Lidia [Life of Lidia Zamenhof, Daughter of Esperanto by Wendy Heller]

40. Caricature frotn La France du Sud-Ouest, Bordeaux, May 1934 41. Lidia with her nephew Ludwik in Italy during the Twenty-Seventh Universal Congress ofEsperanto in 1935

42. An alfresco meal in Rome during the congress. From left: Adam, Ludivik, Lidia,

Wanda

43. The introductory lesson in Moulins drew more than 180 to the course

44 ■ Lidia itt Geneua on her way to the Vienna congress in 1936

46. Formal opening of the Jubilee Congress in Philharmonic Hall, Warsaw, in

August 1937

once wrote a correspondent. 'I wish to belong to no struggle, thus also not to class struggle.' Lidia appears to have had at least one real enemy in France, although whoever it was remained anonymous. From Paris, once the stronghold of the traitorous Louis de Beaufront, came rumors which some of the Lyon Esperantists heard, claiming that Lidia Zamenhof was a spy. Nothing could have been more preposterous. The Lyon Esperantists suggested this was probably the work of one person, and was a result of the fanatical nationalism and suspicion of the time. If Lidia ever knew of the rumor, she seems not to have mentioned it, as was her way, and continued with her work.

Once, while Lidia was in Lyon, Mrs Borel and several other Esperantists took her to visit a blind and deaf Esperantist named Antoinette Niquet who lived in a hospital near Lyon. Lidia had a special sympathy for the blind, remembering from her childhood the patients in her father's waiting room and Dr Zamenhofs long years of work to save their sight. The visit to Antoinette touched Lidia so deeply that she later spoke about it over the radio station of Lyon-la- Doua. Many years afterward, Raymond Gonin, also blind, recalled that on the journey Lidia wondered how she could possibly make herself understood since the woman did not hear or see and Lidia did not know the Braille alphabet. But when Lidia arrived, she found the matter quickly solved. 'I wrote with my finger on the palm of her hand', said Lidia, *words in ordinary letters which she "read" very well. She didn't even wait for me to finish the word, guessing from a part ofit, or even the first letter, what I wanted to say.'

Antoinette Niquet had been struck blind and deaf by illness at the age of fifteen and for many years had lived in the hospital in a ward with ten beds. 'But', Lidia observed, 'the other patients are there as temporary guests. The real mistress ofthe hospital room seems to be Antoinette.'

'Watching her lively movements, one can hardly believe she does not see. With complete sureness, she passes through the room, taking from the corners chairs for her guests, and placing them near the open window, through which comes the fresh smell of the countryside.'

Antoinette showed Lidia her library of Braille volumes and spoke of her many correspondents in various lands. 'One sensed no deprivation in her words', Lidia observed. 'She speaks of the joy Esperanto gives her, linking her with those who share her fate.'

She had made a gift for her visitor - a notebook with thick pages, which she had pierced so that the letters could be felt as well as read. On them Antoinette had painstakingly copied some poetry by Lidia's father. Raymond Gonin recalled the gift 'touched and impressed Lidia'.

At last it was time for them to leave. Lidia took Antoinette's arm to help her, but soon found the blind woman did not need help.

'And when we walked together', said Lidia, 'it seemed to me that I myself was being guided by Antoinette.' As they walked through the street, Antoinette explained to Lidia about the buildings they passed. The shop keepers all knew Antoinette, who ran errands for the other hospital patients. Suddenly, Antoinette dropped Lidia's arm and disappeared into a doorway. 'After a few minutes she reappeared, with a radiant face, bringing me a beautiful bouquet of flowers - a fragrant gift from the blind-deaf samideanino.' The tram came, Lidia said good- bye and climbed aboard, throwing a last look at Antoinette, who, tapping the pavement with her white cane, was walking back to the hospital, her home. 'In my hand lies the flower bouquet,' Lidia mused, 'in my heart - in memory of the doubly unfortunate, yet brave and courageous lady.'

The Twenty-Seventh Universal Congress of Esperanto was to be held in Italy during the first two weeks of August, 1935. Although that country was in the grip of fascism under Mussolini, Lidia went to the congress. Martha Root, who was traveling in Scandinavia, did not attend. But Adam Zamenhof, his wife and son traveled from Warsaw to the congress and Lidia was happy to be with them again.

This year, no Baha'i meeting was planned. Instead, for the first time, a Baha'1 talk, which Lidia was to present, was on the program of the congress itself, as part of the Summer University lectures held at the University of Naples. In her speech Lidia spoke of the nature of man and the existence of God and His relationship to His creatures, about the immortality of the spirit, about free will and destiny, about the meaning of suffering.

How free was man? Did he not, as a creation, depend entirely on the Power that had created him? If God was indeed all-knowing, He must know in advance all human actions. Was fate predestined then? If so, could man ever escape the destiny that had been laid out for him?

'Foreknowledge is not the cause of the destiny,' Lidia asserted. 'For example, we all know that in a few hours the sun will disappear beneath the horizon, but our foreknowledge is not the cause ofthe fact; on the contrary it itselfcomes from that fact. Similarly, although in the foreknowledge of the Highest Creative Power our fate is written, that foreknowledge does not mean destiny, it is only one ofthe attributes of the Creative Power.

'Fate is of two kinds: absolute and accidental . . . According to its destiny, when the oil in a lamp is consumed, the lamp must go out. But it can happen that, even before the oil is gone, by chance a strong wind may extinguish the flame. The absolute fate of man is to come into the world, to mature, and having attained the state of maturity, to begin to age, and finally, when the time is come, to return his body to the earth — but it can happen that a brick falls on his head and cuts the thread ofhis earthly life sooner. We cannot avoid absolute fate, but we can avoid those other causes, and it is wise to guard oneself against them. Man is responsible for all the actions he performs by his own choice. If no free will existed, there would be no responsibility - neither merit nor guilt. . .

'Along his way he often encounters difficulties. Disappointment and sorrow are with him often throughout life. But they do not come by chance. They are sent to us from above, so that we may leam and perfect ourselves through them. It is easy to sail on tranquil seas - but that sailor is truly brave who in the midst of great waves and hurricanes does not lose his head but knows how to guide the ship to a safe port. We leam and become strong through difficulties . . . The greater the suffering, the greater the harvest ofspiritual virtues appearing in man.

'Sometimes happiness makes man self-assured and forgetful. But when sorrow comes, man remembers his smallness and powerlessness and tums upward to the Power above, which alone can save him from his difficulties. And thus his self-assurance dissolves and his spirituality grows . . .' But as she spoke Lidia looked out over the audience with disappointment, seeing that there were not many in attendance. A tour planned at the same time as her lecture had lured the congress-goers to less serious pursuits.