A Plot Against the Pope: The Extraordinary Story of Alexander Ziskind

In 1716, four prisoners were brought through the gates of Vienna under guard. They stood accused of taking part in an extraordinary international conspiracy: raising an army and navy, forging an alliance with the Ottoman Empire, overthrowing papal rule in Rome, and creating a new political order in which Jews would receive territory of their own.

Two of the prisoners were Jewish. One was Alexander Ziskind, a learned Jew from Metz whose unlikely journey had taken him from Torah study and translation work into the heart of one of 18th-century Europe’s strangest political schemes.

Nearly 200 years later, historian David Kaufmann discovered Ziskind’s diary in Vienna’s Imperial Court Library. Its pages preserved the remarkable story of a Jewish scholar who became the so-called “Treasury Minister” of a state that did not yet exist—and spent two years in prison for his involvement.

A French General With an Extraordinary Plan

At the center of the affair was Philippe de Gentil, known as the Marquis de Langléry. Born in the second half of the 17th century, Langléry served for many years in the army of Louis XIV and was promoted to lieutenant general in 1704. He was an experienced cavalry officer, but his career was marked by conflicts, changing allegiances, and a persistent search for an independent position.

During the War of the Spanish Succession, he left French service and joined the Habsburg emperor’s army, fighting in Italy under Prince Eugene of Savoy. France considered him a deserter and sentenced him in absentia. Although the imperial court made him a general, he eventually quarreled with Prince Eugene as well. He later entered the service of Augustus II, King of Poland and Elector of Saxony, and at various points offered his services to other European monarchs.

Eventually, Langléry turned from conventional military service to something far more ambitious. He envisioned overthrowing papal authority in Rome, forming an alliance with the Ottoman Sultan, and establishing an entirely new political order in Europe and the eastern Mediterranean.

To pursue that vision, he needed people who could move between very different worlds. Alexander Ziskind was one of them.

Ziskind, son of Shmuel Zenvil, was born in Metz, a French-speaking city with a well-established Jewish community. He had a traditional Jewish education, was knowledgeable in Hebrew, and was interested in Kabbalah and grammar. His command of French made him particularly valuable at a time when Jews from Germany and Poland often needed intermediaries in their dealings with Western European officers, diplomats, and merchants.

Early in his career, Ziskind worked as secretary and translator for Issachar Berend Lehmann, the influential court Jew of Augustus II. Lehmann operated an extensive financial network stretching across cities including Halberstadt, Dresden, Vienna, Hamburg, Amsterdam, and centers in Poland. Working for him brought Ziskind into contact with the Saxon court and the aristocratic circles surrounding it.

Around 1710, Ziskind met Langléry in Dresden. The French general needed translators, contacts, and potential financiers. Ziskind knew French, could handle correspondence, and understood the Jewish commercial networks connecting Germany, Holland, and Poland. Each possessed something the other needed.

Yet Ziskind remained deeply connected to Jewish learning. A Hebrew letter from 1714 described him as “mighty in the war of Torah, in Talmud and Scripture.” He studied Hebrew grammar and cantillation, and bibliographical records describe him as both a grammarian and a Kabbalist.

The “Universal Theocracy”

In April 1714, Langléry arrived in Amsterdam, then one of Europe’s great commercial centers. The city was home to wealthy Portuguese Jewish merchants with connections throughout the Mediterranean and attracted diplomats, merchants, refugees, printers, and political adventurers.

There, Langléry’s plan began to take shape. He called his proposed political system the “Universal Theocracy,” envisioning a new order that would emerge after the fall of papal authority and unite believers from different countries.

Langléry joined forces with a man calling himself the Prince de Linange, a figure who appeared under different names and titles and had a history of impersonations and questionable dealings. De Linange began designing an order of knights, recruiting supporters, and creating symbols and ceremonies intended to give the movement the appearance of a genuine political institution.

Among the surviving objects associated with the organization was reportedly a blue-and-white silk ribbon embroidered with the name of Hashem in Hebrew and an image of an upside-down angel. Titles, clothing, seals, and ceremonial objects gave physical form to what still existed largely in documents, promises, and conversations.

Isaac Mendes de Costa, the son of a wealthy member of Amsterdam’s Portuguese Jewish community, joined the organization and became Langléry’s secretary. Ziskind received the impressive title of “Treasury Minister.”

There was just one problem: This “government” had no territory, army, or tax system.

Ziskind’s role was to approach wealthy Jews, translate correspondence, and help create a financial network that could theoretically fund soldiers and ships. For Ziskind, who hoped to establish himself as an independent merchant, Langléry’s proposal also offered access to French nobles, Portuguese merchants, and diplomatic circles—and the promise of an important position if the proposed state ever became reality.

A Promise of Jewish Redemption

Langléry’s plan contained another extraordinary element: Jewish settlement in the Land of Israel.

He told Jews that major political changes in Europe, the possible decline of Rome, and growing Ottoman power could create the conditions for the Jewish people to return to a land of their own.

The timing was significant. Less than 50 years had passed since the Sabbatean movement. Expectations of redemption, stories about armies from the East, and hopes for the return of Israel continued to circulate among European Jewish communities.

Yet Langléry's movement was fundamentally different. It had not emerged from a beit midrash, and its leader was not a Jewish sage or someone claiming to be the Messiah. At its center stood a French military officer proposing a Christian-Ottoman coalition that would overthrow the Pope while seeking Jewish financial support. Messianic expectations became intertwined with politics, military strategy, and fundraising.

The plan became considerably more serious when de Linange established contact in The Hague with Othman Agha, an Ottoman diplomatic representative in the Low Countries.

On December 8, 1715, a document was signed outlining a proposed cooperation. Langléry and his associates would recruit thousands of soldiers and dozens of ships. Their force would sail into the Mediterranean, move against Rome, and bring about the Pope’s downfall. In return, the Ottoman government would allocate territory for Jewish settlement in the Land of Israel.

For the Habsburg court, this was no longer merely an eccentric political fantasy. Langléry had previously served the emperor and knew the Austrian military. Now he appeared to be offering that experience to a representative of the Ottoman Empire, one of Vienna’s great geopolitical rivals.

Ziskind later testified that copies of the agreement were distributed in coffeehouses and other locations across Europe. Rather than remaining a secret diplomatic document, it was apparently circulated to attract supporters and give the impression that the plan had Ottoman backing.

By early 1716, Langléry’s associates were approaching Jews in Holland and Germany for financial support. Ziskind was particularly useful because he could translate the military and political proposal into language that Jewish audiences understood. Yet the effort never produced the army or financial backing its organizers envisioned. Jewish communities did not rally behind Langléry in large numbers, and the organization remained far more impressive on paper than in reality.

Arrested for Conspiracy

Reports eventually reached Emperor Charles VI. In 1716, the emperor personally issued warrants for the arrest of Langléry and de Linange on suspicion of collaborating with the Ottoman Empire and plotting against European governments.

In June, Langléry and de Linange were arrested. Ziskind and Isaac Mendes de Costa were arrested with them. The four men were separated, interrogated, and transferred to imperial custody. Ziskind went to prison while his wife and two children remained at home.

Investigators wanted to know who had written and distributed the agreement, what contact had taken place with the Ottoman representative, who had been approached for money, and what the organization intended to do with the funds. They confiscated both Langléry’s diaries and Ziskind’s notebook.

The four were eventually tried for conspiring against European regimes and collaborating with the Ottomans. Langléry died in prison in 1717. De Linange was sentenced to life imprisonment, while Ziskind and Mendes de Costa were sentenced to expulsion from imperial territory.

Ziskind spent about two years imprisoned. In a plea to the emperor, he attempted to minimize his involvement. He acknowledged his business relationship with de Linange and his role in Langléry’s circle but insisted that he was not a decision-maker—only a translator. He described the suffering caused by his imprisonment while his wife and two children were left in distress.

His request was eventually granted. By early 1718, Ziskind was free.

From “Treasury Minister” Back to Torah

That same year, after imprisonment and the collapse of the extraordinary political project, Ziskind accomplished something very different: He published a Hebrew grammar book titled Derech HaKodesh (“The Way of Holiness”).

The work explained rules of Hebrew grammar, and a Yiddish text on biblical cantillation marks was appended to it. It approached the Hebrew language and its foundations through both grammar and Kabbalah.

Yet Ziskind left hints in the book about what he had endured.

At its beginning, he wrote, “I will guard my mouth with a muzzle against words of strife,” and explained that he could not develop the work as fully as he wished because “time pressed upon me.”

At the end, he described himself with striking words: “With wings cut off and humbled to the dust of the depths... Alexander Ziskind.”

It was a fitting conclusion to an extraordinary chapter of Jewish and European history. The man who had once carried the title of “Treasury Minister” in a proposed new political order emerged from prison stripped of that status and with the grand scheme in ruins.

But Ziskind returned to something far more enduring. The imagined empire disappeared before it had ever truly existed. His study of Torah and the Hebrew language continued—and his writings preserved the remarkable story more than three centuries later.