak tekhnolohiia demontazhu Ukrainy, 2011, http://www.ji-magazine.lviv.ua/anons/voznyak_pryvyd_ halyc_separat.htm [19. 07. 2017]. Yakovenko, Nataliia: Paralelnyi svit. Doslidzhennia z istorii uiavlenta idei v Ukraini XVI–XVII st., Kyiv 2002.

Authors

Magdalena Baran-Szołtys is a literary scholar with a background in German and Slavonic Studies and a post-doctoral researcher within the Research Cluster for the Study of East Central Europe and the History of Transformations (RECET) at the Institute of East European History, as well as a research associate at the research platform Mobile Kulturen und Gesellschaften (Mobile Cultures and Societies), both at the University of Vienna. She is also a co-executor at the National Science Centre Poland research project (Multi)national Eastern Galicia in the Interwar Polish Discourse (and its Selected Counter-Discourses) at the University of Warsaw (2019–2022). In 2013–2017 she was a PhD-candidate at the doctoral program “Austrian Galicia and its Multicultural Heritage” (University of Vienna) and in 2018 obtained her PhD with the comparative thesis Galizien als Archiv. Reisen nach (Post-)Galizien in der polnischen und deutschsprachigen Literatur nach 1989 (Galicia as an Archive. Travels to (Post-)Galicia in German and Polish literature after 1989). She was a tutor for German Language and Literature at the University of Sydney and a fellow at the Institute of Polish Studies at the Jagiellonian University and University of Wrocław, as well as at the Ukrainian Research Institute at Harvard University. She received the Graduation Fellowship of the University of Vienna in 2018 and was a Literar-Mechana research fellow 2018/19. She is a co-editor of the collective volume Galizien in Bewegung. Wahrnehmungen – Begegnungen – Verflechtungen (Galicia in Motion: Perceptions – Encounters – Entanglements) (2018) and the special issue The Central European Archaeology of Knowledge: Exploring Polish and Ukrainian Literature (1989–2014) (2017) of the journal Central Europe. Larissa Cybenko studied German language and literature at the Ivan Franko University in Lviv. She obtained her PhD at the Shevchenko Institute of Literature of the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine in Kiev. Her habilitation was conducted in the field of comparative literature studies at the Institute for European and Comparative Linguistics and Literature at the University of Vienna. She is an author of the book Galicia Miserabilis und / oder Galicia Felix?

206

Authors

Ostgalizien in der österreichischen Literatur (Galicia Miserabilis and / or Galicia Felix? East Galicia in the Austrian literature) (2008). For her achievements as a literary translator she was honoured by the Federal Chancellery of the Republic of Austria (among others for her translation of Ingeborg Bachmann’s novel Malina into Ukrainian). Mikołaj Golubiewski is a literary scholar specialized in Anglo-American and Polish connections and a translator of Polish, English, and German academic publications. Collaborator of the Faculty of “Artes Liberales” at the University of Warsaw, he authored the monograph The Persona of Czesław Miłosz (2018) and edited the scholarly collections on Rilke po polsku (Rilke in Polish), Dos´wiadczenie nowoczesnos´ci (The Experience of Modernity), and A Handbook of Dialogue. He received his PhD in American Studies from the JFK Institute for North American Studies at the Free University of Berlin (2016), and received funding from the German Excellence Initiative Program (2012–2016), the Institute of World Literature at Harvard University (2013), and the University of Chicago (2015). Katarzyna Kotyn´ska is a historian of literature at the Polish Academy of Sciences and a translator from Ukrainian into Polish (e. g. books’ by Yurii Andrukhovych, Oksana Zabuzhko, and Mykola Riabchuk). She obtained her habilitation with the book Lwjw: o odczytywaniu miasta na nowo (Lviv : Interpreting the City Anew) (2015). She is the author of the book Eseis´ci o Lwowie. Pamie˛c´, sa˛siedztwo, mity (Essayists on Lviv : Memory, Neighborhood, Myths) (2006) and the editor of the collective volume Lwjw: Lustro. Obraz wzajemny mieszkan´cjw Lwowa w narracjach XX–XXI wieku (Lviv : a Mirror. Mutual Image of the Inhabitants of Lviv in Narratives of the Twentieth and Twenty First Century). Her main scientific interests include anthropology of literature, literary image of Lviv, Ukrainian literature of the 20th century, and literary translation. Francisca Solomon is a lecturer at the Chair of German Language and Literature at the Alexandru Ioan Cuza University of Iasi. She studied German, Romance Studies (French), and Jewish Studies in Jassy, Dresden, Berlin, and Tel Aviv. Between 2007 and 2010 she was a PhD-candidate at the doctoral program “Austrian Galicia and its Multicultural Heritage” (University of Vienna). In 2011 she graduated with the thesis Im Spannungsfeld von Haskala, Assimilation und Zionismus. Blicke auf das galizische Judentum bei Nathan Samuely, Karl Emil Franzos und Saul Raphael Landau (In the Field of Tension between Haskala, Assimilation, and Zionism. Views of Galician Jewry in the Works of Nathan Samuely, Karl Emil Franzos, and Saul Raphael Landau). Between 2013 and 2015 she conducted a research project funded by UEFISCDI, analyzing the mechanism

Authors

207

of action of the Jewish identity in the dramatic context of losing one’s homeland in the wake of war, deportation, and exile. Currently she is working as a project manager and a researcher dealing with crystallization and dynamics of the Yiddish speaking culture and literature within the multicultural context of Bukovina. She published several studies on German and Yiddish literature and press from Bukovina and Austrian Galicia, as well as on representations of the Holocaust in German, Romanian, and Yiddish literature of Bukovinian Jews. Danuta Sosnowska is a professor of the University of Warsaw working at the Institute of Western and Southern Slavic Studies. She wrote Seweryn Goszczyn´ski. Biografia Duchowa (The Intellectual biography of Seweryn Goszczyn´ski) (2000) notified to be awarded to the Nike Award in 2001 and Inna Galicja (Other Galicia) (2008). Recently she edited the volume Fabryka Słowian. Modernizacje (Factory of Slavs. Modernizations) (2017). She was a visiting professor at Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales (EHESS, France) and a Shklar fellow at the Ukrainian Research Institute at Harvard University. Her fields of scientific research are Polish, Ukrainian, and Czech literatures, cultures and traditions, as well as comparative studies within them. Her interests embrace nation-building processes in the Habsburg Monarchy (research project The Influence of the Czech and Ukrainian National Movement on the Polish Identity in 1830–1848, funded by the Batory Foundation, 1998–2000), as well as history and tradition of Central Europe and self-identification processes within Central European cultures. Ievgeniia Voloshchuk is currently an academic fellow at Axel Springer Endowed Chair for German-Jewish Literature and Cultural History, Exile and Migration (European University Viadrina, Frankfurt/Oder). She obtained her PhD in 1994 with a thesis on Kafka and qualified as a professor in 2009 with her habilitation about intellectual and aesthetic tendencies of German-language modernist literature in the works by Rainer Maria Rilke, Thomas Mann, and Max Frisch at the Shevchenko Institute of Literature of the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine in Kiev, where she worked between 2003 and 2016. From 2009 to 2014 she was a professor at the Institute of Foreign Philology at the National Pedagogical Dragomanov University in Kiev. Further, she was a senior fellow at the Viadrina Center B/Orders in Motion at the European University Viadrina in Frankfurt/ Oder between 2015 and 2016. Nadja Weck is a historian working as a research assistant at the Institute of Austrian Historical Research within the FWF/DFG project The Emperor’s Desk: A Site of Policy Making. In her current project she deals with Austrian railway politics during the reign of Franz Joseph I. From 2010 to 2014 she was a PhDcandidate at the doctoral program “Austrian Galicia and its Multicultural Her-

208

Authors

itage” (University of Vienna) and graduated with the thesis Eisenbahn und Stadtentwicklung in Zentraleuropa am Beispiel der Stadt Lemberg (Lwjw, L’viv) (Railway and Urban Development in Central Europe, the City of Lviv as an Example (Lwjw, L’viv)). Her research focus is urban history and railway history with a specialisation on Central Europe and the Habsburg Empire. Jagoda Wierzejska is a historian of contemporary literature and culture and an adjunct professor at the Department of Literature of the twentieth and twenty first century at the Faculty of Polish Studies, University of Warsaw. In 2011 she defended her PhD and won the Prize of the Archive of Polish Emigration for the best PhD dissertation on an emigration topic. She is the author of the book Retoryczna interpretacja autobiograficzna. Na przykładzie pisarstwa Andrzeja Bobkowskiego, Zygmunta Haupta i Leo Lipskiego (Rhetorical interpretation of the autobiography. The cases of writing of Andrzej Bobkowski, Zygmunt Haupt, and Leo Lipski) (2012) and the co-author of the international project Galician Polyphony. Places and Voices (2014–2015). She was a fellow of the Centre for Urban History of East Central Europe in Lviv (2016) and the University of Vienna (2017). She won the scholarship competition for the most prominent young scholars in Poland (2018–2020). Currently she is a principal investigator in the National Science Centre Poland research project (Multi)national Eastern Galicia in the Interwar Polish Discourse (and in its Selected Counter-Discourses) (2019–2022). Halyna Witoszynska studied Romance and German studies at Lesya Ukrainka Eastern European National University in Lutsk (Ukraine), as well as German studies and comparative literary studies in Frankfurt am Main. After completing her studies in 2010 with a thesis about Paul Celan’s poetic of dialogue within the context of his translations of Osip Mandelshtam, she studied library and information studies at the Austrian National Library in Vienna. Since 2016 she is a PhD-candidate at the interdisciplinary doctoral program “Austrian Galicia and its Multicultural Legacy” (University of Vienna). Her thesis deals with autobiographical discourse of the multicultural L’viv / Lwjw / Lemberg in the interwar period and is especially focused on multiple cultural perspectives of Ukrainian, Polish, and Jewish authors. Alois Woldan is a full professor for Slavic Literatures at the University of Vienna, specializing in Polish and Ukrainian literary and cultural history. He has been a faculty member of the doctoral program “Austrian Galicia and its multicultural heritage” since its start in 2006 until its end in 2019. He studied theology, Slavonic studies, and comparative literature at the University of Innsbruck. After his doctorate (1982) he was a university assistant at the Institute for Slavic

Authors

209

Studies of the University of Salzburg (1982–1995). In 1995 he obtained his habilitation with a thesis on the Austrian myth in Polish literature. In 1997 he became an assistant professor at the University of Salzburg and in 1998 a full professor for Eastern and Central European Studies at the University of Passau. He was awarded the title “Doctor Honoris Causa of Ivan Franko University of Lviv” in 2016 and the medal “Bene Merito,” the highest Polish medal of honour awarded by the Polish Ministry of Foreign Affairs, in 2019. His fields of research are Polish and Ukrainian literature, comparative Slavic literature, and literary life in Austrian Galicia.

Index of Persons

Ackeret, Markus 49 Aleichem, Sholem 102 . Aleksandrowska, Elzbieta 23 Altman, Mosche 105, 110 Andrukhovych, Yurii / Andrukhovych, Yuri / Andruchowycz, Jurij / Andruchovycˇ, Jurij 11, 155, 165–168, 175–189, 193, 201, 206 Andryczyk, Mark 189 Armstrong, Daniel 132 Asˇkenazy, Ludvik 127, 129 Assmann, Aleida 136 Auber, Daniel 19 Auerswald, A. v. 17, 19 Bachmann-Medick, Doris 178 Bader, Gershom 102 Bagłajewski, Arkadiusz 168 Bakuła, Bogusław 58, 165 Baran-Szołtys, Magdalena 11, 13, 124, 155, 157, 159, 167, 205 Bauer, Michal 83, 89, 124 Beauvois, Daniel 22, 56, 58 Bechtel, Delphine 111 Bercovici, Mirjam 102 Bergelson, David 109 Berger, Shlomo 112 Bergland, Betty 137 Bernacki, Ludwik 15, 19 Bezłuda, Mirosław [Neumeuer, Ferdynand] 59, 61–63 B&lek, Petr 124 B&lkov#, Ilona 132 Birjulov, Jurij 36f.

Birnbaum, Nathan 100–102 Błaszczuk, Magdalena 32 Blobaum, Robert 75 Blumenthal, Hermann 78 Bogdanova, Yulia 33 Bogusławski, Wojciech 16, 22 Bolzano, Bernard 122, 130 Bredetzky, Samuel 158 Brod, Max 119 Bronsen, David 83 Broser, Patricia 131 Broucˇek, Stanislav 129 Brouk, Bohuslav 116 Bryk, Iwan 21 Bukowski, Kazimierz 55 Burg, Josef 104f., 109f. Burszta, Wojciech J. 196 Buszko, Jjzef 53 Büttner, Ruth 172, 190 Calderon de la Barca, Pedro 16, 22 ˇ apek, Karel 119, 121 C Casimir III the Great / Casimir the Great 56, 150 Ceaus‚ u, Mihai S‚ tefan 111 Charles XII of Sweden 149 Chernetsky, Vitaly 175 Chuchma, Josef 124 Corbea-Hois‚ ie, Andrei 110 Cornejo, Renata 128 Cra˘ciun, Camelia 111 Cwanek-Florek, Ewa 153 Cybenko, Larissa 11, 175, 177, 205 Czajkowski, Michał 21, 23

212 Czaplicka, John / Czaplicka, John J. 153 Czaplin´ski, Przemysław 168 Czegl8dy, Anita 190 Czermin´ska, Małgorzata 138, 144 Czubaj, Mariusz 195f. Da˛browski, Ludwik 60–62 Dabrowski, Patrice M. 145 Daniel of Halych 136, 149, 151 Detering, Heinrich 138 Diamant, Max 101f. Dietrich, Heinrich 94, 95 Dittert, Annette 162 Döblin, Alfred 158 Dobosz, Oleksa 22 Dornik, Wolfram 79 Dreidemy, Lucile 153 Drexler, Ignacy 33 Drojanowski, Wacław 65f. Dubasevych, Roman 192 Dutsch, Mikolaj 189 Dvoretska, Olena 157, 165f., 177f. Dyk, Viktor 122f. Dzieduszycki, Włodzimierz 198f. E. P. 69 Eakin, Paul John 153 Eberharter, Markus 25 Ebner, Mayer 103 Eidherr, Armin 111 Elisabeth von Bayern 16 Fäßler, Peter 153, 154 Fefer, Itzik 109 Fellerer, Jan 202 Ferst, Shimshon 102f. Filip, Ota 127 Finkel, Leopold 110 Fisher, Ga[lle 111 Fishman, Joshua 110 Fishman, Rukhl 108 Fleischmann, Ivo 129 Frank, Susi K. 179, 184–186 Franz Joseph I 70, 98, 146f., 166, 183, 207 Franzos, Karl Emil 30, 158, 165f., 201, 206

Index of Persons

Frenzel, Elisabeth 79 Friedmann, Berl 105 Gad-El, Efrat 111 Geisthövel, Alexa 48 Gelber, Mark H. 82 Geller, Ewa 111 Genghis, Khan 92 German, Juliusz 8–10, 13, 15–17, 19, 25, 29, 32, 40, 52f., 59–63, 71f., 77–80, 93, 97–101, 103–107, 109–111, 115–121, 123f., 127–130, 136, 142, 157–162, 164f., 169f., 175, 177, 189, 193, 198f., 201, 205–208 Gilischenski, Herz 105 Glau, Angelika 101 Glosowitz, Monika 172, 173 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang 19 Gold, Hugo 58 Goldoni, Carlo 16 Golec, Janusz 165 Goll, Jaroslav 117f. Gonta, Iwan 20, 24 Goodwin, Jason 149 Gjrny, Maciej 79 Gosk, Hanna 58 Goszczyn´ski, Seweryn 15, 17, 21f., 24, 158, 207 Gottwald, Alfred 35 Granach, Alexander [Gronach, Jessaja] 10, 30, 40–42, 46f. Greenblatt, Stephen 155 Grusˇa, Jirˇi 126f. Gude, Nino 157 Hacquet, Balthasar 158 Hagen, William W. 62 Hahn, Hans Henning 198, 203 Hahn, Joseph 189 Hahn, Wiktor 15f., 19, 22f., 26 Haid, Elisabeth 75 Haines, Brigid 132 Hall, Sarah 12, 45, 110 Halpern, Moyshe-Leyb 102 Haman, Alesˇ 124 Handke, Kwiryna 75

213

Index of Persons

Hann, Christopher 137 Hanus, Anna 172, 190 Hasˇek, Jaroslav 119, 121 Havryliv, Tymofiy 95 Heftrich, Eckhard 94f. Heinz, Martin 109 Held, Thomas 153f. Hers‚ covici, Lucian Zeev 111 Hess-Lüttich, Ernest W. B. 190 Heymann, Florence 111 Hibel, Katarzyna 54 Himka, John-Paul 54 Hirsch, Marianne 111 Hnatiuk, Ola 192 Hofbauer, Ernst 162 Hofeneder, Philipp 136 Hofmann, Michael 94 Horbatsch, Anna-Halja 153 Horwath, Edward 60 Hrabal, Bohumil 126 Hruby´, Karel 129 Hrytsak, Yaroslav 136, 192 Hüchtker, Dietlind 78, 80f. Huyn, Karl Georg 61 Insler, Abraham 62 Ippen, Wilhelm 105 Isayevych, Yaroslav 136 Izdryk, Yurii 165, 176 Jachimiak, Anna 75 Jackman, Graham 132 Jakobson, Roman 125 Jakubowicz, Dominik 26 Jakubski, Antonii 62 Janik-Freis, Elisabeth 157 Janion, Maria 58 Janusz, Bohdan 154 Jaszczuk, Paweł 197 Jechova, Hana 132 Joseph, Hahn 12, 16, 71, 105, 140f., 169, 182f. Jungmann, Josef 122, 130 Kała˛z˙ny, Jerzy

75f., 172

Kamin´ski, Jan Nepomucen 9, 15–17, 19–25 Kandel, Michael 152 Karner, Doris 111 Kasperski, Edward 58 Kaspina, Maria 109, 111 Kaswan, Markus 105 Kaswan, Sarah 105 Kaszyn´ski, Stefan / Kaszyn´ski, Stefan H. 80, 157 Kawalec, Romuald 58 Kawałkowski, Aleksander 73 Kaynar-Beckerov#, Hana 127 Kharchuk, Krystyna 34 Khmelnytsky, Bohdan 149 Kilin´ski, Jan 141, 146 Kirpa, Heorhij 34 Kissman, Joseph 105f. Kissman, Leah 105 Kitzmantel, Raphaela 109, 111 Kłak, Czesław 75 Kliems, Alfrun 167 Knoch, Habbo 48 Koepp, Volker 111 Kokotyukha, Andriy 11, 191, 194 Kolbuszewski, Jacek 165 Kolessa, Mykola 137, 142–144, 152 Kolomiychuk, Bohdan 11, 191, 194, 196–201 Komar, Z˙anna 173 Konarzewska, Aleksandra 172f. Konopnicka, Maria 63 Kop#cˇ, Radim 131 Korbut, Gabrjel 15f., 23 Korek, Janusz 74 Körner, Karl Theodor 9, 15–22, 24 Kos, Wolfgang 157 Kos´ciuszko, Tadeusz 140–142, 146f. Koskov#, Helena 124 Kossak, Wojcech 147 Kostyrko, Vlodko 192f. Koter, Marek 56 Kotlobulatova, Iryna 32–34 Kotyn´ska, Katarzyna 11, 191, 194f., 199, 206 Kotzebue, August v. 16

214 Kov#cs, Edit 190 Kozłowski, Maciej 61, 63, 136 Koz˙uchowski, Adam 192 Krasin´ski, Zygmunt 22 Kratochv&l, Jirˇ& 124 Kratochv&l, Milosˇ V#clav 121 Kratter, Franz 158 Krˇesadlo, Jan 127 Krypyakevych, Ivan 140, 146 Kryvonos, Maksym 149 Kucheravyy, Volodymyr 153 Kuchma, Leonid 34 Kundera, Milan 10, 115, 124–126, 128f., 168 Kupka, Frantisˇek 120 Kurzke, Hermann 92 Kushnir, Mykola 110 Kuzmany, Börries 54 Kyncl, Petr / Kyncˇl, Petr 127f. Lang, Fritz 41 Lappin-Eppel, Eleonore 100, 110 Lasocka, Barbara 15f., 19f., 22 Laub, Gabriel 127, 129 Łebkowska, Anna 195 Lefebvre, Henri 40 Lehnert, Herbert 91 Lem, Stanislaw 137, 141f., 144–146, 148f., 152 Lemko, Ilko 52, 197 Lenin, Vladimir 92 Łepkowski, Jjzef 158 Levin, Leibu 102f. Levine, Madeline G. 189 Lewartowska, Zofia 58 Libusˇe, Mon&kov# 127, 129 Lifshits, Malka [Frumkin, Esther] 102 Lihaciu, Ion 102, 110 Linhartov#, Veˇra / Linhartova, Vera 121, 124–129 Lipin´ski, Krzysztof 159 Lipin´ski, Wacław 56, 59 Llop, Iris 168 Lubitsch, Ernst 41 Lylo, Ihor 196 Lytvyn, Mykola 136

Index of Persons

Ma˛czyn´ski, Czesław 57, 59, 62, 64 Magocsi, Paul R. / Magocsi, Paul Robert 52f., 137 Magris, Claudio 78, 81, 83, 120, 130 Makowski, Stanisław 16, 18, 20–22 Makuszyn´ski, Kornel 51, 56f., 66 Malczewski, Antoni 20 Manger, Itzik 103, 105, 107f., 111 Mann, Thomas 77, 80–82, 84, 90–92, 162, 207 Marek, Jirˇ& 117, 121 Maria Theresa 156 Mark, Rudolf A. 82, 139, 156 Markisch, Perez 109 Marquardt, Franka 90, 92f. Marszalek, Magdalena 178 Marten-Finnis, Susanne 106, 110 Marven, Lyn 132 Matonoha, Jan 132 Matviias, Ivan / Matviyas, Ivan 199 Meeks, Carroll 30 Meˇsˇt’an, Anton&n 129, 132 Michaelis-König, Andree 95 Mick, Christoph 57, 61, 65 Mickiewicz, Adam 22, 25, 143 Middell, Matthias 106 Molisak, Alina 172f. Morozova, Lubov 194 Moskovich, Wolf 110 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus 17 Mozer, Mikhael [Moser, Michael] 199 Mroczka, Ludwik 136 Mudryi, Marian 196 Mukarˇovski, Jan 119 Müller, Michael 94 Musil, Robert 121, 161 Nadraha, Oleksandr 137, 144, 149f., 152 Napoleon Bonaparte 17 Naydan, Michael M. 189, 202 Neuborn, Erich 101, 104 Neumann, Michael 91 Nicieja, Stanisław Sławomir 143 Niedermair, Klaus 95 Nittman, Tadeusz M. 69, 71 Nöbauer, Irmgard 153

215

Index of Persons

Nov#k, Jan 127 Novotny´, Vladim&r 124 Nurowska, Maria 197 Okulicz-Kozaryn, Radosław 75f., 172 Orobkiewicz, Władysław 60 Osatschuk, Sergij 110 Ostrogska, Elizaveta [Ostrogska, Elz˙bieta / Ostrogska, Halshka] 149f. Palach, Jan 128 Palacky´, Frantisˇek 117, 120 Papousˇek, Vladim&r 122f. Parandowski, Jan 165, 199 Patocˇka, Jan 118 Pauli, Z˙egota 158 Pavliv, Volodymyr 192f. Perez, Jizchok Leib 102 Perfetskyi, Stanislav-Roland 193 Petras, Beate 111 Petri, Rolf G. 94 Petrosanyak, Halyna 165 Pezza, Michele 19 Pfeffer, Rudolf 61 Pfeiferov#, Dana 131 Pietrkiewicz, Jerzy [Peterkiewicz] 130 Piłsudski, Jjzef 68 Pinsker, Shachar 108 Pisarenko, Efim 112 Pistiner, Jakob 105 Pleitgen, Fritz F. 162 Podhorodecki, Leszek 136 Pol, Wincenty 12, 32, 51–69, 71f., 79, 135f., 138, 141f., 144, 146f., 151f., 157f., 160, 164f., 168–170, 191, 199 Pollack, Chana 111 Pollack, Martin 155, 160–162, 183 Pope Leo XIII 93 Popiel, Antoni 37f. Potocka, Sofia 15, 23–25 Potocki, Szcze˛sny 22, 54 Preisner, Rio 118–120 Prokhasko, Jurko 34 Prokhasko, Taras 165, 176f. Prokopovych, Markian 138, 146 Prusin, Alexander V. 62

Purchla, Jacek 31, 35, 157 Pyrah, Robert 202 Radl, Emanuel 118 Radzievska, Valeria 194 Rasevych, Vasyl 192, 196 Reed, John 31 Reed, Terence J. 94f. Reinhardt, Max 41 Reisen, Abraham 102, 158, 160, 205 Reiter, Robert 130 Riabchuk, Mykola 157, 206 Richterov#, Sylvie 125f. Rinner, Fridrun 157 Robinson, Boardman 31 Rodger, Richard 30 Röhring, Arnold 146 Romanowski, Andrzej 23 Rostislavichi 156 Roth, Joseph 77–81, 81, 83f., 88–90, 93–95, 121, 158, 163–166, 171, 182 Roth, Ralf 32, 49 Ruble, Blair A. 153 Rybarski, Jan 63 Rydiger, Monika 173 Rymar, Marta 34, 36f. Sadłowski, Władysław 34 Sand, Karl Ludwig 16 Sandler, Boris 111 Sanie, Silviu 112 Sasse, Sylvia 178, 189 Sawitzki, Dirk 153f. Scheichl, Sigrud Paul 82 Schenk, Frithjof Benjamin 30 Schieb, Roswitha 155, 165 Schiller, Friedrich 15f., 18f., 21f., 25 Schimsheimer, Christof 164 Schleyen, Kazimierz 137, 139, 141, 143–147, 149–152 Schlögel, Karl 32 Schmidt-Dengler, Wendelin 79 Schnetzler, Kaspar 155, 162–166 Schönborn, Sibylle 95 Schooneveld, Cornelis Hendrik v. 132 Schroeder, Artur 56, 64

216 Schulz, Bruno 70–72, 168, 188 Seidlerov#, Irene 116 Seifert, Jaroslav 126 Seifert, Kim 138, 154 Shakespeare, William 16, 22, 172 Shakh, Stepan 137, 147, 149, 151f. Shanes, Joshua 53 Shchurat, Wasyl 24 Shevchenko, Taras 17, 21, 205, 207 Short, David 132 Siemiradzki, Henryk 151 Skarbek, Stanisław 17 Sˇkvorecky´, Josef 126 S´liwin´ska, Irmina 27 Słon´ski, Edward 65 Słowacki, Juliusz 17, 21–23 Sobieski, Wacław 62 Solibakke, Karl Ivan 95 Soucˇkov# Linhartov#, Ladislava 121, 132 Soucˇkov#, Milada 121 Soukopov#, Klar# 121 Spiegelblatt, Alexander 108f. Spitzer, Leo 111 Sprecher, Thomas 94, 95 Stalin, Joseph 109 Stankiewicz, Zygmunt 140 Starzewski, Sze˛sny 26 Stasiuk, Andrzej 155, 166–168 Stebliy, Feodosiy 136 Steinbarg, Elieser 103–105, 107, 110f. Sternberg, Jacob 105 Sternburg, Wilhelm v. 83 Stöhr, Sabine 189 Stupkiewicz, Stanisław 27 Styka, Jan 147 Suchorowski, Michał 15, 23–25 Susak, Viktor 153 Szatm#ri, Petra 190 Szczepan´ski, Ludwik 57 Szczerek, Ziemowit 155, 168–170 Szwaczka, Mykyta 24 Szyndler, Bartłomiej 140 Tal, Sidi 110 Teich, Mikulasˇ 132 Themerson, Stefan 130

Index of Persons

Tkachyk, Natalia 166 Tołwin´ski, Tadeusz 33 Toybish, Leybl 102 Traba, Robert 198 Trembecki, Stanisław 22 Tropper, Nathan 105 Trotsky, Leon / Trockij, Lev / Trockij, Leiba 93 Trumler, Gerhard 30 Truska, Heliodor 26 Trybus´, Krzysztof 75, 76, 172 Uliasz, Stanisław 56 Urbanitsch, Peter 136 Vacul&k, Ludv&k 126 Vaget, Hans R. 94 Vincenz, Stanisław 70–72 Vishniac, Roman 165f. Vitcu, Dumitru 112 Volchuk, Roman 137, 143f. Volodymyrko, Volodarovych 156 Voloshchuk, Ievgeniia 10, 77f., 207 Vozniak, Taras / Voznyak, Taras 193 Vulpius, Christian 19 Vushko, Iryna 53f. Vynnychuk, Yuriy 197 Wagner, Christoph 30, 36 Waitz, Georg 117 Walleczek-Fritz, Julia 79 Wandruszka, Adam 136 Wawrzkowicz, Eugenjusz 73 Weck, Nadja 9, 11, 29, 32f., 207 Wedemann, Marek 56 Wedrac, Stefan 79 Weigel, Sigrid 178 Weismann, Stephanie 75 Wendland, Anna Veronika 156 Werdt, Christoph v. 156 Weretiuk, Oksana 168 Werner, Michael 107 White, Kenneth 12, 178 Wiegandt, Ewa 71 Wierzejska, Jagoda 10, 13, 51, 124, 157, 168, 170, 208

217

Index of Persons

Wieser, Martin 95 Wimmer, Ruprecht 94, 95 Windsperger, Marianne 111 Winkler, Kathrin 138 Winkler, Markus 100, 110 Winnicka, Halina 146 Wisława [Wilhelmina Adamjwna] 58, 60f., 65 Wistrich, Robert S. 98 Witte, Bernd 86 Wittlin, Jjzef 10, 30, 40, 43–47, 51, 69–72, 137, 139, 141f., 146f., 152, 165 Wlodarczyk, H8lHne 132 Wodzicki, Kazimierz 158f. Wohl, Kubi 107 Wjjtowicz, Piotr 33, 37 Woldan, Alois 9, 15, 71, 159f., 163, 168, 186, 208 Wolff, Larry 52f., 156 Wöller, Burkhard 56 Wurzbach, Constant v. 23 Wyka, Marta 75

Wysling, Hans 94 Yakovenko, Nataliia 199 Yavetz, Zvi 111 Yeshkilev, Volodymyr 176 Zagjrska, Sylwia 150 Zakari#s, Emese 190 Zakrzewska, Helena 51, 56, 64, 68f. Zalizniak, Maksym 20, 24 Zaremba, Henryk 33 Zarzycka, Irena 67 Zatonskij, Dmitro 79 Zbarzer, Welwel 102 Zerinschek, Klaus 172 Zimmermann, B8n8dicte 107 Zschokke, Heinrich 19 Zubrytskyy, Denys 24 Zweig, Stefan 77–82, 84–86, 88, 90, 93, 121, 123 Zylbercweig, Zalmen 102

Index of Concepts and Locations

Architecture 10, 29f., 35f., 43, 120, 138, 162–164, 182 Austria 7–10, 12f., 19, 22, 24, 30, 32, 51–53, 60f., 69f., 80, 82, 88, 97–100, 102, 104–107, 109f., 115, 119–121, 123, 130, 138f., 146, 155–157, 160f., 164, 166, 169f., 176, 179, 182f., 186, 196f., 200, 205–209 Austro-Hungary / Austro-Hungarian Empire 51, 79, 82, 130, 161, 180, 192, 196f., 199, 201 Autobiographical site 135, 138, 142, 144 Autobiography 40–42, 137, 208 Avant-garde 35, 119 Bar Confederation 24 Battle of Lemberg 55–57, 59f., 62–67, 69f., 72 Brotherhood 55, 58f., 61, 63 BuBaBu 177 Bucharest 107f., 111 Bukovina 8–10, 33, 97–107, 109–111, 158, 161, 175, 180, 207 Carinthia 17 Carpathian Mountains 51, 67 Censorship 109, 125 Central Europe 8, 12, 34, 51, 121, 164, 166–169, 183–185, 187–189, 205, 207f. Chernivtsi / Czernowitz / Czerniowce / Cerna˘ut¸i 10, 30, 33, 97–105, 107, 109–111, 161f., 175, 180 Chortkiv 162 Chyhyryn / Chechryn 20

Cracow 16, 19, 52, 60, 102, 186 Czechoslovakia 116, 118, 120, 124, 126, 128 Czernowitz Language Conference 101f., 111 Dniepr 20 Dniestr 20 Drohobych 71, 161f., 186, 188 Eastern Galicia 12, 20, 32, 40, 52, 54–61, 66–68, 70, 161f., 165, 175f., 205, 208 Eastern Lesser Poland 54 Emigration 107–110, 115, 122–126, 208 Exile 10, 46, 48, 108, 115, 122–124, 126, 128f., 139, 207 First World War / World War I / WWI / Great War 7, 9, 12, 29, 31–33, 41, 45, 54, 56, 65, 70, 78–80, 85, 87, 104–106, 118, 120f., 130, 136, 138, 192, 198 Fiume 17 Freiberg 17 Galicia / Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria / Galicja / Halychyna / Galizien 8–13, 15, 17, 19–22, 24f., 29–32, 34, 40–43, 51–56, 58–61, 63, 67–72, 77–86, 88–90, 92f., 98–102, 106, 120, 135–140, 143, 146f., 151, 155–170, 175–180, 182–189, 191–193, 196–198, 201, 205–209 Germanophobia 116

220 Goll’s school 118 Greater Lviv (Wielki Lwjw)

Index of Concepts and Locations

33

Habsburg Empire / Habsburg Monarchy / Danube Monarchy 7–12, 30, 32, 46f., 51–54, 70, 78–81, 83, 85, 92, 97f., 100, 103f., 106, 110, 116–118, 120f., 130, 157, 159, 164, 166–168, 175f., 179f., 185f., 191, 207f. Habsburg heritage 7, 10, 39, 115, 118, 121, 130, 157, 159, 165–167, 175–177, 179, 187 Historical positivism 117 Hollywood 41, 46 Horodenka 40, 42 Humanitas austriaca 11, 115, 119 Human´ / Uman 9, 17, 20, 22–24 Interwar period 8, 10, 12, 29, 33f., 54, 56, 62, 69, 72, 77–81, 103, 105, 107, 119f., 135, 137, 139, 144, 152, 176, 180, 186, 197, 208 Israel 108–111 Ivano-Frankivsk / Stanisławjw / Stanislau 162, 165, 175–181 Janissaries 149 Jerusalem 107 Kakania 161f., 164 Kanijw 15, 17 Karl-Ludwigs-Bahn 161, 164 Kharkiv 194, 199f. Kievan Rus 156 Kresy / Borderlands 56–58, 164f., 168f. Language 8, 10, 20f., 60, 77–80, 97–102, 104f., 107–111, 115f., 118f., 121–131, 136, 139, 144, 146, 160, 180, 192, 197–199, 201, 205–207 Lieux de memoire 142 Lviv / Lwjw / Lemberg / L’viv / Lvov 9, 11f., 15–17, 19, 22–25, 29–37, 39–48, 54–70, 102, 135–152, 161–163, 165, 169f., 175f., 178f., 182, 186, 191–201, 205f., 208f.

Memory site 135, 138, 147 Multiculturalism / multicultural 9, 13, 55, 71f., 80, 107, 110, 115f., 130, 135–137, 176, 192, 198, 201, 205–208 Multilingualism / multilingual 10f., 115f., 121, 125f., 130, 157 Multinationalism / multinational 10, 51f., 54f., 58f., 63, 67f., 70–72, 83, 87, 116, 118, 130f., 159f., 176, 199 Myth 10, 58, 63, 70, 77f., 80f., 83, 85, 88, 98, 120, 139, 149, 156, 159, 164, 166, 170, 180, 186, 206, 209 Nationalism / nationalistic 11, 51–53, 68, 81, 99f., 115, 130f., 157 Nation / national 7–12, 21, 51–55, 57–61, 63f., 66–68, 70–72, 81, 87–89, 98–101, 106, 115–118, 120–124, 126f., 130, 135–144, 146f., 149–152, 155, 157, 160, 164, 166, 170, 175, 184, 192f., 197–199, 205, 207f. New York 41, 43, 46, 107, 123, 188 Novosielitza 102 Odessa

20

Palestine 53 Paris 45, 119, 122 Partitions of Poland 156 Petach Tikwa 108 Pidvolochysk 162, 164 Podolia 22, 43, 81, 110 Poland 7, 19, 46, 52, 54–59, 63–66, 68, 72, 79, 82, 111, 120, 141, 150, 155–158, 161, 167–169, 176, 205, 208 Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth 52, 57, 61, 149, 164f. Polish-Ukrainian War 29, 51, 54f., 57–59, 62f., 67–72, 135f., 139, 143f., 152 Prague 117f., 121, 128, 186 Prague Spring 128 Przemys´l 32, 156, 161 Rio de Janeiro 107 Romania 7, 97, 101f., 104, 108, 129, 158, 176, 207

221

Index of Concepts and Locations

Russia / Russian Empire 16f., 31f., 52, 60, 77, 81–85, 87–89, 92f., 101f., 104, 106, 109–111, 119, 128, 141, 156, 158, 167, 169, 178, 185, 193, 196–198, 201 Sadhora 99, 110 Second Polish Republic 10, 51, 55, 62–64, 66f., 72, 139, 180 Second-rate culture 123 Second World War / World War II / WWII 8, 11f., 29, 33 f., 46 f., 56, 72, 78, 104, 107, 110, 120, 122, 135–137, 152, 176, 181, 184 Siberia 20 Silesia 17, 165, 200 Slovenia 17 Sobjtka 17 Sofijwka 22 Soviet Union / Union of Soviet Socialist Republics 43, 68, 97, 109, 129, 161, 201 Structuralism 120 Tel Aviv 107, 206 Transnationalism / transnational 10f., 51f., 54, 59, 63, 68, 70–72, 155, 157, 160, 166 Transnistria 107f.

Travels 155, 157–162, 164, 180, 205 Ukraine 9, 11, 15–17, 21f., 53–55, 77, 97, 109, 111, 129, 140, 155–157, 160, 162, 165f., 168–170, 175–179, 182, 185, 188, 191–196, 199–201, 205, 207f. United States of America / USA 7, 41, 46, 101, 111, 118 Vienna 13, 16f., 19, 25, 30, 32, 36, 45, 60, 72, 78f., 83, 85f., 100f., 118, 137, 156, 164, 176, 179, 182f., 186, 201, 205f., 208 Vilnius / Wilno 16, 23, 102, 107 Volhynia 43, 82f., 92, 193 Warsaw 13, 16, 52, 65f., 102, 107, 146, 166, 201, 205–208 Warsaw Pact 125, 128 West Ukrainian People’s Republic / ZUNR 33 Wierzbowce / Werbiwzi / Werbowitz 40, 42 Wołowiec 166 Yiddish associations 97 Yiddish press 97, 105