Galician Trails: The Forgotten Story of One Family

by Zalewski, Andrew

  Galician Trails

  THE FORGOTTEN STORY

  OF ONE FAMILY

  ANDREW ZALEWSKI

  THELZO PRESS

  Galician Trails

  THE FORGOTTEN STORY

  OF ONE FAMILY

  Copyright © 2012 by Andrew Zalewski

  THELZO PRESS

  93 Old York Rd., Suite 1-421

  Jenkintown, PA 19046

  www.thelzopress.com

  ISBN 13: 978-0-9855894-1-7

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012943890

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover and Interior Design: Peri Gabriel, Knockout Design,

  www.knockoutbooks.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  Preface

  Chapter 1 — Galicia: A Mysterious Land Somewhere in Europe

  Chapter 2 — The Lösch and Regiec Families: Taking Chances

  Chapter 3 — Stanislawow: The Stronghold of Rewera

  Chapter 4 — Bohorodczany: A World in Itself

  Chapter 5 — The Sobolewski Clan: Nobles and Farmers

  Chapter 6 — Helena Regiec Sobolewska

  Chapter 7 — Gathering Clouds: Trouble at Home

  Chapter 8 — The Prelude: Troops Are Marching

  Chapter 9 — The Great War: A Tale of Conflict and Ordinary Life

  Chapter 10 — The End in Sight: Is This Time for Real?

  Chapter 11 — Where to Go? Old Stories Fade Away and New Ones Are Born

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Appendix — The Lösch, Regiec, and Sobolewski Family Registers

  Notes

  Index

  THIS IS THE TALE OF three very different families connected to the life of my grandmother, Helena Regiec Sobolewska. She was a quiet woman who seldom spoke about herself. When there had been time to ask Grandma questions about her youth, I never did so; like many others, I was unaware that such opportunities would not last forever. Perhaps not that surprisingly, only much later did I begin to realize that I was missing many details about my grandmother’s life. Slowly, the thought became clear to me that unless I tried to find out more about the past, her story might be lost forever.

  For me, the real quest started inconspicuously on one of those slow Sunday afternoons. The fun of the weekend was almost over, but it was still too soon to get ready for the week ahead. For unclear reasons and not expecting to find much, I typed into a search engine the name of the town where my grandmother had met her future husband. I remembered that it had an unusual name and had been located in a faraway country; other than that, there was nothing in particular about the place that I could really recall. When I pressed “enter,” a list of mostly irrelevant links appeared on the screen—but one caught my attention. It led to an old posting that contained a short list of names, including that of my grandfather. For any reader who was interested in learning more, an email address was provided.

  I responded with a short note, and soon someone on the other end was asking for my mailing address. Apparently, a long list of my ancestors was available. Although warning bells rang in my head about a possible scam, I took the chance. A week later, a thick envelope arrived from a retired teacher in Canada, who had painstakingly catalogued several families from that place, located thousands of miles from both of us. Here were many of the names of my newly discovered family; the list stretched from the late eighteenth century to the beginning of the twentieth. Toward the end of this amazing roster, I spotted a detailed entry referring to my grandparents’ wedding. I knew immediately that I was on to something unique and could not stop there.

  What followed was an incredible journey through the Galicia of the Habsburg Empire, the land where my Austrian and Polish ancestors, both Christian and Jewish, had once lived. Against all the odds of passing time and intervening wars, an amazing window into the past had opened to me. Information that had been buried in archives and collections around the world—personal records, old newspapers, church and school records, early photographs, and more—came directly to my desktop when I learned where and how to look. Without any need for me to travel (to places that might no longer exist or be quite different than in bygone times), a picture started slowly to emerge. Soon, I had the thrilling sense that an imaginary curtain was being lifted. With each new discovery I made, my fuzzy image of the past was slowly becoming sharper. Multicultural Galicia, a place that well deserved the label “melting pot,” was unfolding in front of my eyes.

  At first, my findings were impersonal in nature; but as the story developed, I realized that this quest was not just about dates and places. It was an intimate journey back to the people who had mattered to my grandmother, and the world surrounding them. My preconceived notions about the past were quickly challenged, as I realized the surprising mobility of some members of my family—those who had been brave enough to take full advantage of opportunities some distance away. Others had remained tied to their ancestral homes for generations. I often thought about the rich and fast-paced lives some of them had led, despite the many imperfections of life in Galicia.

  This story starts with Mathias Lösch and his son, who moved to the town of “white gold” in western Galicia in 1809. At first, I marveled at the way this Austrian family had replanted itself in a new land and then made the best of it. Yet two generations later, their descendant Andreas Lösch and his wife, Eleonora, would live in a dizzying number of places throughout Galicia. Then their life stories would suddenly become intertwined with that of Joseph Regiec, who had a different tale to tell.

  Borders of Austro-Hungary in the nineteenth century.

  The saga of the Regiec family stretched from the humble life of a shepherd to the memorable one of the accomplished Joseph. It was he and Stephania Lösch who joined the two families through marriage. Modern people with a deep sense of purpose, they became part of the story of the railroads that were opening the world around them. In time, their daughter Helena Regiec, my grandmother, connected this narrative with a third family through her marriage to Franciscus Sobolewski. The Sobolewskis, nobles turned farmers, had a past very different from that of the Lösches or the Regiecs. My grandmother, an early professional woman, would carry the story forward even when the world around her suddenly moved in unpredictable directions.

  When writing about a past with its share of tensions and controversies, it is important to add a few disclaimers. While reading through records of the time, it became apparent to me that some issues had provoked human reactions or official policies that starkly contrasted with the acceptable norms of today. Some readers may find my frequent references to religion, once a much more visible part of people’s self-identification, overly intrusive. Others may be surprised to learn about buried tensions that could quickly flare up between different groups, at times with grim consequences. This was, however, the reality of Galicia. There, the many religious, ethnic, and economic differences were indisputably unique, and a strength of the place—but also a cause of painful fractures along those lines.

  Whether I’m describing the past or repeating once-prevailing opinions, I must stress that the intent of this book is not to level disparaging judgments at one group or another. Instead, I have tried to carefully observe and record the world as people saw it then, despite what might be considered “politically correct” in twenty-first-century culture.

  This is not a book written by a historian to provide scholarly interpretations. Whenever possible, however
, I have thoroughly researched the events I discuss, and have backed up the narrative by references to my sources.

  Now that my writing is complete, I realize that my grandmother, grandfather, and those before them had much more fascinating stories to tell than I could have ever imagined. I hope that this record will introduce our forebears to my children and grandchildren as much more than just black-and-white photographs in our family album. Perhaps others will also find this story about the past interesting, and realize that it is never too late to search in their own families for other fascinating and surprise-filled “Galician trails.”

  Elkins Park, Pennsylvania

  May 2012

  GALICIA, ONCE A PROVINCE OF the Habsburg Empire, was a land where many cultures came into contact with each other, creating fertile ground for unique family stories. The tale of the Lösches, the Regiecs, and the Sobolewskis is one of many such narratives. But despite Galicia’s rich past (one not free of controversies), the place has slowly been erased from the world’s collective memory. To make matters worse, this land, which once occupied parts of today’s southeast Poland and western Ukraine, is sometimes confused with a region in Spain carrying the same name.

  Galicia’s disappearance into the foggy past was gradual; it started soon after World War I, when Austrian Galicia ceased to exist as a legal entity. Over the next decades, countries that had inherited or conquered parts of it, perhaps insecure about their identities, created their own national narratives in which positive influences from the past were minimized. Today, in many ways, it is difficult to pin down the big historical picture of Galicia, as well as the more complex human dimensions of the place. Eyewitnesses are long gone, historians’ views have invariably been colored by hindsight, and diverse personal stories have been lost over the generations. But one thing is clear: Although the Galicia of the Habsburg monarchy was an imperfect place, with many issues ultimately leading to its demise, it was open enough as a society to allow the lucky and the brave to chart their personal courses free from the social strictures found in many other places. The new identities thus forged would leave lasting imprints on generations to come.

  The land that would become Galicia had a long and twisted history for several centuries before it fell under Austrian control. The eastern part witnessed struggles for dominance between East Slavic, Polish, and Hungarian kings and princes. It was also subject to repeated Mongol invasions.1 Its national identity and borders changed many times, and a series of names described this place: the Red Rus’ (Red Ruthenia), Kievan Rus’, Eastern Little Poland, and today, Ukraine. The first mention of the name “Galicia” dates back to the year 981, when it was one of many principalities under the influence of the grand prince of Kiev. This Galicia, long predating Austrian sovereignty over a small portion of its land, was inhabited by a people known as the East Slavs. Competing claims of influence and frequently shifting control over the territory were a theme repeated time after time over its long history. During those early years, the principality experienced frequent military incursions: from the west by Poles and from the south by Hungarians, with each group trying to enforce its dominance.

  Not surprisingly, given this long history, the origin of the name “Galicia” has had more than one explanation. Some believe that the Latinized version of the word salt (a well-mined mineral in the area) produced the city name “Halych,” which was eventually applied to the entire region, called Halychyna in the native language of the East Slavs. Others argue that the name came from the crow-like bird on the coat of arms of historical and later Austrian Galicia.2

  The coat of arms of Galicia, the crown land of the Austrian Empire from 1772 until its dissolution in 1918.

  In 1141, when Galicia was a dominant force among many principalities of the Red Rus’, its capital was established at Halych. Soon it grew further, through union with neighboring Volhynia, leading to the emergence of a new stronghold, the Kingdom of Galicia and Volhynia (Regnum Galiciae et Lodomeriae). Its influence stretched all the way to the Black Sea. But nothing lasts forever, especially in this part of the world, with its competing interests.

  That period of greatness was followed by the decline of historical Galicia. New invasions by Poles, Hungarians, and Lithuanians encroaching on the western part of the territory started in the 1340s and would continue for the next four decades. During these turbulent times, Galicia was briefly captured by King Casmir the Great of Poland after his armies successfully repelled Mongol invaders during battles in 1349. Then Hungarians became the rulers of the land, only to be later repelled by Poles and Lithuanians. With such quickly changing masters, not many would notice that the title “Sovereign of Galicia and Lodomeria” was in continued use by a long line of Hungarian kings, even after their expulsion from Galicia. Buried among their many honors, seemingly without real importance, this titular claim to those remote lands would return to the spotlight centuries later.

  Soon, another power emerged in this unstable neighborhood; this new player would have a lasting impact on the fate of the East Slavs and neighboring countries. In the north of the Red Rus’, the principality of Muscovy was growing in strength. In time, Muscovy adopted the name “Russia,” and with its ascent cemented the split of the East Slavs between two spheres of influence: one associated with the Kingdom of Poland and later Austria, and the other with tsarist Russia. This division would continue for centuries.

  In 1432, historical Galicia was fully incorporated into the Kingdom of Poland, becoming one of its palatinates (provinces). The next few centuries of Polish dominance introduced not only a new legal system to Galicia but also an influx of Polish magnates, who took ownership of large pieces of land. Others who moved east were members of the lesser nobility and Polish peasants, who continued to migrate there over the next centuries. Among them were the ancestors of my grandfather, the Sobolewskis, members of the rural gentry who established their home in the midst of the majority, the Ruthenians. This period also brought early arrivals of Germans, Jews, and Armenians, who were encouraged by the government to settle there. These changes were felt among the East Slavs, the original inhabitants of the area, and across the entire society.

  For the most part, the upper social strata of Galicia—which included land-owning families and gentry—were well-assimilated after a few centuries of Polish domination, adopting the language, customs, and religion of that administration. Many of them would become almost indistinguishable from Polish nobles, and would take full advantage of their privileges. The picture of the rest of the countryside was more complex; villages became a mixture of a Ruthenian population preserving its original language and customs; Polonized neighbors; and ethnic Poles, like the Sobolewski family.

  Polish rule brought an opening of trade and strong economic dependence on booming grain exports. With this prosperity came the harsh requirement of a steady supply of manual farm labor. Although implementation would vary from region to region, this increased demand for free labor caused the enserfment of the majority of peasants in sixteenth-century Galicia.3

  The province remained in Polish hands for four centuries, until the First Partition of Poland took place in August of 1772. Three dominant powers of the region—Russia, Prussia, and Austria—divided about 30 percent of Polish territory among themselves. Austria was a somewhat reluctant partner in this escapade; it was more interested in expanding its territory into the Balkans than north of the Carpathian Mountains. The agreement among the three powers stipulated that land that in medieval times had been part of Galicia would now be incorporated into Austria and ruled by the Habsburg monarchy.

  The First Partition of Poland. Rulers of Russia (Catherine the Great), Austria (Joseph II), and Prussia (Frederick the Great) are shown dividing the territory of the Polish kingdom. The king of Poland (Stanislaus Augustus Poniatowski) is having difficulty holding on to his crown. (Engraving based on a drawing by Jean-Michel Moreau in 1773.)

  At first, some wondered if this was only a temporary seizure, with the
Habsburgs perhaps ultimately wanting to exchange this remote place for a more valuable territory, in their frequent horse-trading with neighboring Russia. In spite of these speculations, the empress Maria Theresa, the archduchess of Austria and the queen of Hungary, named this possession the Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria (die Königreiche Galizien und Lodomerien), invoking medieval claims as the ruler of Hungary. As happened many times before and after, ancient titles and myths were repackaged to justify a new political order.

  Austrian Galicia now stretched from the history-steeped city of Cracow and a sliver of the Habsburgs’ Silesia in the west, to the borders of the vast Russian Empire looming in the east. In the south of Galicia, the Carpathian Mountains rose, forming a natural border with the Kingdom of Hungary, which included today’s Slovakia and parts of Romania. In the north, the land became a plateau dissected by rivers, which flowed toward the remnant of the Kingdom of Poland that had fallen under the Russian sphere of influence. Later, some would meekly argue that the name of the new province did not match the historical boundaries of the old principalities of Red Rus’, but such details did not really matter to those who were now setting the rules here. From now on, the name “Galicia” would be associated with a new crown land and its people.

  The imperial coat of arms of Austria. The Austrian Empire was the successor state to the Holy Roman Empire, which was dissolved by Francis I in 1806. For two years before that, Francis held the unique title of dual emperor of both states.

  Within a couple of years, Austria also included within its borders the Duchy of Bukovina (Bukowina in German and in the Slavic languages), a territory bordering Galicia that had been acquired from the Ottoman Empire, completing a new administrative structure in the northeast corner of the land.4 There would be only a few more changes to Galicia’s borders, mainly in the western part of the province after the Third Partition of Poland. Final boundaries were set after the Congress of Vienna in the aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars. Galicia was to be governed by the Austrian monarchy until 1918.