The Jew

Segel began to laugh on hearing this couplet, which she accompanied with very expressive gestures. Without finishing the song she began to sing another, the melancholy words of which clashed with the joyous air.

By a lively pantomime she acted the poor turtledove. The lost turtle-dove was, without doubt, Henri Segel, who almost burst his sides laughing. The signora after this exhibition drew near her cavalier, who presented the two gentlemen.

"Ah! Signori Polachi! I like the Poles exceedingly," cried she, turning toward Jacob. "E Viva la povera Pologna! Ah, ah, ah! Is it true that in your country it is so cold that sometimes the fowls freeze in winter, and do not thaw out until spring? Bologne--Pologne; same thing, isn't it? Have you been at Genoa? Did you go to the theatre? I dance and I sing at Carlo Felici. I am at the head of the chorus. I am promised before long the rôle of mezzo-soprano. Have you seen me play the sorceress? No? That's too bad."

"Dear Gigante," interrupted Henri, "if you tell everything at once there will be no more to say."

"I know more songs than any one else," replied she gayly. "I have a throat full. And if I can find no more to say, I can look at these gentlemen. That will drive you wild with jealousy."

"But I am not jealous."

"How! Not jealous? You ought to be if you love me. That is a part of the rôle."

"We will love each other--until Lucca."

"What matters it? Before we arrive at Lucca you will be dead in love. And you, messieurs, artists who go on foot, where are you going will you permit me to ask?"

"We go to Pisa."

"To Pisa? A dead city, a great cemetery. The Arno is like a dirty old ditch. You had better come with us to Lucca. There I will give you all three a fig and adieu."

Then she commenced to sing again a merry song.

Jacob listened, and a feeling of weakness came over him; his brow was clouded, and, without replying, he left this joyous company, giving a headache as an excuse, and leaving Ivas to listen to Gigante. He was overcome with rage and emotion.

The husband of the poor forsaken Mathilde giving himself up to such distractions! It was easy to guess from this scene what her life was. Jacob suffered for her, and experienced a sensation of chagrin that he had not remained in Genoa where he could have been alone with her.

But soon he blushed at the thought that he would have dared to profit by the absence of Henri. "All is for the best," thought he. "I ought not to trouble her repose by my presence, for that would open old wounds in her heart, as in mine. Destiny has separated us. Great duties are before me. Her sadness increases. We have no right to glide into a paradise the entrance to which is forbidden. Fate urges me with an implacable lash. Let us go!"

Ivas returned to his lodgings late that night, after copious libations and a thousand jokes with the coquette, Gigante, who could not conceive any one indifferent to her, and had tried to interest them both at the same time. Signer Enrico, during his little affair, had given himself the name of Don Fernando, so as to pass for a Spaniard. He was very proud of the conquest, and acted as foolishly as his companion.

Ivas carolled, as he entered, a verse of a song he had learned from Gigante. He was troubled and ashamed when he saw Jacob reading the Bible. It was his custom when he was sad to read the Prophets, the Psalms, and the Book of Job.

Ivas went to bed, but Jacob continued reading until at last the feeble light of the lamp forced him to cease. He arose and walked up and down the room, lost in deep and painful thoughts.

Ivas could not sleep. Sympathy with his sorrowing friend and a little shame on his own part kept him awake.

"Have you been in Dresden?" asked Jacob.

"Yes," replied he, without understanding the reason of this question.

"You have then seen a poem of Israel's past, a sorrowful poem of which the foolish debauchery of to-day awakened in me a remembrance. I speak of the 'Jewish Cemetery,' by Ruysdaël."

"I have seen that picture," replied Ivas. "It terrified me, but I could not comprehend it. It is an enigma that fills one with sadness."

"One can remain hours before the canvas," said the Jew, "contemplating it with an impression of wonder. It is so sad, and, like the story of Atrides, stamped with the seal of an inexorable fate. But I love better the tears that one sheds at the sight of this work of a great artist, than the laughter which came out of the mouth of the debauched Henri, representative, as he is, of a generation stupefied by riches, petrified by gold. Marvellous creation, this piece of canvas where nothing appears at first but sombre clouds and black trees torn by the tempest! Examine it more closely: a lowering sky, some rocks, a group of mysterious trees, a brook which forces its way over the uneven ground. The picture reproduces only common things, but with an inconceivable force of expression. This wonderful artist, Ruysdaël, this painter of rocks, ruins of convents and chateaux, of forests and lakes, has never better proved his genius than in his 'Cemetery,' where he rises to the height of an epic poem. No other painter has such eloquence, such beauty, such majesty; not even the brilliant Claude Lorraine, who plays so skilfully with light and shade; nor Salvator Rosa, with his striking caverns and brigands. The 'Jewish Cemetery' is like a page out of the history of a people who do not find repose even in the tomb. Two figures only are faintly delineated; nothing else but the oaks, and the torrent which carries away on its bosom the bones torn from the earth.

"Fate pursues the Jew even in his last repose. Wishing to give an idea of the misfortunes of these people, the artist could not have done better than by showing us this graveyard, where, praying in a dark corner, two men wait until the fury of the tempest shall cease and the sun reappear. A single white flower springing from the soil gives hope of the return of springtime.

"At the end of the seventeenth century, when this masterpiece was produced, the sun for us had long rested behind the clouds, and the poor flower, emblem of brighter days, had scarcely budded.

"The picture is a history of the Israelites in Europe in the past. To-day our history is the bourse, and it were better to weep over the tombs than over our waning dignity."

The next day Ivas awoke early in order to prepare for their journey, but did not find his friend. The woman of the house told him that he had gone toward the sea at daybreak with a book in his hand. The morning was superb. Over the tranquil sea glided the fishing-boats with drooping sails. The sun gilded the waves, whose brilliant azure transported the imagination to the land of fairies. Seated on a rock not far from the inn, Jacob, forgetting his book, pensively contemplated the beautiful scene.

Ivas felt some hesitation about interrupting a revery which drew him from the world, but the heat was already increasing, and it was necessary to set out before the morning was further advanced. After an instant of thought he wished his friend "Good-morning!" Jacob raised his head.

"What need is there," said he, "of such haste? Why not remain, at least, a day on this beautiful shore? We can rest here, and go on with fresh energy."

"As you will. Our journey will be only one day longer. You ought, like Antæus, to draw new strength from our common mother, Earth and Nature. I will not conceal from you, however, the impatience that grows upon me to return to that land whose sorrows I prefer to the delights of any other. There no one awaits me; there is nothing for me but shadow. Nevertheless, my soul is on fire when I think of my native land."

"The sentiment is not strange to me. I, also, love your fatherland."

"Why, then, do not your brothers think as you?"

"A difficult question. Think how sad was the situation of the Jews there in the last century, and even recently. Like lepers, we were distinguished by our costume, we were banished to the interior of the country, and all the rights of man were denied us. All Christians were at liberty to molest us without punishment; injuries and outrages were showered on us. Such conditions could not develop in the Jews, love of a country or its institutions. It even restrained in our hearts love of humanity in general,--that humanity which would not receive us, but set us aside as if under a ban."

"I am no admirer of the Middle Ages," said Ivas. "But tell me, where have the Jews had an easier existence relatively than in Poland? Nowhere; and the proof of it is that they are more numerous there than elsewhere. They come from distant lands to settle among us. Persecution has sometimes attacked them, but, in general, the law has protected them. Polish fanaticism has been intermittent, and not continual as in other parts of Christendom."

"I admit all that. But whence comes the abatement of persecution? It is because we are to-day much less Jews, and you less Christians. Extreme religious ardour produced horrible results; who knows if the complete absence of belief will not be more pernicious still for humanity. My desire is to preserve the people of Israel from the malady of the age. Yesterday Henri showed us where freedom from all duty leads. This man deserts his sick wife, and runs over the country with a silly woman. A weakness, you will say, perhaps. No; for in that case he would have been ashamed of his conduct, and he did not even blush when, by chance, we met him with his Gigante. As he sees things, it is all simple and perfectly natural. A being capable of acting thus and affecting such cynicism is deprived of all moral sense."

After a moment he continued:--

"I have travelled over the Old World. I have visited Palestine and the Orient; I have slept in the tents of the Bedouins. I have visited the Musselmans in the cities. Irreligion is creeping in even among the pilgrims to Mecca. Many make the pilgrimage more from ostentation than from piety. Among Christians there are fewer believers than traders in beliefs. In France, Catholicism is the tenet of a lame political party, but is not carried out in their actions. Its defenders are the condottieri; they combat for a faith which they do not carry in the depths of the heart. They confess, perhaps, for the sake of example, but surely they do not pray. In revenge, they fling the worst insults at their adversaries, the advocates of free thought, all in the name of religion. Social order is in ruins. It will be replaced by something better, I hope; but while waiting, the old structures will waver, the columns will be overthrown, the altars will fall. Once the past is destroyed, we will need a Messiah, a Saviour!"

"You are pitiless," cried Ivas. "Ruins everywhere, it is true; I, also, believe there will be a new order of things. But it will come by progress and not after a cataclysm by a Saviour that you already see, and that you announce."

"Let us change the subject," said Jacob. "The future is God's secret. Our destiny, unfortunate mortals, is to live in an era of transition."

"To return to our journey. Shall we rest here or push on farther?"

"Remain here. I am fatigued to-day. I need to draw new strength from reading, talking, and thinking. I will listen to the dashing of the surf upon these rocks; the ocean, perhaps, will tell me something."

"You are ill. I am sorry; far from gaining, your malady increases; it is easy to guess the cause. You regret not having remained in Genoa, where languishes your beloved."

"That is to judge me very base. I could not have offered her my society. My sadness comes from the conviction that her husband is unworthy of her. I know how she must suffer, and what her existence is, chained to such an animal."

"Alas, there is no remedy!"

"Then it is better not to speak of it."

Jacob closed his book, and returned to the inn with his companion.

The day was passed in various discussions. They saw no more of Henri and his danseuse. The couple had left for Spezia, a new reason for Jacob to rest on his route so as not to encounter them.

In the evening they went again to sit by the sea.

"I am not yet," said Ivas, "completely satisfied with your history; have you no more to tell me? You have given me only the detached leaflets."

"Why? Because the book is not worth the trouble of being read entire. That would take too much time. There are many details that would fatigue you. Be content, then, with the principal facts and the reflections which they suggest; but I will go on, as you desire it.

"I worked in the counting-house during the greater part of the day. I found it necessary afterward to cultivate my relations with society, to extend my study of the world and of character. I went out almost every evening, and often Mathilde and her father accompanied me. A part of every night was consecrated to the study of the Bible and the Talmud. From the first days of my existence in Warsaw, one man attracted my regard and inspired my sympathy. This was my guardian's brother, Simon Borah.

"The brothers had no love for each other. Simon was not a practical man; he had lost a part of his fortune, and his business did not prosper. For the reason that he was obliged to aid his brother occasionally, my guardian disliked him still more. In a word, these two men had not one single point of resemblance.

"Simon, though incredulous like his brother, was sentimental, whimsical, full of heart. He formed attachments easily. Frivolous, and even at times childish, he redeemed himself in the eyes of the world by a sarcastic wit and caustic argument; his satire attacked every one, even his brother.

"Simon had been married twice. Both of his wives were dead. He was still gallant toward the fair sex, and he was in great demand in the salons, for it was difficult to find a more charming man. He was feared a little also on account of his caustic tongue. Without religion himself, he sought those who were believers. He spared no one, but at heart acquitted all men, a tear in his eye and a smile on his lips. He let himself be ridiculed by men who were far from being his equals, and thereby carried his point; he resembled in these moments some monstrous animal which could not contain itself. Full of contradictions, he was logical with himself. Christian with the Jews, and Jew with the Christians, it pleased him to appear paradoxical. Impressionable in a high degree, he interested himself deeply to-day in things to which he was completely indifferent to-morrow. He had one great quality, that of never lying. When he could not answer frankly he covered his words with adroit sarcasm, or often was silent.

"My guardian, who observed all the proprieties minutely, wrangled continually with this original who revolted against all restraint.

"Small of stature, with mean features and yellow skin, with a quick step, he was very ugly, but of an expressive and intelligent ugliness; such is the physical portrait of Simon Borah.

"He took a great fancy to me in spite of my religious sentiments, which I did not try to conceal. I knew he watched me closely, and I wished to deserve his good opinion. Each day his friendship increased. His penetrating glances soon divined my love for Mathilde without my ever having spoken.

"One day when we were alone he suddenly turned to me and said he wished to ask me a question.

"'What is it, Father Simon?' said I.

"'You are sorrowful?' asked he.

"'No, I assure you.'

"'I can read love in your eyes. Who is the object? Is it the English governess, Miss Burnet? The thing is not improbable; they say that withered flowers exhale the sweetest perfumes. Still there is another charming person in the house.'

"He saw that the blood rushed to my face, and continued:--

"'Between ourselves, I know your secret. Let me recall to you an official phrase of our very august sovereign, Alexander II., in his interview with the Poles: "No brooding over the past!" Your guardian is a practical man and has high aims.'

"'It is you who dream, Father Simon.'

"'Don't try to deceive me! You are in love, my boy.'

"'Well, if I am, that will be--but that is not so'--

"'Very fine. I know what you wish to say. Believe me, the best thing for you is to get over it as soon as possible. Do not play with fire, for

"'Never has such an idea come into my head.'

"'I should say the same if I were you. You will be wise to renounce all hopes.'

"Our conversation ceased there. He left some days after for the baths, and when he returned he found Mathilde betrothed. When he saw me he looked at me out of the corners of his eyes, and read probably on my face the resignation and the suffering so well concealed, for he shook my hand without saying a word.

"Two days after he met me on the street, and whispered in my ear: 'The law of nature is that the most beautiful fruits shall be eaten by the worms.' Then he went away before I could reply. He loved Mathilde very much, and foresaw her fate, but he well knew that it was useless to speak to a brother who did not allow sentiment to interfere with calculation.

"I devoted myself to business assiduously, hoping to forget my sorrow thereby. In the mean while, an unexpected change came to me. I could at last obtain the independence so long desired.

"As I owed all to my guardian's bounty, I had been obliged to conform my life to his ideas, and to obey his orders. Study was full of attraction to me, but I had no time to devote to it except in the evenings. My cousin intended to send me soon to some foreign post, where I would be employed as a correspondent in the office for one of his partners. To travel, to observe, would instruct me, and I was not averse to going; but I would have preferred to travel at liberty. Therefore you can well imagine that it seemed like a special grace from heaven to be delivered like a miracle from my chains, and to become master of myself and of my actions. It was near the time of Mathilde's marriage, when word came from my guardian to come immediately to his office.

"I feared some misfortune, when I saw him walking up and down the room with a cloudy face.

"'Do you know what has happened?' said he.

"'I have heard nothing new.'

"'Then I will be the first one to congratulate you. Your distant relation, Moses Hermann, of Berlin, who has no children, as you know, has died and left you all his fortune. Ought I to rejoice? No, I regret it, for I lose in you a man that I wished to form on my own ideas.'

"I remained stupefied.

"'What do you think of it?' asked he.

"'I can hardly reply. For a long time I have desired to travel, and I hope to set out soon.'

"'You are at liberty to do so. I am happy to have given you an education which renders you worthy of this unexpected fortune. It is wonderful! Moses saw you only once or twice.'

"He shrugged his shoulders, and I hastened to my room to think over my good fortune and to collect my thoughts. The news had already travelled abroad, and persons in the city who had never noticed me before received me now with cordiality, and proffered me the warmest friendship.

"Mann kissed me publicly on both cheeks and predicted a splendid future for me. He even invited me to breakfast, a thing he had never done before. Others tried to persuade me that they had loved me from the depths of their hearts from time immemorial. From a nobody I became a marked man and a welcome guest.

"The will of Moses had made a great change in my life. This Moses Hermann had been in Warsaw some months before. A near relative of my mother's, he was unknown to me, and I then saw him for the first time. My guardian, knowing that he was a widower and without direct heirs, had some thoughts of a marriage between him and Mathilde, but this union was distasteful to an old man of seventy years. During his stay in Warsaw I saw him every day. Under his reserve, I thought I had discovered in him an Israelite of the old school. Born and brought up in Germany, he was a type almost unknown among us, of an educated and polished man who was not at all ashamed of his Hebrew origin. In many respects he was a German. It is well known what an important rôle the Jews play in Germany, in literature, music, the sciences, and politics. He belonged to this group, grave, serious, a thinker, where thought is not stifled by practical life. He loved poetry; he even devoted some leisure moments to the muse himself, but did not write in the style of Henri Heine, whose genius he nevertheless admired. He informed me of the actual situation of our co-religionists, and of their waning faith. My guardian had recommended me to him ironically as an ardent Talmudist, which was an exaggeration. The visitor was curious to examine me on this subject. I answered him with entire frankness, and unfolded to him my convictions and my programme for the future. Irritated by the sneers of my guardian, I explained to him all my thoughts on Judaism, perhaps with some exaltation. Moses listened to me attentively, though he said nothing, and we did not resume the subject, for he left suddenly the next day.

"Great was my astonishment at this bequest. In the will there was not a single obligatory clause. The wording was short and concise. The motive which was inexplicable to others was clear to me. It was a sacrifice made to the ideas which he approved and shared.

"My guardian, who had expected this fortune himself, spoke of the deceased with bitterness and accused him of ingratitude.

"On this memorable day I met Father Simon.

"'It is too bad,' cried he, 'that the honest Moses did not die some months sooner. To-day it is the mustard after dinner, is it not? Nothing comes in time. However, perhaps it is for the best. I congratulate you, and I hope you will not be intoxicated by your sudden fortune.'

"Really the surprise did intoxicate me somewhat, in spite of myself. Men appeared to me from a new point of view; their baseness disgusted me, since now that I was rich they treated me so differently from when in poverty. It was impossible for me to accept all their invitations or to escape their attentions; I repelled them, however, with great interior contempt.

"As my guardian had told me that I was free to dispose of myself, I resolved to go abroad. Since then I have travelled, and I return home with the firm determination of serving my brothers and my countrymen."

Ivas sighed.

"You are happy," said he; "free, rich, and at liberty to do as you please. Your education, your character, your force of mind, will enable you to accomplish great things."

"Listen," cried Jacob, taking his arm, "we will labor together to serve our countrymen. I am prepared for it."

A light shone in Ivas' eyes, but he repressed the transports of his soul.

"I thank you," replied he at last, with a sad smile on his lips, "but it will first be necessary to return to Poland. Our country is on the eve of important events. Impatience devours me."

"Me, also," said Jacob. "Yet I do not share your presentiments. There are some events that I would rather avoid than hasten. We will speak of this later."

The next day they continued their journey. Restlessness incited them. At Spezia they took the diligence and gained a railway station. They travelled quickly through Italy and Austria, and soon arrived at the frontier of what is called the Russian Empire.

It is to-day the only European State, if one can call it thus, where there exists no security for any one. If one goes on foot, one is exposed at the caprice of an administration, on the least suspicion, or from a false accusation, if not to death, to imprisonment of long duration, spoliation, or torture. It is better to fall into the hands of Calabria than into those of the functionaries of the Russian government. A country where, with the exception of the rights of the strongest, there are no rights; where reigns a band of beings, a little polished but not civilized; where the insatiable tools of brute force do not make any account of man, of his dignity, of his age, of his merits, of his sufferings; is it not rather an immense and frightful dungeon? The unfortunates who have escaped from its prison doors become the sport of the towns and villages. Before entering, a man was a man. He is now no more than the subject, the slave, not of a single autocrat, but of some hundreds of ferocious despots, each individual a greedy representation of the unlimited power of the Czar. On its Russian barriers one can read the inscription of Dante: "Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch'entrate." "Who enters here leaves hope behind."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE SABBATH.

A small hamlet near Warsaw. A spacious, empty market-place, on one side of which is a modest church and long cemetery wall; on the other a row of old and new houses of wood and brick, inhabited chiefly by Israelites. One of these, more conspicuous, rises above the others with a certain arrogance. On the ground floor, a grocery. On the front two lions, recalling by their sculpture Assyrian art. In their paws a vase of flowers and the figures 1860, no doubt the date of the restoration of the house. An eating-house with an open door is at the side.

Almost all the business of the village centred about this dwelling, a sufficient proof that the proprietor was an important person. It was a Friday evening; on the upper floors preparations were being made to celebrate the day consecrated to God in the Old Testament.

Provisions of all kinds covered the kitchen table. Women kept watch over a roast goose, a baked fish, while pastry and other dishes were cooking in the blazing oven. The chambers were being set in order, brooms flourished everywhere, and the candlesticks were filled with candles.

Already the venerable Jankiel Meves had returned from the bath. He hastened to put on his best garments, although the sun was far from setting; he had eaten little during the day, so as to do more honour to the blessed supper. While waiting, he reviewed in his memory all the events of the past week, seeking any violation of the sacred laws so as to efface them by sincere repentance.

Jankiel was an Israelite of the old school. It would have been very easy for him to have gained a more elevated position, owing to his wealth, his intelligence, and his connections; but he refused to put off his costume and to abandon his religious observances. The noise of women's jests came to his ears from the kitchen below. His wife, Rachel, fat, mature, and rosy, kneaded three little white loaves, some of which she was careful to reserve apart for the Khallah. The good woman, after having washed her hands, had carefully taken a portion of the dough, whispering the prayer used on such occasions: "Praised be Jehovah our God, King of the world! It is from thee that we have received our sacred laws, and it is thou who hast ordered us to keep the Khallah!"

As there was only one family and one baking, Rachel threw only one Khallah into the fire. In another part of the kitchen was in preparation a stuffed pike, a favourite dish of the Israelites, recommended by tradition for the Sabbath day. At the same time roasts and other dishes were cooking. On this day of rejoicing economy is not thought of.

The master of the house inspected himself the freshly washed dishes, the shining knife, and the clean stewpans.

The hour arrived for the preparatory prayers of the celebration, with the Ten Commandments in Hebrew and in Chaldaic, a chapter of the Prophets applicable to the day of the year, and the 93d Psalm.

What a profound impression can be produced on an oppressed people by this last song of the Psalmist, which commands patience, and promises God's vengeance against oppressors.

Jankiel recited the prescribed prayers, and, as he had yet time, he opened the Talmud and fell on a passage of the Book Berakhat. The reading plunged him in meditation. His thoughts went back to the days of intense persecution; he wept, and thanked God that, in spite of captivity, dispersions, tortures, and oppression, He had miraculously preserved His people until the present day. Whence came this miracle, from the observance of the law.

The time of prayers over, custom wills that the master of the house shall throw a last glance on the festive preparations; and, although he had entire confidence in Rachel, the Jew visited the kitchen, touched the dishes, and blessed in thought the nourishment about to be served. Then he returned to his chamber and read the Song of Solomon.

The sun disappeared, and the candles were lighted. The solemn hour of the coming of the Sabbath approached.

The table was carefully set, and Rachel appeared in a toilette of velvet ornamented with pearls. Her daughters were dressed less elegantly, but with much taste, and the servants even were in their best.

The time came to go to the synagogue, and Jankiel descended the stairs, Rachel following him with an enormous volume under her arm. Her daughters accompanied her, and behind came the servants. That no one from this house must miss service was the rule of this Israelite.

The crowd filled the court in front of the temple; rich and poor, devout followers of Mosaism, were mixed together, and the chorister intoned the prayer Achre.

The service was long. Jankiel's face wore an expression of sad preoccupation, and when he returned home he had, in spite of this day of rejoicing, a clouded brow and a discontented air. At times he looked at Lia, his younger daughter, who awaited with fear and trembling her mother's commands.

She was a charming girl, whose features expressed innocence and sensibility of heart. Her eyes sparkled with the fires of youth, though they were now clouded by recent tears, and she looked at her father as if frightened.

Rachel recited with her elder daughter the prescribed prayers while lighting the candles. Other prayers followed, some whispered, some uttered in a loud voice. The sacred songs echoed through the brilliantly lighted house, and the women read Hebrew books.

Jankiel absented himself to return to the synagogue, and Rachel assisted her daughters to finish the preparations for the feast. She placed on the table, covered with a white cloth, two white loaves made by herself wrapped in a snowy napkin, in remembrance of the manna of the desert, the napkin representing the dew.

Returned home, Jankiel pronounced several invocations, and his two daughters besought his blessing. He extended his hands to the elder, but when the time came for Lia he hesitated a moment, and his voice trembled faintly in pronouncing the benediction for the second time.

"May God make Rachel and Lia like Sara and like Rebecca!"

The mother in her turn blessed her children, embraced them, and shed some tears, which she tried to wipe off, unobserved, on a corner of her embroidered apron.

Before going to table a new prayer was addressed to the angels by Jankiel, then a second repetition of the Song of Solomon, and reading from the Talmud a verse chosen at random. Then followed the consecration of the wine and the blessing of broken bread, the pieces of which were distributed to the guests. It was thus they commenced the repast; but, in spite of the command of Moses to be merry during the Sabbath, the father seemed to be deeply afflicted. His glance sought Lia, and the young girl was so confused that she would have liked to conceal herself under the table.

Carried out according to tradition, the feast had a solemn character. The supper was half prayer, half offering, and bore no resemblance to the fashionable feasts from which God is banished and to which one does not dream of inviting the angels. Jankiel, a scrupulous observer of the law, pronounced a last prayer at the end of the repast. After that they separated. Rachel went to her bedroom, where Jankiel soon joined her.

"I am alarmed," said she to her husband; "you appear ill. You are not in your usual spirits. You have not the tranquillity of the Sabbath. What is the matter with you?"

"Oh, it will pass away! Do not speak of it now. It would sadden this blessed and holy day."

His wife said no more.

It is thus that the Sabbath is kept in houses where the old customs are strictly observed. In most Jewish families the ritual is abridged, and this tends to destroy the ancient and patriarchal character of this consecrated day.

Opposite Jankiel's dwelling was a wooden house; it was comfortable and convenient, and belonged to David Seeback. It was toward the windows of this house that Lia, alone in her chamber, turned her beautiful eyes. She sighed deeply, and seemed lost in thought.

David Seeback, father and son, had for many years followed the profession of money-lenders, a business which was called usury until the moment when political economy decided that to profit by the need of another is legitimate; and that interest, mutually agreed, no matter how high, is a permissible thing. These financiers were neither Jews nor Christians. They kept in appearance the Jewish laws and customs, but they attached to them no real importance. David, the father, gave himself out as a believing Jew to his co-religionists, but ridiculed all their observances when he found himself with the Khutars and the Goïmes.

He ate anywhere that he happened to be, and travelled on the days set aside for prayer and repose. In a word, he had shaken off tradition and found nothing to take its place.

David the younger had received his education in Warsaw and abroad; he bore no trace whatever of his origin. Well educated, but very corrupt at heart, he found in his insatiable cupidity many ways of gaining money. The father was proud of his only scion, and predicted for him a high destiny; and this time the proverb "like father like son" was right.

While the solemn ceremony of the Sabbath was being kept in the house of Jankiel, the two Davids lighted their candles and ate their supper, but forgot the prayers and the offerings of bread and wine. They were alone.

Long time a widower, Seeback had no other child but David. A weak character, he jested under all circumstances, and loved to make a trial of wit with his son. David the younger sometimes lent himself to this paternal whim, but, in general, he assumed a certain gravity, so as to impose upon people by an affected wisdom. Hypocrisy was developed in the family from one generation to another.

With all his indifference to religion, David the elder felt, on the days consecrated by custom, a certain remorse for having abandoned the pious customs; he was uneasy and unhappy. Sometimes he glided into an obscure corner, and murmured a portion of a prayer that he considered ridiculous to repeat aloud. He believed that by these clandestine practices he might repel some imminent danger. He had lost all respect for Jehovah, but he feared him still. Several times on this evening he arose from the table, and, at the risk of incurring his son's sneers, muttered in his sleeve some prayer. He had even simulated the blessing of the wine when he presented it to his heir, who, with a certain tact, feigned not to notice all his grimaces. The younger David had a distinguished manner, but his features expressed pride and foppery.

The father increased these faults by praises, and his admiration almost reached idolatry. He asked nothing in return but filial gratitude. The young man made very little account of his father, and reproached him continually for infractions of the laws of good society and for his ignorance. The old man at first essayed to justify himself, but always finished by bowing to the superior wisdom of David, junior. This insolent coxcomb was seated at table in a dressing-gown, with a cigar in his mouth. He wore gold spectacles, though they really hindered him from seeing. Fish was served, the only vestige of traditional customs, then a roast and tea. The old man cut the bread, muttering some unintelligible words; but he perceived a look of disdain from his son, and did not finish the prayer. There was a long silence, which the father broke by asking the young man, who had stretched himself out in a chair:

"What do you dream of? Of the Sabbath?"

"All that I know of the Sabbath is," replied David the younger, "that formerly they celebrated it. Today it is foolish, a foolish custom, and it is old Jankiel alone who observes the ridiculous ceremonies. Unfortunately, ridicule makes no impression on him."

"Would you, then, mock him?"

"Why not? This wretched, vulgar Jew feels for us only malevolence and repulsion."

"What matters it? He cannot injure us. His ill-will cannot make us lose one thing or another."

"That is true. And I would not have even noticed his aversion had he not such a pretty daughter."

"How now! What are you thinking of? Do not forget that you are already married, although you do not live with your wife. Do not plunge yourself in a love affair. There are plenty of girls who will suit you better than that lass. Even if you wish to be divorced, you must not dream of her. We can easily find for you the daughter of some Polish proprietor. If you take a second wife, you must look as high as possible, and for one not a Jewess. Am I not sufficiently rich to buy a property grand enough to make all the neighbouring aristocracy jealous?"

"I do not want land. Why invest in property that does not return four per cent., when we can now get twenty or thirty?"

"You are right, and you are wrong. Our capital brings in, it is true, the interest you name, but at the same time we run the risk of losing it. When one has acquired so immense a fortune as ours, it does not do to expose all of it in the same speculations. Land cannot run away. The banks give four and a half per cent.; but even the banks can fail. One cannot sleep easy with much money in the banks. The public funds? They are depressed. I continually fear a declaration of war. Land is really the safest investment."

"Not as safe as you think. The land can be taken from us."

"By whom?"

"We are not in France, or England, where property is sacred. Our government offers no security. No one is secure here."

"A very profound political thought, and one worthy of being remembered. I render homage to your perspicacity; but suppose even that half of the land was confiscated, the other half would increase in value. That is indisputable, while paper may be worth nothing to-morrow. Let us return to your future marriage. The first was unworthy of you; it must be dissolved. But why the devil do you dream of Lia? She did well for herself to fall in your way. She is a Jewess, and, though she is not bad looking, beauty is not everything. What a figure she would make in your salon, this country maiden who knows not how either to stand or to sit. Your second wife must be a woman who has received a refined education. She must be of noble birth, that she may shine at court. And could Lia do that? A simple country girl!"

"Nevertheless," objected David, "it is not for my salon that I wish to marry. I myself prefer a simple and innocent girl to all the fashionable ladies of Warsaw, who, having had eleven adorers, marry the twelfth."

"You talk foolishly. To think thus is the part of a common Jew, who only dreams of multiplying and filling the earth according to the command of the Bible. Your wife ought to push your fortunes. Through your education and your fortune you cannot fail to become a celebrated man. And what would you do then with Lia? Take her to a ball, or to the theatre? Truly, she would do you honour! If some great person noticed her, she would be confused and embarrassed, sucking her apron to hide her face. There are hundreds of Jewesses like that. You must take an educated wife, German or French. With your brains, and my money, you can aspire to anything. It would not be astounding for you to become minister, and then"--

He threw out his arm, and extinguished a candle. He arose to light it, but, suddenly remembering that this was the Sabbath day, a superstitious fear came over his spirit. He remained standing, not knowing what to do.

Seeing his father's hesitation, his son left his chair, and was bold enough to relight the candle. After this act of courage he reseated himself, and puffed his cigar with a malicious air.

His father loved to smoke, but, as he dared not infringe the law, he always deprived himself of that pleasure on the Sabbath, under pretext of some trifling indisposition. When the candle was relighted, an infraction of the Jewish law, he at first regarded it with fear, but soon regained his normal state, and continued to explain his theories on marriage.

"Lia cannot hope for a great fortune," said he. "Estimating Jankiel's wealth at its highest,--house, manufactory, and shop,--he scarcely possesses a hundred, or a hundred and twenty thousand roubles. What is that? A mere trifle to us!"

"And we," asked the young man, to tease his father, "have we not enough money?"

"How can such a word come out of your mouth? Has one ever enough? With money one does as he wills; without it, with all the intelligence in the world, one is only a fool. I will try to find you a rich wife. Think no more of Lia."

"What if I love her?"

"Love her? Your love will only be like a fire of straw; the faster it burns, the sooner it will die out. A sensible man does not marry for love and for the bright eyes of a young girl."

David, junior, burst out laughing, and his father was exceedingly proud of this mark of approbation from one who was usually so disdainful.

Satisfied with themselves, they were about to retire to their rooms, when they heard loud knocks on the outer door.

The thing was so extraordinary at this hour of the night, that the old man experienced a sensation of anxiety and foreboding, which changed to one of surprise when he saw at the door a man of fine appearance and of commanding stature, whom he did not recognize at first sight.

"Messieurs," said the stranger, "I hope you will pardon this intrusion on a holy day, and at so late an hour."

"Why, this is Monsieur Jacob!" cried the old man.

"Our holy law," replied the new-comer, "forbids all business transactions on the day consecrated to God, but the law permits us, on such occasions, to succour even a beast in danger of death; how much more, then, a man."

"Dear Monsieur Jacob, we do not belong to that superstitious class who dare not touch the fire or sew on a button during the Sabbath. Be seated. What can we do for you? But pardon me; my son David, Monsieur Jacob, who is a distant relation, and of whom you have often heard me speak," added he, presenting his son to the visitor.

David, junior, only knew that Jacob had been the sole legatee of a rich banker of Berlin, but that was sufficient to cause him to receive him with distinction. They invited him a second time to be seated. Jacob excused himself with a certain impatience.

"Perhaps you have not yet supped?" asked the master of the house.

"I reached your town somewhat late, and hastened to fulfil my religious duties. I have been to the synagogue, then I ate a little at the inn."

"Ah, you go to the temple!" and turning toward his son, the old man said:--

"What a good example! Monsieur Jacob, well brought up and intelligent, observes the law!"

"Yes," said Jacob, "a Jew I shall always remain. No doubt in captivity and exile we have added many ceremonies to the Mosaic law. These are both sweet and bitter souvenirs. It is good not to let them be extinguished."

The elder David visibly rejoiced at these words; his son smiled and bit his lips.

"Every one ought to follow the dictates of his own conscience," said he.

"But tell us to what good fortune do we owe your visit?" asked the father.

"I come to you on account of our relationship, to demand a service. I met in Italy a young Polish exile who suffers so much with homesickness that I brought him here with me. He was poor and ill. My conscience urged me to aid him. He fled from Poland several years ago, fearing to be implicated in a political plot."

"Political affairs; bad business," grumbled the old man shaking his head, while his son said nothing.

"He has succeeded in obtaining a passport under an assumed name," continued Jacob, "and he was determined to brave the danger, and accompanied me to Poland. At the frontier he would not accept my offer to go on with him. For fear of compromising me if he was arrested, he preceded me so as to enter his native land alone. Honest youth! Happily he passed the frontier, as I learned on arriving two days later. Scarcely had I passed the custom-house when I heard that the police had discovered that he was travelling under an assumed name. I hastened to rejoin him at the station where he was detained, and secured his release. I come to ask you to shelter him in your house, which is not suspected by the police, until I can obtain amnesty for him or find some other means to rid him of his pursuers. Otherwise the unfortunate boy will be sent to Siberia, and perish like many others of his oppressed countrymen."

The silence with which the two Davids answered his request showed that they were not inclined to harbour the young Pole. The appeal to their sentiment of humanity fell on deaf ears. It was the elder who, with a frown, finally spoke.

"This is a most delicate business," said he, "and very dangerous. Why not be frank with a kinsman? This is not a Jewish affair. What have we to do with the Poles, or Polish complications? They have nothing in common with us. The government does not persecute us, or, at least, it could persecute us much more. We are believed to be loyal and devoted. Why, then, should we expose ourselves and alienate this favourable disposition, by aiding, our former oppressors, the Poles? Why should the Jews meddle with politics? It is not our business."

"You and I differ in regard to that," replied Jacob. "If we wish to enjoy the same rights as other inhabitants of this country, we ought to commence to take an interest in politics and in the welfare of the land. It is only thus that we can expect to live on a footing of perfect equality. The government has decided to crush out the intelligent and educated Poles. It certainly belongs to us who eat their bread to make common cause with them against their oppressors, who are only conquering intruders. Let us remember our own captivity."

"Did you not say that the Jews ought to observe the law above all things? You contradict yourself, for the law commands us to protect ourselves, and it is contrary to our interests to take part with the Poles."

"How do you know that? Can you read the future? The iniquities committed against this nation cannot always remain without vengeance. God has permitted the chastisement, but the measure is full. The sins are washed away by tears and by blood! The day of justice draws near! In the day of terrible retribution it will be better to be with those who have been purified by divine punishment, and not with those who have incurred the wrath of God."

"In my turn let me ask, how do you know all this?" said the elder David. "Is it your prophetic spirit that tells you? Have you remembered the sins of these Philistines, the extortions and the miseries with which they afflicted us? Do you know that there still remains much to expiate?"

"It is not just to make a single nation responsible for the crimes of all Christians. The Jews have been persecuted everywhere, and in many lands much worse than here."

"What good is all this discussion?" cried the younger David, rising from his chair. "It is nothing to us who obtains the upper hand. I do not care to decide who are the better, the Russians or the Poles. At least I know how to take a Russian. He is always easily bought; at first he is brutal and insulting, then he holds out his hand, and you have only to oil it with a few pieces of silver, and he becomes sweet and obliging; but your Poles do not inspire me with so much confidence."

Jacob would listen no longer; he arose, and cried indignantly:--

"Then, as such are your convictions I will not insist. I see, with sorrow, that you, as well as others, choose a selfish policy, and always take sides with the strong and not with the right."

"The right? The ancient rulers of the country have not respected us, have they?"

"If I admit that, is it any reason why we should imitate them to-day? The elect people ought to be more virtuous than the people they live with, and set them an example."

The younger David began to whistle, and then said:--

"Who speaks now of virtue and right? In the world of to-day self-interest is the sole right. Virtue! Right! Grand words, in which one no longer believes."--

The old man bowed before his son's superior wisdom, and threw a glance full of pride at Jacob, which seemed to say:--

"How can you reply to that, eh?"

The friend of Ivas calmly surveyed the young man, and replied in a grave voice, dwelling on each word:--

"Unfortunately, you appreciate our epoch at its true value. However, that which now is cannot always be. Truth still exists. Our law, thousands of years old though it may be, is not worn out. Open our holy books, and you will read therein truths which have never ceased to be truths, and which will never cease until the end of the world. Men are corrupt; faith has diminished. God will rectify this state of things. Let us be followers of the ancient law, and not of present errors. If you have gained by your education nothing more than the reasoning that you affect, I sincerely pity you."

On this Jacob ceased, and the old man, before so calm, became agitated, and looked at his son for a reply. The serenity of spirit of this man, so firm in his belief, awoke in him a fear similar to that which had kept him from relighting the candle on the Sabbath.

David, junior, replied coolly:--

"Do not trouble yourself about me, I beg of you, Monsieur Jacob. Every one to his own opinion. Do not go yet. Perhaps I can find a way to satisfy your demand without incurring any risk."

"Thanks. It is weak of me to implore you again to help an unfortunate whom you so little wish to succour. Still a few more words. The country is on the eve of a revolution. The result is doubtful, but it is an opportunity for us to gain equal rights by the sacrifice of our blood. Let us profit by it. Many of my race think as I do."

"Many? How many? Who are they? Do you know the intentions of the Emperor Napoleon? Are you in the secrets of Lord Palmerston? Have you received the confidences of the Rothschilds?"

"I can only tell you one thing; it is, that here the most sensible men are of my opinion."

"And the richest?"

"Yes, the richest also," replied Jacob, with an involuntary smile.

"In that case," said the old man, "we must take the affair into consideration."

"As for the object of my visit, I regard it a failure. I can only excuse myself for disturbing you at such an hour."

Then he turned to go, when the old man called him back.

"Wait!" cried he. "A glass of wine. David, bring the three rouble Bordeaux. Deign to taste it, Monsieur Jacob. Isolated, as we are, in this little village, we know not how the wind blows. Tell us, is there anything in contemplation?"

"You had better find out for yourselves, and then you can decide which party you will aid."

"Those incorrigible Poles! I fear they are engaging in some new pranks."

"I know nothing," said Jacob. "I can only surmise. The Muscovites themselves have the air of hastening the explosion of this foolishness to divert that which threatens their own country, 'holy Russia.' Since the emancipation of the serfs, the situation has been critical. By kindling a fire in Poland, they relight the national hatred, and turn away the public thoughts from Petersburg and Moscow towards the provinces. It is the only way, now that the peasants give proofs of discontent and the revolutionary idea is propagated, the sole method of reaffirming the authority of the Czar."

"What admirable teachers!" cried the old man. "Profound wisdom like that is the gage of certain success. Certainly, that is the side we had better take."

"As a nation," said Jacob, "we have been conquered more than once. Always in place of attaching ourselves to the triumphal chariot, we have remained faithful to the cause of God."

He then rose to leave for the second time, but the elder David was ashamed to let his visitor depart thus.

"What, then, is your proposition?" asked he.

"To shelter under your roof an outlaw. This village being isolated, the risk is not great."

"Very true," said the younger man; "but in a small place like this, where every one is acquainted, the arrival of a stranger would be remarked."

"Then say no more about it," said Jacob, turning to go. "A thousand excuses for disturbing you."

This time he really took his departure.

"I am sorry," said the father to the son when they were alone, "that we did not find some way to arrange this affair. Jacob has excellent connections. What will he tell them of us? Truly, he cannot have a very good opinion."

"Bah! I am, perhaps, of your opinion, but we could not do otherwise. Let us to bed."

The protector of Ivas returned to the inn, and did not awaken his companion, who was wrapped in a deep slumber. He threw himself on the bed, and his thoughts kept him awake the greater part of the night. He arose early to seek an interview with Jankiel, whom he did not know personally.

Having introduced himself to the old man, he took part in the morning prayers, and then told him frankly that he had long desired his acquaintance, and that he addressed him full of confidence in his well-known sentiments.

This frankness pleased Jankiel, who placed his hand on his visitor's shoulder, and replied kindly:--

"I have heard of you as a man on whom the people of Israel can lean with confidence, for, in spite of your known learning, you guard the ancient faith, customs, and practices, and honour old age. In all this you differ from many of our young men. May the God of Isaac and Jacob bless you! Learned men abound, but pious ones are rare. Our customs are neglected; they spit on the tombs of our ancestors, and on all that past ages have taught us to respect."

"I fear I am not possessed of all with which you credit me, but I try not to disgrace my ancient faith and lineage."

"And where do you come from now?"

"From foreign parts. I have visited almost all countries inhabited by the Jews, and everywhere I have verified their deplorable misery."

"Have you visited the land of our fathers?"

"Yes, but even there the Jews are not at home. They are strangers even in their own country."

At this moment Jankiel remembered a citation from the Prophet Jeremiah, to which Jacob replied by the following passage from the Talmud:--

"'The hands of the divine mercy are always outstretched under the wings of the Seraphim to receive the repentant sinner.'" (Pesakhim 119. a.)

Jankiel was enchanted to hear the young man quote the Talmud, so neglected by the present generation. He blessed him, with emotion, and said:--

"My heart goes out to you, and I would be glad to give you a proof of my sympathy. Speak, and tell me what service you require of me."

"I come to you with a petition that I have already, but in vain, addressed to David, your neighbour."

At the name of David the old man frowned, but quickly replied:--

"That need not deter you. I am listening."

Jacob related the history of Ivas, and asked Jankiel's advice.

"The circumstances," replied the old man, after a moment of thought, "are difficult. We ought, however, to side with the persecuted and not with the oppressor. 'Among birds the strongest always attack the pigeon and the dove, which are the most acceptable offerings to the Lord.' (Baba Kama, 93. a.) Unhappy Poland! We have lived with her people on the same soil for five hundred years. We ought not to forget that. It is true she is not of our faith, but God does not command to kill even infidels. 'Be at peace with all thy brothers, with thy neighbours, with all men, even the Pagan.' (Barakhot, 17. a.)"

"Beautiful words! If all observed them the world would be better."

"Unhappy nation! She has passed through the most frightful calamities, and greater horrors still threaten her. She wishes to break her chains, and at each attempt these chains are more tightly welded. God has humiliated her because she has counted more on human strength than on divine clemency. Her pride is not yet broken. Poor country! If we are unable to help her, at least we can pray God to protect her. Where is the young man? What do you intend to do with him?"

"Ivas is with me, but I can keep him only with great trouble. In his ardour he would throw himself into the hands of those who seek him. I desire to procure him shelter for awhile. But where? Will he be prudent and obedient? I hope I can persuade him of the necessity."

"If you had not first appealed to David, I would have received him into my house. Now I dare not. I have a room in the attic where he would have been in safety, but it is too late. An accusation is to be feared. I could buy myself off, but he would be lost."

"Do you not know of some house, some friend, in the country?"

"Ah! yes; I see my way out of this embarrassment. I know some honest men who live in the depths of a forest. Early to-morrow I will take him to them in my wagon. But he must be on his guard."

Jacob embraced Jankiel with effusion.

"Never mind thanking me so warmly," said the latter with emotion. "I am happy to oblige you, and also your friend, who loves his country and liberty as we formerly loved Judea. However, in the name of Heaven, if you have any influence with the Poles, try to restrain them. The enemy lies in wait for them, and already rejoices in anticipation of the spoils and the cruelties he will accomplish when the anticipated insurrection has been crushed. There is nothing gained by setting fire to one's own house in order to drive out invaders. They must be wary and use strategy."

"Your words are full of wisdom, but men are rarely guided by reason. Suffering and misfortune are bad counsellors."

Jacob informed Ivas of the result of his visit, and added:--

"I have done all that I could. Now it is for you to be careful not to fall again into the claws of the Muscovite. You will be informed if you are in danger, so that you can leave your hiding-place."