He sat down. "That is my pledge-and the pledge of the Unity of Brethren. You will not be 'buried.' Unless you are buried by our enemies, along with us ourselves."
The decision hung in the balance. Then-and this surprised Morris more than anything that happened that morning-Dunash turned to Jason.
"You will be our rabbi, if anyone is to be. You are sure of this?"
Jason was obviously as startled as Morris was. But he still managed to nod as firmly as Billek.
"Yes, Dunash. It's-ah-kosher."
2
Over dinner, Comenius raised the subject that Morris had suspected was his primary reason for coming. Normally, he would have had to suppress a sigh, but in this instance…
Rich, remember. You are now stinking rich, Morris Roth, so stop thinking like a small town jeweler. Judging from the letter I got from Antonio and Gerhard-and I think they're right-within five years I'll be one of the richest men in Europe. Especially if I divest and diversify intelligently. Our monopoly on faceted jewelry will bring us a fortune for a few years, but it won't last.
"Yes, Bishop, I will finance your proposed university."
The words came out more abruptly-even curtly-than Morris had intended. The thought of his new wealth still made him feel awkward and out of place. The last thing Morris Roth had ever expected, in all the years he'd spent as the jeweler for a small town in northern West Virginia, was that someday, in another universe, he'd become the equivalent of the founder of a new house of Rothschild.
Comenius looked a bit startled. "How big-I mean…"
Morris smiled wryly. "How big a donation? If you give me two months-let's say three, to be on the safe side-to have the funds transferred, I can finance the entire thing. Enough to get it started, at least. I assume you intend to locate the new university here in Prague, yes?" He shifted in his seat, feeling awkward again. "There will be some conditions, however."
"Of course." Comenius inclined his head, inviting Morris to elaborate.
"First. I'll agree to have theological schools attached to the university, so long as there are no restrictions with regard to creed. That will include a Jewish rabbinical seminary."
He looked over at Jason, whose expression was a little strained. Forcefully, Morris added: "Yes, I know the rabbis currently in Prague will probably want no part of it. That's their problem, not mine. If they want to stick to their yeshivahs, so be it. Even if it's nothing more than a plaque on a door, with nothing behind the door, I want some building in the university-or part of one, anyway-set aside for that purpose."
He turned back to Comenius. "But the university itself will be secular. Open to anyone, regardless of creed, and unaffiliated to any religion. Agreed?"
Comenius nodded. "Yes. But that still leaves the question of how the theological schools themselves will be regulated. Herr Roth-"
"Please, call me Morris."
"Ah, Morris. You will find it difficult-perhaps not impossible, but difficult-to find anyone who can serve as the regulating authority of this university who is not affiliated, in one manner or another, with an existing creed. Most of the scholars in-ah, how strange the thought-in 'this day and age' are religious figures." Comenius hesitated a moment. "Unless you choose to select someone from your own people."
Morris chewed on the problem, for a moment. He considered, and then discarded, various possibilities from the American uptimers. The problem was that any of them he could think of who'd be qualified, even remotely, to become a university president-or "rector," to use the seventeenth-century term-were overwhelmed already with other responsibilities. And if any of them were available, the top priority anyway would be the new university that was taking shape in Jena, which was, after all, part of the CPE rather than a foreign country.
"No…" he said slowly. "It'll have to be someone from this day and age."
Comenius nodded again. "So I thought. But, as I said, such a person will most likely be affiliated already with one or another creed. If they have authority over the theological schools…"
Morris grunted. "Yes, I understand the problem. Fine. We'll set it up so that the religious schools have complete control over their own curriculum and methods of instruction. They'll also have complete control over hiring and firing their teachers. The only authority the university will have over them will involve such things as the building code, fire regulations, sanitation, and so forth. How's that?"
Comenius looked a bit dubious. "Workable, perhaps. There will still be a great deal of suspicion."
Morris had to restrain himself from slapping his hand on the table. There were things he liked about seventeenth-century Europeans. Most of them, anyway. There were also some things he detested. One of them was their seemingly inveterate and obsessive religious sectarianism.
"Let them be suspicious," he growled. "The way I look at it, Bishop, the main point of this university-one of them, at least-is to start overcoming those suspicions. In practice, which is always the best way to do it."
He gave Comenius something just barely short of a glare. "Understand something, Bishop. I know a secular university will work-and way better than the alternatives you have today. I know it-because I've seen it. My own kids went to West Virginia University, which was a far better university than anything you've got in Europe today. And in the world I come from, WVU was just considered a middling-rate university."
Judith interjected herself. "Morris, don't be so hardnosed. A lot of those universities got started as religious ones, remember. Including Harvard and the University of Chicago, if I remember right."
Morris suspected he was looking mulish, and the suspicion made him still more mulish. "Yeah, I know. I also know how long it took to haul them kicking and screaming into the modern world. Harvard didn't even go coeducational until-"
He broke off, rubbing his face. "Oh, hell, don't tell me."
Comenius' brow was creased with a frown of confusion. "I am afraid my English is perhaps not as good as it should be. What does that term mean? 'Coeducational,' I think it was."
Morris glared at the table. "Well, that's the second thing…"
Eventually, they got past that hurdle. But only because Morris finally agreed-under Judith's coaxing-that the university would have two colleges, one for men and one for women, with separate faculties. He did manage to hold the line on a common curriculum-"I want women educated, damn it; I'm not shelling out money for a lousy finishing school"-as well as a common library. And he took a certain sly pleasure in having gotten Comenius to agree to a coeducational "student union"-mostly, he suspected, because Comenius didn't quite understand what was involved.
That would be a fight in the future, he was sure, but Morris was willing to deal with that when the time came. Somewhere in the middle of construction, he suspected, once Comenius finally realized that Morris proposed to have young men and women socializing and dining together at all hours of the day and night with no real supervision or chaperonage. But since Morris would control the purse strings, he imagined the construction workers would obey him.
The rest of it went smoothly enough. They settled on the name "University of Prague," which wasn't a problem since the only existing university in the city was named the Karolinum-or "Charles University"-founded in the fourteenth century by the same Emperor Charles who'd had the city's great bridge erected. The Karolinum was located in the southern part of Stare Mesto, so they agreed to find land for the new university somewhere in the northern part of Old Town, even though that would be somewhat more expensive. Morris was pretty sure that a certain amount of friction between the two universities was bound to happen. The Karolinum was no "cow college." Even after the ravages of the past fifteen years, it was still considered one of the premier universities in Europe. In the long run, he thought having two major universities in Prague would simply enhance the city's prestige-and its prospects. But in the short run, competition between the two universities was likely to be a source of trouble. He saw no reason to aggravate the situation by placing them cheek-to-jowl.