Imagining Ritual Murder: Social Knowledge in the Making

Daniel Véri Imagining Ritual Murder: Social Knowledge in the Making Summary: This study aims to show the eminent role of the imagination and its materialized forms in the creation of long lasting ‘knowledge’ of ‘Jewish ritual murder’. The two examples examined here belong to the cultural history of the Tiszaeszlár blood libel (1882– 1883), which has had a long-lasting effect in Hungary. Both case studies, albeit different regarding their genre and their primary audience, attest to the significance of cultural products in the creation, dissemination and survival of antisemitic prejudices. Paintings depicting the imagined ritual murder were primarily intended for the politically active urban bourgeoisie, whereas the genre of folk songs appeared as a predominantly rural phenomenon; yet on many occasions both the actors involved and the cultural products created transcended social boundaries. The songs and the images created a tangible materiality for the alleged ritual murder; this perceived reality was crucial for the embedding of the blood libel legend into the common consciousness and the creation of a ‘solid’ knowledge of it; this largely passive knowledge was activated decades later, in the case of the blood libel accusations, against survivors of the Holocaust. Keywords: antisemitism, blood libel, ritual murder accusation, knowledge production, Tiszaeszlár This study aims to show the eminent role of imagination and its materialized forms in the creation of long lasting ‘knowledge’ of ‘Jewish ritual murder’. The two examples examined here – paintings and folk songs – belong to the rich cultural history of the Tiszaeszlár blood libel, an accusation and trial that occurred in Hungary in 1882– 1883, which is having a long-lasting political, social and cultural effect. Both case studies, albeit different regarding their genre and their primary audience, attest to the significance of cultural products in the creation, dissemination and survival of antisemitic prejudices. Paintings depicting the imagined ritual murder were primarily intended for the politically active urban bourgeoisie, whereas the genre of folk songs appeared as a predominantly rural phenomenon. Nonetheless, the separation of ‘high’ and ‘low’ culture in this respect is of limited validity, as on many occasions both the actors involved and the cultural products created transcended social boundaries. The two case studies should therefore be viewed as two facets of the same phenomenon: antisemitic cultural production. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110616415-003 36 Daniel Véri Not only the images but the imagery of the songs was also highly visual. Although products of imagination, the songs as well as the images created a tangible materiality for the alleged ritual murder. It was this perceived reality that was crucial for the embedding of the blood libel legend into common consciousness and the creation of a ‘solid’ knowledge of it. Moreover, it was this largely passive knowledge that was activated decades later, in the case of blood libel accusations against survivors of the Holocaust. The Tiszaeszlár blood libel: a cultural history The end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth century witnessed the renaissance of blood libel accusations, many of which even reached the judicial system.¹ The Tiszaeszlár case occurred in the multi-ethnic setting of the AustroHungarian monarchy, yet the trial itself received an even wider – and extremely vivid – international press coverage. Furthermore, the case coincided with the birth of political antisemitism as well as the establishment of its international networks, which alleviated the quick dissemination of news about the affair and ‘knowledge’ about ‘Jewish ritual murder’ in general. Already in 1882 – only months after the emergence of the case – an antisemitic Hungarian MP gave his speech in front of the alleged victim’s imaginary portrait at the first Internationaler Antijüdischer Kongress [International Anti-Jewish Congress] in Dresden. Subsequently, the painting was toured in Berlin, Hamburg and finally Budapest.² Following the disappearance of Eszter Solymosi, a young peasant girl from the village of Tiszaeszlár, Eastern Hungary in 1882, local Jews were accused of  Russia/Georgia: Kutaisi, 1878 – 79; Hungary: Tiszaeszlár, 1882– 83; Germany: Xanten, 1891– 92; Austria/Czechia: Polná, 1899 – 1900; Germany/Poland: Konitz, 1900 – 01; Russia/Ukraine: Kiev, 1911– 13.). Cf. Hillel J. Kieval, ‘Blood Libels and Host Desecration Accusations’, in The YIVO Encyclopedia of Jews in Eastern Europe, http://www.yivoencyclopedia.org/article.aspx/Blood_Li bels_and_Host_Desecration_Accusations, 10.12. 2019. I would like to thank Ágnes Fazakas for her valuable input in reviewing the manuscript of this study. For a more detailed examination of the antisemitic visual reception history of the case see Daniel Véri, ‘The Tiszaeszlár Blood Libel: Image and Propaganda’, in Mareike König and Oliver Schulz (eds), Antisemitismus im 19. Jahrhundert aus internationaler Perspektive / Nineteenth Century Anti-Semitism in International Perspective, Göttingen 2019, pp. 263 – 290. For a lengthier analysis of the folk songs in Hungarian see Véri, ‘A Sakterpolkától az Egészséges Fejbőrig: a tiszaeszlári vérvád zenei szubkultúrái’, Múlt és Jövő XXVII, 2016, No. 1, pp. 81– 103.  For the detailed history of the painting see Véri, ‘The Tiszaeszlár Blood Libel’ (note 1), esp. pp. 265 – 272. Imagining Ritual Murder: Social Knowledge in the Making 37 ritual murder. At the end of the trial held in 1883 the defendants were cleared of the charges. From 1882 to this day the Tiszaeszlár affair has a two-fold – and remarkably rich – reception history.³ Those involved in the creation of cultural products relating to the case belong almost exclusively to two distinct groups: they were either Jews or antisemites. The case appears to be a key issue of identity for both groups. For Hungarian antisemites, Tiszaeszlár is a founding myth that developed through a number of stages into a complex phenomenon which could be interpreted as a pseudo-religious cult.⁴ On the other hand, for Hungarian artists of Jewish descent the case became a symbol of Jewish suffering and a historical example of antisemitism, through which the trauma of the Holocaust could be articulated.⁵ Interestingly enough, the antisemitic artistic reception history of the case is not by any means restricted to Hungary geographically: instead, it forms a transnational phenomenon, involving cultural products and further sources from a myriad of countries ranging from Russia to the United States. The same is true for the Jewish and philo-Semitic interpretations, with an apparent rise in the number of cultural products after the Holocaust. Marketing the blood libel for the bourgeoisie The initial step in the establishment of an antisemitic visual tradition for the Tiszaeszlár blood libel case was the creation of an imaginary portrait, depicting the alleged victim, Eszter Solymosi. Although the painting is lost by now, the composition is well-known as it was immediately copied and popularized via  It includes multiple genres: literary works (poems, dramas, novels, an essay), artworks (paintings, drawings, caricatures, prints, a relief), music (polka, folk songs, rock songs, operas) and films as well as popular myths and folklore. See the author’s earlier publications, exploring the different genres. Antisemitic visual reception: Véri, ‘The Tiszaeszlár Blood Libel’ (note 1). Fine arts: Idem, ‘The Holocaust and the Arts: Paths and Crossroads’, in Edit Sasvári, Hedvig Turai and Sándor Hornyik (eds), Art in Hungary 1956 – 1980: Doublespeak and Beyond, London 2018, pp. 219 – 220. – Idem, ‘A halottak élén’ – Major János világa, Budapest 2013, pp. 14– 29. Antisemitic poetry: Idem, ‘Vérvád és zene: Erdélyi József versének kontextusa és recepciója, in Ádám Ignácz (ed), Populáris zene és államhatalom, Budapest 2017, pp. 268 – 291. Musical adaptations: Idem, ‘A tiszaeszlári vérvád zenei feldolgozásai: hagyományok, interpretációk, narratívák. Németh Hajnal: Hamis vallomás; Fischer Iván: A Vörös Tehén’, Múlt és Jövő XXV, 2014, No. 2, pp. 23 – 36.  The formation and development of the cult entailed the following elements: doctrine of the blood libel, existence of believers, true image of the ‘martyr’, depictions of her suffering and a lieu de mémoire: a location with a memorial day and related rituals. See Véri, ‘The Tiszaeszlár Blood Libel’ (note 1).  Véri, ‘The Holocaust and the Arts’ (note 3), pp. 219 – 220. 38 Daniel Véri an array of graphic derivatives [1]. The alleged authenticity of the portrait – which was in fact an amalgam of her sister’s facial features and the description in the missing person’s report – helped to establish the material reality of Eszter’s figure as the victim of a ritual murder. The portrait, providing a recognizable figure for the allegations to fall back on, had been of crucial importance, as it enabled emotional identification with the supposed victim. Two monumental paintings were created in connection with the case, both depicting the imagined murder scene. The first one – painted by Ernest Novak in Zagreb in 1882 – is directly related to the affair. The second painting – created a decade later – is merely based on the Tiszaeszlár case; it has been falsely attributed to Mihály Munkácsy, a celebrated Hungarian painter living in Paris at the end of the nineteenth century. The two works share several common characteristics regarding their composition, function, usage and audience.⁶ From Zagreb to Hungary and Romania: the career of Novak’s blood libel painting The first painting – representing explicitly the ritual murder of Eszter Solymosi – was created before October 1882 in Zagreb, Croatia, at the time part of the Hungarian Kingdom. Croatian, Hungarian and Austrian press equally covered the affair; according to their reports, the Trieste-born painter was called – reflecting the multi-ethnic background of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy – either Ernest (Ernő in Hungarian) or Josip or Giuseppe Novak. He not only created a canvas, but as a capable businessman, sensing the public interest invested in the case, also started selling photographic reproductions of the painting. Local police however reacted quickly: they arrested him, and destroyed the photos found during a house search. Citizens who owned copies were also summoned by the police, but in the end the painter was released from preventive custody.⁷ There is no indication as to whether the painting survived the police investigation; therefore one can only hypothesise regarding the painter’s further in-  Véri, ‘The Tiszaeszlár Blood Libel’ (note 1), pp. 272– 282.  Pozor, 1882, No. 232, 9. 10., p. 3. – Das Vaterland XXIII, 1882, No. 279, 9. 10., p. 3 – 4. – Neuigkeits Welt Blatt IX, 1882, No. 233, 11. 10., p. 4. – Agramer Zeitung LVII, 1882, No. 235, 12. 10., p. 3. – Függetlenség III, 1882, 12. 10., pp. 1, 3. – Fővárosi Lapok XIX, 1882, No. 235, 13. 10., p. 1459. – Das Vaterland XXIII, 1882, No. 284, 14. 10., p. 5 (quotes the report of Agramer Zeitung). – Borsszem Jankó XV, 1882, No. 42 (770), 15. 10., p. 9. – Borsszem Jankó XV, 1882, No. 43 (771), 22. 10., p. 3. I would like to express my gratitude to Krunoslav Kamenov for sending me relevant sources (Pozor, Agramer Zeitung) and for helping my research in Zagreb in 2013. Imagining Ritual Murder: Social Knowledge in the Making 39 Fig. 1: Zoltán Csörgey, Eszter Solymosi, drawing made after Lajos Ábrányi’s painting (1882), in: Géza Ónody, Tißa-Eßlár in der Vergangenheit und Gegenwart, Budapest 1883. Photo: Daniel Véri. 40 Daniel Véri tentions with the work. Similar cases, however – such as the imaginary portrait of Eszter Solymosi as well as the pseudo-Munkácsy painting, which will shortly be examined – suggest that he might have intended to exhibit it for the benefit of an antisemitic – or simply scandal-hungry – audience, gaining a profit from the entrance fee. Unfortunately, to this day, neither the painting nor any of the photos has surfaced, while the archive of the Police Directorate of Zagreb does not hold the files of the affair.⁸ The painter himself is barely known; only a little information is available about him in the Fine Arts Archive of the Croatian Academy.⁹ He participated in exhibitions in Zagreb in 1881 and 1882, but after the affair there is no trace of him; according to a short biographic note his disappearance might be due to serving time in the Lepoglava prison – the accuracy of this information and its connection to the affair remains uncertain. The afterlife of the composition however is much better documented. On October 11, an MP showed a copy of the photo around at the Hungarian Parliament, while the next day an antisemitic daily newspaper published an article which included a detailed description of the work, mentioning the painter’s address and the possibility to order the photo by mail.¹⁰ The immediate influence of the photograph is attested by a drawing that appeared in two antisemitic satirical magazines, the Hungarian Füstölő and its German counterpart, the Rebach [2].¹¹ The draughtsman was the one who reproduced Eszter Solymosi’s imaginary  According to the list of files from the period held at the Croatian State Archives: 1.1. 2020. Redarstveno ravnatelstvjo u Zagrebu. Vodič [Police Directorate in Zagreb. Guide] 1850/1890, 1915/ 1916.  Zagreb, Arhiv za likovne umjetnosti. Novak should not be confused with an Austrian painter from the period, Ernest Nowak. Thanks to the article published in Függetlenség, which calls the painter ‘Novák Ernő’ (Hungarian equivalent of Ernest) it is evident that Ernest Novak (usually mentioned as E. Novak in the archive) and Josip or Giuseppe Novak are the same person.  According to the article, the scene is set in the anteroom of the synagogue, with candles lit in the chandelier and the tablets of the Ten Commandments on the wall. Eszter lies naked on the table, with her face downwards, her legs are bound, her neck is cut and her blood is flowing into a bowl below. The ritual butcher is holding her head by the hair with his right hand, with the left one he pushes her back down, holding the bloody knife in between his teeth. An old Jew holds her legs straight, another one presses her waist onto the table. A Jewish woman is bringing an empty bowl in order to change it for the filled one. Around the table an old Jew in a ‘praying cloak’ and a rabbi in religious attire are praying, looking up with hands folded. Függetlenség (note 7).  Füstölő II, 1882, No. 12, 1. 11., pp. 4– 5. – Rebach I, 1882, No. 2, 1. 12., pp. 6 – 7. Reproduced without commentary by János Gyurgyák, A zsidókérdés Magyarországon, Budapest 2001, p. 341. Imagining Ritual Murder: Social Knowledge in the Making 41 Fig. 2: Zoltán Csörgey, The Ritual Murder of Eszter Solymosi (1882), Füstölő II, 1882, No. 1, 1. 11., p. 5. – Rebach I, 1882, No. 2, 1. 12., p. 7. Photo: Daniel Véri. portrait as well: Zoltán Csörgey.¹² It is not a direct reproduction of Novak’s work or its photograph, which the artist might not even have seen; rather it is inspired by descriptions of the composition. Significantly, before the news about the Zagreb painting, no visualization was published about the imagined murder scene; merely the news about such a painting must have triggered the people’s – or in this case: the artist’s – imagination. The photographs ensured the long-time survival of the composition, especially in neighbouring Romania. The complete reception history cannot be explored here; it suffices to say that after a detailed lithographic version of rather good quality (1886) – intended presumably for the antisemitic bourgeoisie – a cruder, most probably woodcut version was also disseminated [3].¹³ The distribution of the latter can be envisioned within the context of local country fairs,  The image on the right representing the blood libel is only signed with a monogram (Cs. Z.), the full name is written on the left drawing.  Thomas Gergely, ‘L’affaire de Tiszaeszlár: un procès de meurtre rituel dans la Hongrie dite libérale de 1882’, in Michèle Mat-Hasquin (ed), Problèmes d’histoire du Christianisme XI, Bruxelles 1982, pp. 27– 61, fig. IV (I would like to thank Thomas Gergely for providing a scan of the illustration). 42 Daniel Véri Fig. 3: The Ritual Murder of Eszter Solymosi, Romanian woodcut, in: Thomas Gergely, ‘L’affaire de Tiszaeszlár: un procès de meurtre rituel dans la Hongrie dite libérale de 1882’, in Michèle Mat-Hasquin (ed), Problèmes d’histoire du Christianisme XI, Brussels 1982, pp. 27 – 61, fig. IV. where rural folk could acquire similar, cheap printed material, such as devotional prints as well as popular literature (pulp fiction and penny dreadfuls). Novak’s painting and its reception shows that the visualisation of a contemporary sensation, namely, a ritual murder accusation, could be potentially lucrative, yet in the context of the end of the nineteenth century Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, the distribution of such antisemitic representations had its legal limits. The pseudo-Munkácsy blood libel painting on a European tour The second painting, the work of the anonymous ‘pseudo-Munkácsy’, was painted before 1896, most probably in 1893 – 1894 [4].¹⁴ Although the monumental  Although I was able to identify the probable author of the painting, due to lack of space and the complexity of the attribution, I can only address this issue in a separate, forthcoming paper. Imagining Ritual Murder: Social Knowledge in the Making 43 canvas (225 by 392 centimetres large), representing life-size figures, evidently depicts an imagined ritual murder scene, it is uncertain which libel it alludes to. The composition of the painting, however, as well as the history of the work, point towards the Tiszaeszlár affair.¹⁵ From the well-known blood libel trials of the period the high number of alleged perpetrators could suggest – besides Tiszaeszlár – Kutaisi (1878), but it is a rather unlikely candidate as the supposed victim was only a child. Furthermore, the gender of the victim depicted in the painting – a young, blond woman – excludes Xanten (1891), Konitz (1900), and Kiev (1911).¹⁶ The age of Anežka Hrůzová (1899, Polná, Hilsner affair, nineteen years old) could best suit the painting, were it not that the work predated the affair. All this leaves us with Tiszaeszlár, even if the female figure seems somewhat older than Eszter Solymosi (fourteen years old). In the end, the depicted scene is the result of antisemitic imagination; Fig. 4: [Pseudo-Munkácsy], Ritual murder, before 1896, most probably 1893 – 1894, oil on canvas, 225 × 392 cm. Private collection. Photo: the owner.  I would like to thank Zsófia Végvári’s help, who brought my attention to the painting in 2012 and generously shared the information she had about the work. In 2012 she had the opportunity to see the work in London together with Jeffrey Taylor and to perform a pigment analysis. According to her, the material would date the painting approximately to the 1880 – 1886 time period, sources however suggest a later execution. The current size of the canvas is given above, yet according to Végvári it is folded over the stretcher: originally it might have been ca. 8 centimetres larger.  For general information about the following affairs, see Kieval (note 1). 44 Daniel Véri one should not therefore expect any sort of ‘historical’ accuracy in the visualization of the alleged details of the case. In conclusion, the date of the painting supports its connection to Tiszaeszlár, while the composition – the plural number of perpetrators and the figure of the victim – also bears a close resemblance to the Hungarian blood libel case. There is a further aspect that ties the painting to Tiszaeszlár: its alleged attribution. When exhibited in Paris in 1896 it was claimed to be the work of a great Hungarian master – whose name was veiled in anonymity – and accordingly, the title was defined as Scène de meurtre rituel en Hongrie [Ritual murder scene in Hungary]. With a painting close to his style, this was a marketing scheme aimed to hint at the authorship of Mihály Munkácsy (1844 – 1900), a celebrated Hungarian-born painter living in Paris. In fact, the news of the exhibition reached him and following a visit he even protested against it.¹⁷ In 1898 the painting was exhibited in Brussels, hinting again at Munkácsy’s authorship, naming a minor Hungarian blood libel case as its theme – no doubt to reassure its supposed authorship – until the painter – or, due to his illness, more likely his wife – intervened.¹⁸ At some point the work might have also been exhibited in Vienna.¹⁹ Before the Western European tour, it had also been on display in Warsaw, its probable birthplace, with an attribution to Munkácsy, but the exhibition was banned by the authorities.²⁰ The painting was in Warsaw again before 1908, the year it was shown in St. Petersburg. Following a scandal, the work has been removed; on this occasion the owner attributed it to the famous Polish painter Henryk Siemiradzki.²¹ Later it belonged to a Polish club, but after the club went bankrupt the painting was sold at auction and changed owners subsequently on a number of occasions. The painting surfaced in 1914 in St. Petersburg, attributed again to Munkácsy and causing great waves in the international press reaching even Munkácsy’s widow, who firmly denied the painter’s authorship again.²² Finally, after a century of silence, the work surfaced anew in 2013 in London, with the same dubious attribution.²³  Neue Freie Presse XXXIII, 1896, No. 11333, 12. 3., p. 1.  Le Vingtième Siècle IV, 1898, 18. 6., p. 1. The exhibition’s advertisement in L’Indépendance Belge did not name the author, only the title: Meurtre ritual. See L’Indépendance Belge LXIX, 1898, No. 168, 17. 6., p. 3. – Neue Freie Presse LI, 1914, No. 17819, 4. 4., pp. 7– 8.  La Croix XXXV, 1914, No. 9530, 9. 4., p. 1.  Az Est V, 1914, No. 92, 18. 4., p. 8.  L. Zlotnikov, ’Ritual’naya kartina’, Zemshchina, 1914, 18. 4., p. 2  A[leksandr] Stolypin, ‘Triumpf Mendelja Beilica’, Novoye Vremya XLVII, 1914, No. 13626, 17. 2., p. 4. I would like to thank Edit Berger for the transliteration of the article. Zlotnikov (note 21). I received the article and its translation, provided by the owner from Zsófia Végvári. The following newspapers quote Mrs Munkácsy’s letter in full: Pester Lloyd LXI, 1914, No. 80, 3. 4., Imagining Ritual Murder: Social Knowledge in the Making 45 What can we learn from the history of the pseudo-Munkácsy painting? First and foremost, that the creation and circulation of antisemitic cultural products was a business venture, and potentially a lucrative one. The painting was not created out of the painter’s passion or for the personal amusement of a private collector. On the contrary, it was painted as an antisemitic attraction, to be toured all over Europe, and most probably to be sold in the end. The major marketing tool implemented to raise public interest in the work was false attribution. The theme of the painting was already scandalous, but the alleged authorship of a well-known painter such as Munkácsy must have attracted even more viewers. Yet the attribution could easily be adjusted according to local circumstances: when bringing the work from Warsaw to St. Petersburg, it was attributed to the great Polish painter, Siemiradzki. A time window was always available from the opening of the exhibition until the regular intervention of the authorities due to the depicted theme or the false attribution. The target audience was primarily the politically and culturally active urban bourgeoisie. Viewers could have included not only committed antisemites, but also – given the exotic yet scandalous topic, the almost pornographic nature of the depiction and the alleged attribution – an even larger audience. The choice of locations for the exhibitions is telling: in Paris, the painting was exhibited in an art gallery, while in St. Petersburg and in Brussels in the Passazh and in the Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert respectively.²⁴ These two were prestigious, glass covered shopping arcades, having thus the potential to reach the main target audience – which could have included prospective buyers – the well-off bourgeoisie. Currently we do not know whether the owners attempted to reach broader social strata: photographs, postcards or graphic works reproducing the painting have not yet surfaced, but – based on the afterlife of similar paintings, such as Novak’s ritual murder scene and Eszter Solymosi’s portrait – it would not be surprising to find such material in the future. As was demonstrated in the case of Novak’s painting, works first marketed for the bourgeoisie could very well find their way to the rural population via easily reproducible cultural products based on the original work. p. 10. – Világ V, 1914, No. 81, 4. 4., p. 8. – Neue Freie Presse (note 18). Since I was not able to locate the original article: Kievskaya Mysl, after February 17, before April 18, 1914, I am referring to a Hungarian article, which quotes it: Az Est (note 20).  András Földes, ‘Munkácsy Mihály meztelen nőt ölő zsidókat festett?’, index, http://index.hu/ kultur/2013/03/04/antiszemita_pornot_festett_munkacsy_mihaly/, 10.12. 2019. – Julia Michalska, ‘Was Hungarian Star Artist an Anti-Semite?’, The Art Newspaper XXII, 2013, No. 245 – April, p. 9.  Cabaret Artistique, Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert. See L’Indépendance Belge (note 18). 46 Daniel Véri Antisemitic traditions: image as evidence Upon their creation, these paintings and further derivative cultural products all became part of an antisemitic cultural tradition. Built upon rumours stemming from long-standing prejudices, aided in some cases by undeniable artistic skills, these materialized forms of imagination conveyed – at least for the believers, for committed antisemites – a narrative of reality. These cultural products were not locked into their own time: they lived on and provided supposedly ‘authentic’ proofs from the past, readily accessible in order to shape the present. Novak’s painting was already long gone when graphic works based on his composition were republished by a new generation of antisemites, who were keen on keeping their own subculture’s traditions alive. The lithograph was republished in 1923 in a nationalist Romanian newspaper, the Cuvântul Studenţesc [The Students’ Voice], while the drawing from 1882 was reprinted in a 1944 issue of Harc [The Fight], a Hungarian antisemitic newspaper.²⁵ These publications no longer belong to the immediate reception of the Tiszaeszlár blood libel case, but rather to the context of inter-war nationalism, anti-Jewish legislation and the Holocaust in general. From folk songs to pogroms: rural antisemitism At first sight, folk songs occupy a radically different position from that of the paintings and graphic works examined above. First of all, their authors are assumed to be anonymous, as folk songs are believed to be born, not written. Instead of the urban bourgeoisie, their audience is supposed to be the rural population, and thought to be limited to them. Unlike visual works, folk songs are not usually thought to be tools of antisemitic propaganda, or to be pertaining to a business endeavour. The history of folk songs relating to the Tiszaeszlár blood libel questions the veracity of these assumptions. Some of the songs were in fact written by identifiable individuals, and circulated as antisemitic propaganda material. Moreover, not only the authors, but also members of the audience penetrate these perceived social boundaries.  Vestul României. Ziar independent Românesc în Oradea-Mare I, 1923, No. 23, 24. 8., p. 3. – Radu Stern, ‘The Judapest Paradox’, in Marlies Enklaar, Zsófia Farkas and Beverly Jackson (eds), From Fauvism to Surrealism. Jewish Avant-Garde Artists from Hungary, Amsterdam 2017, pp. 38 – 51, esp. p. 43. Imagining Ritual Murder: Social Knowledge in the Making 47 Folk songs constitute a verbal genre, therefore their reception appears to be less manifest and thus more difficult to assess than that of the visual examples. Yet due to their resilience and adaptiveness, their natural ability to be handed down easily from generation to generation, they constitute an important source and basis of social knowledge. Consequently, these songs have a long standing connection to not only interpersonal but also collective violence. In fact, they constitute a crucial factor in shaping post-World War II anti-Jewish pogroms into the form of blood libels and hence proceeding according to certain violent patterns. To understand how these folk songs – as well as the antisemitic prejudices they carried – could survive for an extremely long period of time, one should look into the characteristics of the songs as well as the way they were bequeathed from generation to generation. Blood-libel related folk songs were an inseparable part of folk culture; as such, they were taught and learnt in a specific, ritualized way, in the informal setting of families and communities. They were repeated over and over again by a multitude of performers. Since they were not written down but rather memorized, changes appeared in the texts over time, resulting in different versions. ‘This Jew has got a big belly’: typology and characteristics of folk songs The textual versions to be examined here all follow the same melody and were collected by folklorists from the 1920s to the 1970s.²⁶ According to my philological reconstruction they are based upon an earlier Jew-mocking song, which featured a stereotypical, rural, economical portrayal of the Jews, without any allusion to ritual murder.²⁷ However, no examples of this version survived, because by the time folklorists started to collect folk songs, the original Jew-mocking song had already been modified and layered with references to the Tiszaeszlár case.  Véri, ‘A Sakterpolkától’ (note 1), pp. 87– 95. The text and musical score of songs quoted henceforth are held at the Institute for Musicology of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, at the Folk Music Archive, dossier no. 2132– 23/0. All of the translations are by the author; the earlier study cited here and in the following contains the original, Hungarian texts. The songs are referenced in the footnotes by their individual inventory number.  Véri, ‘A Sakterpolkától’ (note 1), pp. 84– 88. 48 Daniel Véri Folk songs feature two major characteristics which set them apart from other blood libel related cultural products. On the one hand, in these folk songs the classical ritual murder accusation – the usage of a Christian person’s blood to make the Passover Matzo – was simplified to blood drinking and cannibalism. On the other hand, the blood libel story is contaminated with trivial, familiar elements such as religious motifs and well-known fables. The simplification, as well as these further details, substantially helped to embed the story, thereby making it part of a shared social knowledge. In the following, different types of these folk songs and the motifs they feature will be examined. ‘This Jew has got a big belly Eszter Solymosi is probably inside Zikcini-zakcini, you stinky Jew, You shall drink Christian blood no more!’²⁸ The ‘Jew’s big belly’, a highly visual motif, is the most frequent element of these songs, together with the refrain: ‘zikcene-zakcene’. The latter survived from the earlier Jew-mocking song, and – with the words sounding like German numbers (siebzehn, sechzehn) – originally alluded to Jews counting money. As their original meaning was lost, these words became more or less deformed, turned into a rhyming, and merely gibberish line. The other omnipresent element, the motif of the victim being in the Jew’s belly shows a close affinity with the tale of Little Red Riding Hood. ‘This Jew has got a big belly Eszter Solymosi’s blood is inside Hold on, Jew, I will diminish it, When I stick my sword into it.’²⁹ * ‘This Jew has got a big belly Eszter Solymosi is probably inside The Jew’s belly shall be cut open That brunette shall be taken out.’³⁰ Some of the songs – such as the two examples above – do not stop at lamenting on Eszter Solymosi’s fate. Instead, they offer a solution: to cut the girl out. This violent attack on the figure of the Jew already foreshadows the collective vio-  AP 6818/g, see ibidem, p. 89.  6856, see ibidem, p. 90.  62108, see ibidem. Imagining Ritual Murder: Social Knowledge in the Making 49 lence these songs can be associated with. The motif of cutting up the Jew’s stomach attests again to a contamination of the blood libel legend with the story of Little Red Riding Hood, where the woodcutter or the hunter performs the same role. ‘This Jew has got a big belly Eszter Solymosi’s blood is inside, If the Jew would give birth, Eszter Solymosi would be reborn.’³¹ In another type, a less violent yet even more peculiar solution offers remedy: the Jew gives birth to the cannibalized victim. This version is influenced by elements of popular religion, namely the New Testament: the girl is reborn, thus Eszter Solymosi becomes a parallel to Christ. There might also be a connection to the Little Red Riding Hood, where – at least according to Bruno Bettelheim’s interpretation – the girl is reborn.³² ‘This Jew has got a big belly Eszter Solymosi’s blood is inside Mrs Solymosi fainted seven times, Because Jews killed her daughter.’³³ Similarly, this version features an allusion to the New Testament. The seven faints experienced by Mrs Solymosi are apparent parallels to the seven sorrows of the Virgin Mary. These references to Christian symbolism provide a religious interpretation of the blood libel accusation, defining Eszter Solymosi’s role – through imitation of Christ (imitatio Christi) – as a martyr or a saint. ‘They tear down, they tear down the church of Moses The Solymosi girl was found inside. Ipcini-apcini, you dirty [literally: dog] Jew, Inside this you will pray no more.’³⁴ In the variation above the girl is built into the wall of the synagogue: the blood accusation is apparently contaminated with the popular myth of Coloman the  6860, see ibidem.  Bruno Bettelheim, ‘Little Red Riding Hood’, in idem, The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales, New York 1976, pp. 166 – 183.  AP 3025/c, see Véri, ‘A Sakterpolkától’ (note 1), p. 90.  62099, see ibidem, p. 89. 50 Daniel Véri mason (Kőmíves Kelemen), who built his own wife into the castle wall in order to fortify it. ‘It is the season of harvest in Egypt, Jew Nájlon is the first reaper, Solomon is the collector of fallen wheat, Alexander Grünsberger ties the sheaves.’³⁵ * ‘The rosemary opens towards the high sky, The Jews are going towards Egypt. Zikcene-zakcene, you dirty Jew! You shall drink Christian blood no more!’³⁶ A peculiar motif, Egypt appears in a number of songs: the Jews are either going to, or chased towards Egypt. Notwithstanding the deviations from the original story of the Exodus, these motifs are indeed related to the Old Testament, thus creating a connection between Passover and Easter. Historically, the close succession of the two religious feasts triggered plenty of blood libel accusations. All the songs examined above are characterized by a linguistic trait: the ‘offender’ is always generalized, as ‘the Jew’, while the supposed victim is always personalized as Eszter Solymosi. This feature brings forth a double-faceted result: on the one hand, the personalization enables the emotional identification with the ‘victim’, while on the other hand the generalization facilitates the contemporary actualization of the blood libel accusation. Folk songs in the making: authors and propagators Although the majority of the folk songs can be considered authentic, in two instances we can identify the authors. Moreover, we can also observe the process during which a song published in the press became a folk song. A version of the previous, authentic Jew-mocking folk song was created by the learned composer, Zoltán Gáthy, referencing the blood libel accusation. The text was published – along with the score – in 1883 in satirical antisemitic magazines, in Hungarian Üstökös [Comet], as well as in Füstölő [Smoker] and in German translation in Re-  62099, see ibidem, p. 90.  62102, see ibidem. Imagining Ritual Murder: Social Knowledge in the Making 51 bach [5].³⁷ The text features thematic inconsistency, while in its motifs it is rather distant from ‘real’ folk songs. The author inserted forcibly – and thus rather inconsistently – references to the blood libel case into a text featuring rural, stereotypical – but not per se malevolent – portrayal of Jews. Thus it is hardly surprising that its reception was extremely limited and fragmented. All this attests to the fact that it was an artificial attempt to diffuse antisemitic propaganda, and it could not have been collected ‘from the lips of the people’ as the author stated in order to reassure its authenticity.³⁸ The second example, entitled ‘Folk Ballad from Tiszaeszlár’ was published anonymously, without its musical score, at the end of June 1882 in the local press, and later in the national press.³⁹ Despite the reappearance of the claim to be ‘from the lips of the people’, its author can be identified as Júlia Farkas, a local resident of Tiszaeszlár, most probably a relative of the village judge.⁴⁰ The text, with its elaborate lines, multiple verses and detailed everyday (today historical) references, shares virtually no common characteristics with real folk songs. Nonetheless, in two instances, fragments of the verses were collected at the beginning of the 1930s from near Tiszaeszlár.⁴¹ This closeness of both sources to Tiszaeszlár is of great significance, as it highlights the difference from real folk songs, which were recorded all over the country without any distinctive geographic pattern. The antisemitic press – especially satirical magazines – played a crucial role in the dissemination of these anti-Jewish propaganda pieces. Ironically, two drawings published in these magazines illustrate exquisitely how they functioned and the outcome they aimed to achieve. The first image accompanies a call for subscriptions written in the shape of a poem, published in the satirical magazine Üstökös [Comet] in 1883 [6]. The poem’s refrain features the ‘zikczene-zakczene’ line, while the image shows an anthropomorphized figure of a rooster, the magazine’s mascot, with a baton in  Hungarian version: Üstökös XXVI, 1883, No. 37, 16. 9., p. 9. – Üstökös XXVI, 1883, No. 40, 7. 10., p. 10. – Füstölő III, 1883, No. 1, 1. 11., p. 7. – German version: Rebach II, 1883, 1. 11., p. 1. – Véri, ‘A Sakterpolkától’ (note 1), pp. 84– 87.  Véri, ‘A Sakterpolkától’ (note 1), p. 86.  Szabolcsmegyei Közlöny X, 1882, 29. 6. [unavailable], reprinted in: Szabolcsmegyei Közlöny XI, 1883, No. 82, 16. 8., p. 1. Abbreviated version: Függetlenség III, 1882, 19. 8., p. 2. – Véri, ‘A Sakterpolkától’ (note 1), pp. 92– 93.  György Kövér, A tiszaeszlári dráma. Társadalomtörténeti látószögek, Budapest 2011, pp. 416 – 417. – Véri, ‘A Sakterpolkától’ (note 1), pp. 92– 93.  Gyula Ortutay, Mondotta: Vince András béreslegény, Máté János gazdalegény. Nyíri, rétközi balladák, betyár- és juhásznóták, Szeged 1933, pp. 40 – 41, 79. – Véri, ‘A Sakterpolkától’ (note 1), pp. 91– 92. 52 Daniel Véri Fig. 5: ‘Zikcene-Zakcene’, Rebach II, 1883, 1. 11., p. 1. Photo: Daniel Véri. his hand, conducting two figures, a peasant and a Jew, who are both holding a score and singing together – most probably the blood libel-song, published earlier in the same magazine. Given the nature of the song, the motif of a Jew sing- Imagining Ritual Murder: Social Knowledge in the Making 53 Fig. 6: Call for subscriptions of Üstökös [Comet], Üstökös XXVI, 1883, No. 40, 7. 10., p. 11 (first published on 23. 9., p. 11). Photo: Daniel Véri. ing along is rather unrealistic. The image shows nonetheless most profoundly and in an allegorical way how the antisemitic press, especially satirical maga- 54 Daniel Véri zines, intended and were indeed able to shape public opinion – in this case by inciting the public against the Jewish population. The second image, which alludes to the question of folk song-related violence, was published as the journal heading of the satirical magazine Herkó Páter [Priest Herkó], in the provincial city of Szombathely [7]. The illustration Fig. 7: Heading of Herkó Páter [Priest Herkó], a short-lived satirical magazine in Szombathely, four issues between October and November 1882. Photo: Daniel Véri. shows the figure of a priest grabbing the ear of a Jewish man who is holding the Talmud, and simultaneously kicking a figure dressed in Hungarian attire. Below the Jewish figure the inscription reads ‘Hep-Hepp’, while below the Hungarian: ‘Hop-Hopp!’. This symmetrical arrangement implies a political stance in equal measures; however, only the inscription below the Jew has a deeper meaning, revealing the true antisemitic nature of the magazine. In fact, what the inscription refers to is an antisemitic song, called the ‘HepHep song’, which is attested in Hungarian sources, certainly between 1871 and 1884.⁴² Only the short title – most probably part of the refrain – surfaced in  Herkó Páter was published in Szombathely; only four editions exist, dating back to October– November 1882. The hep-hep song is attested in: Borsszem Jankó IV, 1871, No. 206, 10. 12., p. 5. – Borsszem Jankó XIV, 1881, No. 41 (717), 9. 10., p. 8. – Zalai Közlöny XXIII, 1884, No. 18, 2. 3., p. 3. In this period, another music piece, the 1872 parody of Wagner’s Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg equally borrowed its title from ‘hep-hep’: Hepp, Hepp! oder Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, Spremberg 1872. – Barry Millington, The Sorcerer of Bayreuth: Richard Wagner, his Work and his World, Oxford 2012, p. 178 (in the Hungarian edition of 2013). I would like to thank Gergely Loch for bringing Millington’s book to my attention. Véri, ‘A Sakterpolkától’ (note 1), pp. 83, 94. Imagining Ritual Murder: Social Knowledge in the Making 55 the press, without the complete text or the melody. Nonetheless, the name suggests that its origin goes back to the German, antisemitic Hep-Hep riots of 1819. With this historical background in mind, it is hardly surprising that references to the ‘hep-hep’ song were antisemitic in content in a similar way as the allusions to the ‘zickcene-zakcene’ song. Thus it can be assumed, that the ‘hep-hep’ song functioned as an accompanying element to violent antisemitic episodes, similarly to the blood libel related songs, which will be examined next. These songs have a similarly significant reception in extreme right subcultures as the blood libel related images. The underlying logic had always been their assumed authenticity: since they were collected as folk songs; for antisemites they represented the untainted truth offered by ‘the people’, verifications for the ritual murder accusation. The most successful reincarnation of the folk songs was brought about by a well-known poet, József Erdélyi, who joined the antisemitic far right during the 1930s. He came across the songs in an ethnographic publication and subsequently published his infamous poem, titled Solymosi Eszter vére [Eszter Solymosi’s blood] in an extremist newspaper in 1937. The poem was reprinted repeatedly, even during the Holocaust.⁴³ Far right circles preserved this tradition: based on Erdélyi’s memoirs, possibly its 2001 reprint; the speaker at the annually recurring antisemitic rally at Tiszaeszlár again in 2013 quoted the folk songs as material evidence, confirming the ritual murder accusation.⁴⁴ From interpersonal conflicts to collective violence The Tiszaeszlár trial in the summer of 1883 brought about the acquittal of the defendants, which was followed by antisemitic riots all over the country.⁴⁵ For its part, the blood libel song is attested to have sparked off conflicts on a number of occasions during the 1880s and 1890s.⁴⁶ For example, in December 1882 a fight took place between local Jews, and travellers who were singing the song and smashing the Jews’ windows in the village of Uraiújfalu, Vas county. According to an article in an antisemitic political daily, the Jews were the ones who attacked the travellers upon hearing the song; the latter merely responded to this by smashing the windows. Naturally, this appears to be a rather biased interpre-  Virradat II, 1937, No. 31, 2. 8., p. 5. – József Erdélyi, Emlék, Budapest 1940, pp. 304– 306. Cf. Véri, ‘Vérvád és zene’ (note 3).  László Tompó Jr., ‘Solymosi Eszterre emlékeztek Tiszaeszláron Tompó testvérrel’, Hunhír.info, http://hunhir.info/index.php?pid=hirek&id=63534, 15.1. 2016.  Kövér (note 40), pp. 561– 564.  Véri, ‘A Sakterpolkától’ (note 1), pp. 93 – 94. 56 Daniel Véri tation. Regardless of the real circumstances, it is more relevant here to note, that the article stated that the ‘song from [Tisza] Eszlár’ has been sung all over the country.⁴⁷ Due to the violent episodes some of the local authorities even attempted to ban the song.⁴⁸ By the end of 1883 the song, widely known as ‘zikcene-zakcene’, was established as commonplace and a metaphor in political parlance. It had a double meaning: it alluded to antisemites when used by the liberals; while for antisemites it was a metaphor for the Jews.⁴⁹ The song still evoked strong emotions as late as 1897, when a duel took place in Budapest between an antisemite, who had the song played by musicians, and a Jew who took offence.⁵⁰ Yet social knowledge about the blood libel, transmitted through the tradition of folk songs, lasted even longer, evoking further, lethal consequences. Although it was a largely passive knowledge, when triggered by additional accommodating circumstances it was easily activated, thus leading to social, exclusionary violence. After World War II violence had erupted on numerous occasions against survivors of the Holocaust in Hungary. In a number of cases – for instance in Budapest (1946), Kunmadaras (1946), and Szegvár (1948) – the violence was connected to ritual murder accusations.⁵¹ Notwithstanding further possible causes – such as antisemitism in general, the personal motivations of people benefiting from the deportations, etc. – in my opinion social knowledge of ritual murder had a major impact on these cases. Importantly, as these ritual murder accusations featured cannibalism, they were much closer to the versions present in the folk songs than to the classical formulation of the blood libel myth. This trait confirms that these new accusations were based on social knowledge, which originated from folk songs. The charge usually entailed making sausage from Christian children – a motif no doubt influenced by post-war shortages. Consequently, the social knowledge about ‘Jewish ritual murder’, constituted by folk songs, had a trifold effect. Firstly, it facilitated the emergence of individual accusations, as the mental shortcut from the missing children to ritual murder was made easily. Secondly, due to the wide permeation of the songs, the alleged, rather unlikely deed could seem imaginable, even believable for a wider public. Thirdly, this knowledge provided a familiar model for anti-Jewish senti-  Függetlenség III, 1882, 21. 12., p. 3.  12 röpirat V, 1885, No. 4, 15. 1., p. 123.  Véri, ‘A Sakterpolkától’ (note 1), p. 94.  Országos Hírlap III, 1899, No. 8, 8. 1., p. 11. – Egyenlőség XVI, 1897, No. 41, 10. 10., p. 10. – Véri, ‘A Sakterpolkától’ (note 1), p. 94.  János Pelle, Az utolsó vérvádak, Budapest 1995, pp. 151– 168, 252– 262. Imagining Ritual Murder: Social Knowledge in the Making 57 ments and channelled the violence along certain patterns. Violent solutions already emerged within the songs, as we have seen earlier. The public response could have been potentially much more emotional, and consequently the results more violent or even lethal, since the accusation was no ordinary crime, but a murder, especially that of a child.⁵² Conclusion The two case studies examined here attest to the eminent role that cultural products played in the creation, diffusion and transmission of social knowledge about ‘Jewish ritual murder’. The images, as well as the songs were all products of imagination, but importantly, they were embodied in easily reproducible and transmittable forms. They offered highly visual, thus instantly available narratives about the blood libel accusation. On the one hand, they enabled emotional identification with the supposed victim; on the other hand they painted a dark, unambiguously negative, inhuman portrait of the generalized Other, namely the Jews. The paintings were initially intended for, and flourished amongst, the politically and culturally engaged urban bourgeoisie; however the photographic and especially the graphic derivatives reached a substantially larger and much more diverse audience, which included the rural population. For its part, this rural setting was the birthplace of the folk songs, albeit urban; politically motivated actors were also involved already from the onset of the affair – mainly by modifying and marketing folk songs. They were using authored works in the disguise of authentic folk songs as tools of antisemitic propaganda. Moreover, subsequent antisemitic subcultures consciously built upon the tradition constituted by earlier cultural products, images and folk songs alike. For these subcultures, they served as historical references, affirming the veracity of the ritual murder accusation. As a result, not only cultural products related to the Tiszaeszlár affair, but also their subsequent reception history transcended social boundaries. Embodied in these cultural products, blood libel narratives were transmitted from generation to generation either consciously – as with the dissemination and repeated printing of graphic derivatives – or – in the case of the folk songs – unconsciously, as part of a shared cultural heritage. On the one hand, images  Naturally, the police investigations that followed did not focus on folklore as the source of social knowledge about the blood libel myth, yet for example in the case of Szegvár, local knowledge of these songs and myths is attested decades later. Pelle (note 51), pp. 258 – 259. 58 Daniel Véri became part of an ever-expanding antisemitic tradition, which currently takes the form of a pseudo-religious cult. On the other hand, the deviation of folk songs from the classical formulation of the blood libel myth – their contamination with familiar elements borrowed from religion and tales – alleviated the embedding of the ritual murder accusation into folk culture. The semantical construction of the songs made the generalized perpetrator (‘the Jew’) localizable in every rural community, thus enabling the actualization of the blood accusation. This largely passive social knowledge was activated not only at the level of interpersonal conflicts at the time of the affair, but also later, in the case of collective violence against survivors of the Holocaust, channelling antisemitic emotions and shaping violent episodes according to certain patterns. Whether the latter is a specific Hungarian phenomenon, or a regional one, the result of the reception of turn-of-the century blood libel cases, is the task of future research. However, it can already be pointed out that the similarity of post-World War II antisemitic violence in Central Europe and, for instance, the existence of Czech songs related to the Hilsner blood libel affair (1899), suggest a regional phenomenon.⁵³  I would like to thank Michal Frankl for bringing my attention to the existence of the Czech songs.