My Grandfather and Two of His Friends

My grandfather came from Lwow and was a jurist, and specifically a judge.

After the First World War he was nominated for president of the court in Poznan, whereby and by he settled with his family. As a judge he was proud of the great recognition, and to this he also exercised an above average musical talent. He had a wonderful tenor of a very rare sound and often appeared in different kinds of benefit concerts, treating this ultimately as exclusively personal enjoyment. 

A few times he was even asked to suddenly fill in for some tenor at the local opera. 

A few times also came into town from overseas different impresarios, pressing grandfather with very attractive contracts. It did not interest him at all, because as an incorrigible patriot, to this also a bearer of a distinguished crest of nobility, he desired to savor his own country’s recently won independence. 

On the other hand, as the president of the court he had a pretty good monthly salary, not to mention already the high retirement pension awaiting him in a few years. Thanks to his standing, his musical talent and his charisma my grandfather quickly became a popular figure in this large musical town of Poznan and as word had it around town, no one could sing Moniuszko like my grandfather Kayetan, whose name to this day figures in several, unfortunately mostly local, musical encyclopedias. 

He divided his free time outside of work between music and charity work. Not counting his many close associates, my grandfather had two great friends. 

His friend from a musical background, also a resident of Poznan, was the composer Feliks Nowowiejski. The family did not fall for Feliks, constantly suspecting that the best ideas for his rhapsodies, symphonies and different other musical pieces he brazenly and with impunity drew from grandfather, in a certain sense creatively preying on him and his special musical talent. 

This was clearly a load of nonsense, imagined mainly by my jealous grandmother, nota bene shot up in July in the year 1944 by the Nowy Sącz Gestapo in roadside woods between Krynica and Nowy Sącz. 

It was nonsense because in the moment when the two men met for the first time in their lives, Feliks Nowowiejski, whatever you said, was already a noted and famous composer. 

When it came to his interest in works of good, grandfather’s friend was what you would call today a developer—the millionaire Mr. Rosinski. 

Despite his relatively young age he managed to become a kind of historical figure. When in December of the year 1918 Ignacy Paderewski came to Poznan, the best sons of the town, desiring to pay appropriate tribute to the great Pole, harnessed their horses quickly with the coach waiting at the station and pulled him themselves. 

The destination of the ride was not at all a barber, as some pseudohistorical sources wrongly attest, though being not too tolerant, the Poznanians at the station, certainly the enthusiastic crowd of several thousand, may have wished this very much. 

The destination of the ride was definitely the Hotel Bazar, where awaited the great pianist for a long time already the most appropriate, most representative suite, of course with instruments. Long story short, my grandfather’s friend Mr. Rosinski happened to be one of the riders in this coach. 

The good work centered mainly on raising funds through different kinds of events, such as charity balls, concerts, tombolas, scavenger hunts, subventions and so on, money which in many forms supported the neediest. 

When at last they were somehow pinpointed, it was necessary to make sure that they were not trying to lie, and to confirm them as people genuinely in need. 

One time my grandfather and Mr. Rosinski visited and questioned a certain very poor old woman who lived in the worst neighborhood in the worst part of Poznan. It was so wretched there that even in the light of day drivers had to watch their automobiles. 

The old woman lived very poorly in a rather large, very clean basement room. There was a small table and two chairs, so that during the rather long conversation Mr. Rosinski was forced to sit on a so-called Poznan stool. There was a thin, clean, diligently made bed, a small coal kitchen with a long pipe, standing as the one heating point of this bare apartment, a sink in the corridor, and an exit onto the well cobbled backyard. 

To this the room had also had a kind of large alcove, hermetically covered in its entire height and length by a percale curtain outstretched on a fat string. From the beginning of the conversation, when they went over in detail the very unfortunate material situation of the babcia, from behind the percale curtain came a series of some strange sounds, leading both men to believe that probably the resolute and alert old woman hid behind this curtain some animal, or maybe even a few goats, rabbits or maybe even pigs. 

When after some time the conversation came to this topic, babcia frankly admitted that these were no animals, only that she had there simply this small, private brothel and this alcove was used for a fee by the ladies standing at the corner nearby and their clients. 

Indeed after a while from behind the curtain one of them emerged in the company of some lightly self-conscious railroad man. Babcia went out after them, probably to collect a portion of the earning, and returned after a while with another girl, who led a bombardier in a long artillery coat, and at the sight of two sitting gentlemen he very politely saluted with a wink. 

I don’t know anymore how the history with the poor old woman ended, but with Mr. Rosinski it ended very sadly, I would say even tragically. Some two or three years after this adventure, completely bankrupt because of the recent global crisis, my grandfather’s friend Mr. Rosinski, with the help of a shotgun, committed an identical suicide to the one committed thirty years later on the same day and at the same hour in the year 1961 by Ernest Hemingway.