CHAPTER XI.
A POLITICAL MEETING.
The same evening Jacob set out to seek a friend of Ivas, who had been his comrade at the university, and had become a very important person in the present agitation. This man, a modest employé of the government, exercised a powerful influence on the young men and in circles where politics were the order of the day. He possessed superior intelligence, rare executive ability, great energy and activity, and his character was at the same time pliant and firm. Without being leader of any party, he went from one to another, and the timid as well as the bold bowed everywhere to his incontestable authority. Yet no one could have said that Kruder--that was his name--belonged to the fire-eaters, to the liberals, or to the conservatives, nor if he was red, blue, or white.
With the excited he was all fire and flame; with the cool reasoners he was calm and logical; with the prudent and timorous he was full of discretion and consideration.
All listened to his objections; all followed his counsels. He knew how to smooth all difficulties, conceal divergences, and to lead to the same end contradictory views.
Amid such diversity of opinions he alone could maintain order, and command sufficient confidence to subject all differences of opinion to discipline, in advance of the coming revolution; for to do this was his ambition, his only ambition.
He had friends in both camps; these precipitated the movement, those retarded it. His intimate relations with both parties put him in the way of hearing the opinions and knowing the situation thoroughly. Nothing could happen without his cognizance. In his work of centralization it was important to be well informed, so as to prevent errors, or to correct them as well as he could.
To attract less notice and to more easily escape suspicion, Kruder inhabited an unfrequented neighbourhood. He usually remained at home until ten in the morning, the hour at which he went to his office. When he had finished his government work, he commenced his active and errant life, and this was prolonged late into the night. If he had to meet any one, he made an appointment, sometimes at a café, sometimes in a friend's house. To meet him, Jacob went to the dwelling of a young Jew, Bartold by name, the proprietor of a manufactory and a hardware merchant. His place was full of visitors every day, a fact which could be easily explained by the importance of his business.
Well brought up and honest, he was not, however, a believer like Jacob. In religious matters he was satisfied to select the morals and repudiate the dogmas, but yet he proclaimed himself a Jew with a certain boastfulness. It pleased him to say: "If the European aristocracy are proud of tracing their origin back to the Crusades, I ought to be very proud of mine, which goes back much farther. I am a descendant of the tribe of Levi. That takes the place of arms or crests. My ancestors guarded the Ark of the Covenant in Solomon's temple; it is, at least, as great an honour as to have fought with the Saracens."
Public agitation naturally increased the number of visitors at Bartold's, and he had put at their disposal two large rooms of his house. It was a neutral ground for political discussions. It was a place of reunion sheltered from the police. Bartold took a great interest in these meetings, for, in spite of his Israelitish genealogy, he was a Pole at heart. He was thirty years old, tall, muscular, and well formed. His eyes shone with more than ordinary intelligence. His manner disclosed the serenity of an honest man who followed the right path, and whose conscience was clear. He loved to laugh and to joke, but under all this he concealed a warm, humane, and charitable heart. He received Jacob with cries of joy and open arms.
"You could not have come to us," cried he, "in a more opportune moment. You come to advise with us, do you not?"
With Bartold and Kruder there was a young Pole belonging to the most advanced party of patriotic enthusiasm.
Kruder took his hat to go, but Jacob detained him.
"Pardon, monsieur," said he; "will you wait a moment? I have come to seek you here, I have something to tell you."
"If it is not a personal affair you can speak freely before these gentlemen. We are all friends here."
"Do you know Ivas?" asked the Jew abruptly.
"I know him well. He was with me at the university at Kief. What has become of him? Have you met him anywhere?"
"Yes, in Italy. I brought him with me to the Polish frontier."
"And where is he at present?"
"In a hiding-place that I found for him, but he insists on coming to Warsaw. I fear that would be dangerous for him. They are seeking him, and his description is known."
"I do not agree with you. He had few acquaintances, and after some years of absence he must have changed enough not to be recognized. We could easily find an asylum for him here where he could escape the police. It would be prudent, however, for him to secure a communal passport."
"May he soon join us," said the young man of the extreme party. "He will be very useful to our cause. We will undertake to conceal him. I have often heard of him; he belongs to the Lithuanian provinces. Nothing could be better. We will send him there to make converts to our cause. What can we do to bring him here?"
"And," asked Kruder, looking at Jacob, "what are Ivas' feelings? You see that here we are all fire, all flame."
"I fear he has too much fire," said Jacob. "Deleterious fire, alas! This flame is, to my mind, the flame of despair. It will drive men to unreasonable acts."
"Behold a cautious man!" cried the young Pole, paling with wrath; "the sentiments of your race can be expressed in two words,--self-interest and logic. We Poles, on the contrary, are led by what you call folly. Is heroism folly? Then it will be by folly that we shall triumph."
"I am not," replied Jacob, "an exclusive partisan of cold reason. Logic leads one astray at times. In a question of life or death for the country's salvation we should not depend entirely on cold reasoning, nor wholly on enthusiasm. Reasoners and enthusiasts are equally at fault, are both on the wrong path."
"Would you, then, have a mixture of folly and reason?"
"Precisely. And I wish it for the common good. In it you will find the veritable national instinct."
"No, no! Popular opinion aspires to a revolution which will accomplish our deliverance."
"The revolutionary agitation is only at the surface," said Jacob. "In the bottom of all hearts there are forebodings of the evils which may arise from a premature explosion."
"If such are your opinions, I present you my compliments, and I salute you."
"Wilk," interrupted Kruder, "do not allow yourself to become so angry."
"Why does he irritate me, then?" replied the young enthusiast, a little appeased.
"However, I withdraw my brusque adieu and will remain."
"Be seated, gentlemen," said Bartold. "We are going to serve tea, and you, Kruder, you must not go yet."
"I am expected at ten meetings."
"You can shirk five of them."
"I cannot, however, miss my interview with Count A. Z., nor the meeting of the Agricultural Society, nor the University debate, nor the Association for Popular Publications, nor"--
"You are verily a much-sought-for man, but, if I were you, I would throw from my shoulders a good half of these burdens; childish bluster, rhetorical competitions, a war of words of patriotic agitation, behold to what you are invited! You wish to direct everything and everybody; take care that you do not become a blunted tool in the end."
Kruder shook his head as if to say, "It will never be." But at heart he felt that in his friend's warning he had something to fear.
After a general conversation he left the room with Wilk, and they talked over the measures necessary to secure Ivas' safety.
Alone, Jacob and Bartold embraced warmly, for they loved each other like brothers, despite the rationalism of the one and the piety of the other.
They had an animated discussion on the situation of the Jews in Poland and throughout the world. Jacob, as was his custom, spoke at length on the apostleship he intended undertaking.
"You will lose your time and your efforts," said Bartold; "the era of religious convictions is passed. We live in an age of reason, where it is useless to wish to resuscitate the beliefs of antiquity and of the Middle Ages. The structures which sheltered the wings of the cherubim have crumbled away and can never be raised."
Jacob listened attentively, but his convictions were not shaken. He was persuaded of the necessity of a reform in Judaism that should reestablish the authority of the Mosaic law.
CHAPTER XII.
A SIREN.
After some weeks of sojourn at Warsaw Jacob met in the street Luci Coloni, accompanied by Gromof, her Russian cavalier of the grotto at Sestri. He was hastening to salute them, when he perceived that the lady and her companion turned as if to avoid him. Why this mystery? Jacob was puzzled, and paused on his way.
Ivas' affairs were soon arranged; it was no longer necessary to watch over him, and, freed from that anxiety, he dreamed of commencing his Judaic reform. He realized that he had two formidable obstacles to encounter,--on one side indifference, on the other, superstition. The superstitious would regard him as an atheist, the indifferent, as a bigoted fanatic.
Discouraged for the moment, as almost all reformers have been, he sought to regain his former enthusiasm by reading the Bible and the Talmud. To this end he shut himself up for several days, and came out determined to make converts, not among the old, whose convictions were settled, but among the youth, who were still animated with noble instincts. These it was whose opinion he would strive to form. Weary with his long meditations he was going out to walk in the fresh air, when he was handed a note from Madame Wtorkowska, written on satin paper, the contents of which were as follows:--
We shall be very happy to see M. Jacob at our house this evening. There will be a few friends and a little music.
Benigna Wtorkowska.
Jacob was not in the humour to accept, but he reflected that it would be impolite to refuse, and that perhaps he might meet Mathilde there, so he accepted the invitation.
The little villa occupied by the Wtorkowskas was a masterpiece of that modern art which transforms real misery into lying luxury. Nothing had been paid for, from the servants' livery to the satin robe worn by the hostess, and the lace-covered velvet dress of the charming daughter.
The refreshments, the bonbons, the flowers, were all obtained on credit. Twice a week Hermann and Grossmann demanded the money for the Pleyel grand piano, but in vain. The shabbiness of the furniture was concealed by new covers, the broken places in the frames of the pictures and mirrors were twined with ivy.
With all these frauds and ruses the little house, seen by the light of innumerable wax candles, took on an air of freshness and elegance. The studied disorder of objects thrown carelessly on the table was the result of long thought. Here, a French romance was displayed, to show acquaintance with current literature; there, pieces of classical music, to show the degree of perfection arrived at by the fair performer. On one side lay a photograph album containing portraits of celebrated men, implying a personal acquaintance with them.
Jacob arrived a little late. The company was too numerous for the salon, and the room was crowded. The guests occupied the couches and chairs, and some remained standing against the wall. There was heat and noise, and to move about demanded much skill.
Madame Wtorkowska received Jacob with studied politeness. Muse advanced toward him with a smile which she had practised before the glass. She led him to a little group where Mathilde was seated. Madame Segel wore a white robe, and on her breast was a large bunch of camellias of the same colour. She was pale; on the approach of Jacob she lifted her head, and greeted him with a slight blush and a melancholy smile.
After that the poor woman relapsed into a glacial torpor. Henri stood behind the chair of Mademoiselle Muse, whose toilet was so décolleté that all admirers of certain feminine charms could feast their eyes to their hearts' content. Her thick and glossy braids were twined around her head in classic style, and served admirably to bring out the splendour of her eyes and complexion. She had the lively and brilliant expression of a lioness seeking whom she might devour. Her crimson velvet dress, covered with costly lace, bought on credit, became her admirably, and gave her a queenly air. On her lovely arm sparkled a large bracelet set with rubies.
Mathilde resembled an aerial spirit descended in a cloud of moonlit rays; Muse, a bacchante, full of sensuous vitality.
Henri whispered in Jacob's ear:--
"If I were free like you, I would not hesitate an instant; I would propose to this siren."
"And if I were in your place, and had such a wife as you have, I would not even look at her," said Jacob coldly.
Segel smiled ironically, pushed back his black hair from his forehead, and drew near Muse.
"Can you guess, mademoiselle," asked he in a low voice, "what advice I have just been giving Jacob?"
The charmer replied sweetly in an indifferent tone, although she perfectly understood what had passed between the two men.
"How can I guess, monsieur?"
"I advised him to fall in love with you."
"What bad advice!"
"Why?"
"Because I can never love any one."
"No one?" asked Henri tenderly.
"You have said it. I consider love as a dangerous malady, against which one should be on guard."
"A malady rarely fatal," said Henri smiling.
"No matter; I am afraid of it."
"A bad sign. It is said that there is much more danger of taking typhus or cholera when one fears it. It is a bad omen! Jacob"--
"Why, monsieur, why do you speak to me of this philosopher, this savant?"
"Hardly a philosopher: a mystic, a fanatic."
"Who flies from me," said Muse. "Help me, then, to tame him a little. I would like to talk with this savage."
"What would I not do for you, mademoiselle? I will bring him to your feet, be sure of that."
"You wish to marry him," thought Henri. "I will assist you, but I will claim my reward."
The treaty was concluded without further discussion, without protocol, between these two congenial spirits. Segel, wishing to hasten the execution, went to Jacob. He took his arm and said:--
"Come, then, to the divine Muse, who wishes to talk with you about Italy, with which her imagination is full."
"I fear I am not capable of doing justice to the subject," said Jacob.
"No matter. Come and try." So saying, he led him towards her, almost by force.
"This Jacob," said he to Muse, "is the most conscientious of tourists; he has travelled over Italy on foot while I went by the railway. He can tell you about it a hundred times better than I. He can speak to you of that land of art of which you have dreamed."
Muse, all smiles, turned to Jacob and said:--
"At last, monsieur, I have caught you, whether you will or not; you must tell me of that Italy where I am always begging mamma to take me."
"I regret very much not to be enough master of my subject to give you a just idea of that beautiful land. It is not sufficient merely to have visited it, one must have lived there to fully appreciate its beauties."
"Pardon me, but I do not agree with you. Travellers often know more of a country than its inhabitants."
"Superficially, yes; but the spirit, the soul of a country, only reveals itself after long study."
"Italy is delightful, is it not?"
This question was not a skilful one. But it was necessary to get Jacob started on some subject, so that she could exercise all the feminine seductions of a determined woman, resolved to succeed, and employ all the resources of her consummate art, aided by her natural charms. What an actress she was! An actress in every glance, every movement, even in the inflexions of her voice! She spoke feelingly without the least inner emotion; she spoke of feelings of which she only knew from hearsay. Judging all men more or less vain, she sought by delicate flattery to fascinate and subjugate them. By turns lively or melancholy, sensible or careless, she was charming under all circumstances.
However, she made no impression on Jacob, who remained cold and impassible. As if to alleviate his enforced captivity, he at times glanced at the chaste and pure woman who was seated not far from him absorbed in melancholy, and who seemed to him like an ideal queen covered with a saintly aureola.
Muse was exasperated by Jacob's invulnerable indifference, but desired more than ever to bring him to her feet. She let her evident efforts to enslave him be seen. Her mother surveyed the manœuvres of her daughter, which she found too bold, although she could not help admiring the audacity with which the attack was made.
Jacob was obliged, at the request of Muse, to conduct her to the piano. She took off her gloves slowly, and, coquettishly, radiant, continued her conversation in a low voice, so as to give the idea that a sort of intimacy was established between them.
"My dear," remarked Madame N. to Madame X., "Emusia is conducting herself in a scandalous manner."
"Bah! Young ladies of her stamp always succeed in their matrimonial pursuits."
Just then the mistress of the house came to them, and Madame X. said:--
"We have just been speaking of your charming daughter. She is really enchanting this evening. Madame N. and I cannot take our eyes off her. She turns the head of every one,--even the old."
"My Emusia," replied Madame Wtorkowska, "is all simplicity, all candour, although sometimes her very simplicity and frankness look like coquetry."
At this reply from the mother, her two guests exchanged glances behind her back.
"Why, she has taken Jacob by storm," cried his former guardian to Mann. "This Muse outdoes herself on his account. She did not trouble herself to amuse him before he got his fortune. It was not worth while to notice the poor beggar for whose education I paid."
"The Berlin banker's legacy has made him a desirable match. She will finish by capturing him," said Mann.
"I don't believe it, for I know my Jacob. He is not at ease in her society. You cannot catch all fish with the same hook. My son-in-law, Henri, would have taken the bait immediately. Jacob is afraid of her. He likes quiet women who are modest and timid. He is a poet."
"Certainly the creature is far from that, and I congratulate the man who"--
Mann did not finish his remark, for suddenly the music ceased. Jacob was free from the chains of courtesy. He seated himself near Mathilde, who received him with a smile.
The pale moonlight streamed in from the windows which opened on the veranda, and the light was softened by the leaves of the wild vines, which, with their long serpentine clusters, climbed over everything.
They both wished to fly from this crowd, both wished to be alone; but to put this project into execution was not easy.
Again Muse played, and under her skilful fingers the notes wept, groaned, sang, murmured, and sighed. It was Liszt's music. Every one was enchanted.
"She is wonderful," said Mathilde. "As for myself, when I have been a half-hour at the piano I am fatigued. It seems to me that my tired soul flies away with the sounds. But what power she has! She laughs at difficulties, and rises even fresher and more radiant."
"It is there, truly, that one finds the difference between her playing and yours. You put your soul into it. Her playing does not affect me at all. It is as if the piano played alone. With you, the soul sings to me."
"No, she is a true artiste. I am only a musician."
"I cannot admire the artists of the present day. They are but the masters of their art, skilled workmen who know all the tricks of their trade. The shepherd who by inspiration plays on his bagpipe a simple air, be it very simple, very primitive, is much more an artist than this or that fashionable performer. Like everything else, art has been profaned in these days; it has become mercenary; it is a bread-winner, and not a priesthood. The artist of to-day strives for the fame that pays best, and not for the contentment of his soul. Who, then, now-a-days would paint frescoes for nothing but piety and for the love of God? Music, literature, painting, all at present go to the highest bidder. Muse belongs to the modern school. She has art, but art without soul. She plays Liszt and Walberg, but Chopin is inaccessible to her. She seizes the bizarre side of Schumann, but the pathetic side, never!"
"You judge her a little too severely. There is in the depths of her heart a little divine light, on her brow a little flame. But, alas! the unfortunates are not sure of to-morrow's bread, and I cannot help regarding with pity this woman and her daughter, for I know their situation."
"Are they not rich?"
"No! They are poor, very poor, though they affect riches."
"This is frightful. This comedy of luxury is odious. The tears of dupes will pay for it. Indigence with courageous labour is a hundred times to be admired."
"It is true, but false pride"--
"That word tells all; it is real deceit."
"She pains me," said Mathilde. "Under the velvet there must be tears and anxiety; at the door poverty waits while they serve a sumptuous repast; to-morrow, solitude after the brilliant reunion of to-day. What a tragedy! It pains me even to think of it."
Muse ceased to play.
Every one applauded, and Henri hastened to kiss the artiste's hand. Mathilde, who was stifling in this atmosphere, said to Jacob,--
"Let us go out a moment and get some fresh air. No one will miss us. I cannot breathe."
They passed through the crowd and reached the veranda. Muse followed them with her eyes, and turned ironically upon Henri.
"I see," replied he to the mute question, "that my wife was too warm. She has gone out on the veranda with Jacob."
"Then you are not jealous?"
"Near you, mademoiselle, I think of you alone."
"You have no right to talk thus."
"Do you not know that that which is illegal is most attractive to men?"
"You are perversity in person!"
"Alas! a god would succumb before you, how much more a simple mortal."
"Truly, monsieur, you flatter me."
"No, mademoiselle, I assure you."
Then he spoke to her in a low voice with much familiarity, and with a perfect understanding.
When Mathilde left the salon she gave her hand to Jacob at the threshold.
"What is the matter, my child?" said he tenderly.
"I feel very happy," said she; "I know not why, and very calm. I desire nothing. It seems as if my life were slipping away little by little. You are by my side; I am sure of your affection. What further happiness can I have?"
"There would be very few who would be satisfied with a chaste love like ours. When I observe in the world the different personalities, different characters, I think, mademoiselle"--
"Why do you call me mademoiselle?"
"I think, I say, that there are in each human being two powers who are antagonistic, like God and Satan. The contrasts are often striking. For example, you and Muse."
"Do not judge her so harshly; you should be indulgent to all."
"Very well. Who, then, are pure and innocent in the depths of their souls around us? Life is short. Every one must taste the bitter cup. Every one has his troubles, and most men, instead of seeking happiness in their own souls, seek it elsewhere and find it not. The world terrifies me with its variety of elements where evil predominates over good. I cannot understand this predominance of evil."
"That is one of God's secrets, incomprehensible to our finite intelligence. What good will it do us to try, like the Titans, by force to pierce the closed heavens? Man seems to be the plaything of an implacable irony. He bears within him the sparks of an ardent fire, but he does not succeed in developing a large flame, for the wind of his passions scatters the firebrands. In his heart exist noble sentiments which are changed into gross appetite. Man grows more corrupt instead of purer. All is surprise in life; all an enigma. Then this dream of immortality and a future existence. Can we believe it?"
She smiled sadly, and Jacob listened. Under their eyes lay a superb view. A light breeze murmured through the dark foliage of the old trees in the avenue. In the sky, the moon glided through the deep azure, and the stars twinkled as if to shake slumber from their eyelids. In the distance could be heard the faint sound of the city.
"In contemplating creation," said Jacob, "do you not hear something within you say that we shall live beyond the tomb? That thought should destroy all fear for the future. Even if thousands of years of faith do not confirm this hope, it shines in the reply of the soul like stars in the depths of a well."
"It is impossible," said Mathilde. "In any case, the other life will not be like this. My future will not be a continuation of this miserable existence. Perhaps I shall come again to live on earth. Oh, who knows anything about it?"
"This death, so terrible to most of us, is represented in our Hebrew books as a sweet, an easy, passage to another existence. The Talmud, Berakhot 5, calls it the kiss of God."
"How sorry I am not to have read those books, and to know so little of the Hebrew language! I have been educated for the world. My soul has not been nourished. The tempest of doubt has overthrown it."
"There is yet time, dear Mathilde."
"No, it is too late. Faith is the beverage of youthful souls. When unbelief is developed, the ground is dried up and a new graft cannot shoot forth. But God is full of mercy and pity. He will not punish us when we are not in fault. He will make allowances for our education."
They were silent, but had no desire to return to the salon, where Muse, at the piano, was playing one of Liszt's most brilliant compositions.
"Come, Jacob," said Mathilde, "you must do your duty. Go and compliment Muse. I will not be jealous. She is on the wrong path; you can convert and save her."
"It is too late; that which you falsely said about yourself applies to her. Her intelligence and her heart have matured, and her character is already formed."
They entered the salon. Mathilde's first glance showed her husband leaning on the back of Muse's chair, and his tender glances told that he was very much impressed. She did not feel the slightest chagrin. She was completely indifferent to Henri, and she rejoiced to think that he amused himself elsewhere, provided he spared her all importunate tenderness.
Madame Wtorkowska was very nervous; she feared that the entertainment would not lead to the desired results. Jacob seemed absolutely indifferent to her daughter's charms; as for the other young men, they all admired her, but at a distance; and the marked attentions of Henri Segel displeased her because they came from a married man. With music, singing, cards, tea, and supper, the soirée was prolonged to a late hour. The elder guests took leave under pretext of engagements in the morning. Mathilde went home, as she had a headache, and left the field free to her husband. Jacob had accompanied her to her door, and had received his orders to return. This thinning out of the rooms favoured the charmer's plans.
The young man carelessly turned the leaves of an album; his conduct during the evening had strictly conformed to the rules of politeness. Yet this cold observation of the proprieties exasperated Madame Wtorkowska, who resolved to undertake his subjugation herself. She drew near him, and, as Jacob rose to give her his seat she said, taking his arm:--
"Monsieur, let us walk a little, and tell me about yourself. Now that you have returned to us, what do you intend to do?"
Surprised by these attentions, he replied:--
"I intend to study and lead a life of leisure."
"We have heard so much in your praise," said she, "that we were very desirous of knowing you."
"I am infinitely obliged, madame."
"Especially, Emusia. She admires such men."
She could not find an adjective to designate exactly what kind of men, and added after a moment of hesitation:--
"I mean superior men. For, you see, my Emusia is a young girl of talent. What intelligence, what gifts! She devours an incredible quantity of books. Her memory is prodigious. Her wit is of the finest quality. In short, if she were not my daughter I would say that she is a marvel."
"That is what I hear from every one," said Jacob politely.
"My situation," continued she, "is an anxious one, for I have a mother's heart. To whom will my cherished one give herself? Will he appreciate her? Alas, the young men of to-day are so frivolous!"
"Mademoiselle Emusia has but to choose."
"How little you know the young men, monsieur!"
For want of breath the mother stopped. She had commenced the battle with so much impetuosity that she was already worn out. She could think of nothing more to say. She was driven to her last intrenchments, and, on his side, Jacob had exhausted all his praises. Notwithstanding, after a moment of reflection she took breath and continued:--
"You, who are so great a connoisseur, what do you think of Emusia's playing?"
"It is truly marvellous, madame."
"Liszt, the master, was stupefied with astonishment when my daughter played for him his overture to Guillaume Otello. He watched her execute this, that, all the most difficult parts, and was wild with enthusiasm. It was at Spa. There was such clapping of hands, bravos that almost shook the house, an avalanche of bouquets! What an ovation, mon Dieu!"
"It was merited, no doubt."
"Oh, yes," said the mother. "An Erard piano fairly spoke under her fingers. She has such strength and incredible power."
She was thus extolling her daughter when the young lady herself came to join in the conversation. Her eyes shone wrathfully. The more invulnerable Jacob showed himself, the more she was determined to bring him to her feet. Henri had given her the key to the character of this man, whom he called a religious fanatic. She resolved to read and study the Bible, and even the Talmud, if necessary. Already she commenced to play her new rôle.
"I detest these noisy pleasures," said she. "Reading, meditation, quiet, they are the things that I love. And you?"
"I also love study and tranquillity," said Jacob.
"You men," said Muse, "have everything in your favour. You can, at your pleasure, devote yourselves to intellectual occupations; you are not slaves to the obligations of society, as we poor women are. You cannot imagine what a humiliation it is for a young girl to be taken continually here and there, and shown like merchandise."
"Mademoiselle, although what you say is partly true, I assure you that the mothers and daughters exaggerate these pretended obligations. Our poet, Krasicki, has said somewhere, 'Nothing ever comes of a dialogue prepared with too much care.'"
"That is very true, monsieur. Also most matches that end happily are made without thought, and as it were by a miracle."
"Yes, I am convinced of that."
"And it is probably by a miracle also," added the elder woman, "that marriages are maintained."
"Have you been in the Orient?" asked Emusia, to change the conversation.
"Yes, mademoiselle, and I bring back a sad impression. The land of poetry is to-day the land of misery. The cradle of civilization has become the tomb."
"But there are still traces there of biblical times, are there not?" asked Muse.
"Certainly. The costumes, the habits, the landscape, all remind one of the Bible. As in old days, Rachel still leads her flocks to water, and the white-bearded patriarchs still welcome you to their tents."
"All that must be very interesting."
"Not for the children of a civilization, enervated and weakened. We can no longer live this poetical life. It is rigid, painful, grave, primitive, and laborious. It impresses us, notwithstanding its poetry, with a strange emotion toward the fountains which now are dried up."
"And the old biblical traditions?"
"They clash on all sides. With us the old traditions are preserved, like withered plants in an herbarium; while there they still live, mixed with the daily existence. With what emotion one contemplates stones taken from the aqueducts of Solomon, the ruins of the temple, the places sanctified by the patriarchs! Christians and Jews both find there the cradle of their faith. In Europe we are only colonists."
Emusia had taken a reclining attitude near Jacob, and listened with great attention. The mother profited by the occasion, and left them alone. Thus these two, in the midst of a crowd, found themselves alone.
Simple politeness forbade Jacob's retreat. Muse attempted to magnetize him by her glances, by her gestures, by the sight of her gleaming shoulders, by her beauty, while she idly played with her bracelet, her rings, and her embroidered handkerchief, useless for any other purpose.
The young man scarcely perceived these affected and enticing airs.
"I know not," said she with hesitation, "if it be owing to the blood that flows in my veins, but this Orient has for me a certain attraction. It is thither that my desires tend. It has been torn from us, and we have been forced to forget it. It is a source of sadness for me that I know a mass of useless things, and that I am ignorant of that which most interests me."
"What, for example?" asked Jacob, interested in spite of himself.
"I will tell you," replied she, in a low voice with a feigned alarm, "provided mamma does not hear me. I am curious about all that concerns us that is Jewish. A Christian nominally, I am of Jewish blood, and Jesus has declared that he did not come to destroy the ancient law. Mamma, like many of our race, avoids and forbids all allusion to the past."
"If you really wish it, mademoiselle, you can easily become familiar with our traditions; you have only to consult several books."
"Alas! I do not know Hebrew."
"There are translations in many languages."
"Really? Could you not secretly lend me one or two? I would be very grateful to you; but it must remain a secret between us."
This was a skilful move. Mystery brought them together. Emusia quietly put her little hand into Jacob's, and pressed it warmly as if to thank him. This grasp produced on the young man the effect of an electric current. He felt uneasy, troubled, and confused, as if he had committed a sin.
"I will send you some volumes," murmured he.
"That is not all," said she sweetly, still keeping her hand in his. "Guide me in the study for which I thirst. I have hours of liberty; mamma goes out often, and I am at home alone. I depend on you to be my master, my instructor, in the first principles of the faith of our ancestors. This may appear a little odd on my part, but you will excuse my ardent desire for light."
"I fear"--
"No scruples, monsieur! If I have appeared impressed by you, I assure you it was only because I wish to learn from you something of Judaism."
A slight feeling of suspicion entered Jacob's mind, but he thrust it away from him with contempt. He would not admit that acting could be carried so far. He believed that Muse was sincere, and he arose to go with a much better opinion of her than when he came. She seemed to him more beautiful than before, and with something poetical about her. He sought already in his imagination for the biblical type to which this strayed lamb of the fold of Israel belonged. He felt no sympathy for her yet, but his curiosity was awakened and his repugnance had disappeared.
Emusia was radiant, and in her triumph said to herself:--
"I have hit Achilles in the heel."
CHAPTER XIII.
AKIBA.
Jacob, admonished by Mann, bantered by Henri, lectured by his former guardian, and opposed by Bartold, had, nevertheless, commenced his apostleship. He essayed to group around him the youth of Israel, for the old men were against all reform.
The most polished and the best educated did not like to recall their origin, nor to hear of the religion of their fathers. This was grievous. The disciples did not appear; all minds were absorbed in the revolutionary movement. Jacob's activity became more and more circumscribed. His co-religionists avoided him; but in spite of this abandonment, in spite of his isolation, he still clung to his ideas. He hoped to convince by his example, and to gain followers when calm should succeed the present political agitation and society regain its normal condition.
He was sadly afflicted to see the irreligion of the youth of Israel, irreligion much more widespread than he had at first supposed. In the desert around him any mark of sympathy would naturally move him, touch him, and console him, and Muse profited by these circumstances.
She put herself in possession of Jacob's ideas, procured the books recommended, and reading the ones he lent her, learned some things, guessed more, and thus armed, went forth to combat with fair chances of victory. Madame Wtorkowska had adroitly seized the opportunity of drawing nearer him whom she already called, to herself, her son-in-law. She took possession of the first story of a house of which the Jew occupied the second. As there was nothing easier to ascertain than when the recluse was at home, they sent to his rooms under pretext of returning books or to ask the loan of new ones. Then they begged him to come down to them. They also met him often on the stairs.
Emusia became a fervent and intelligent disciple, and the apostle felt more and more flattered by this adhesion.
"Would you believe it," said she one evening to her mother, "the fool imagines that I am nearly ready to embrace Judaism, while in reality his Bible and his Talmud, with all their silly old legends and their stupid stories, weary me dreadfully."
"Do you believe that the idea of marriage has entered his head?"
"Bah! I will put it there when I wish."
"In that case you had better do it as soon as possible."
"I am awaiting a favourable opportunity. With this man it is not the senses, but the heart, on which we must count, and we must not be in haste. Be tranquil, I lie in wait for the moment."
"How do you watch for it? Flirting with Henri? God knows that if you were only safely married to Jacob I would not care how much you saw of Henri; but as you are not, I think these badinages are very ill-timed and take your mind off the principal business."
"I know what I am doing, mamma; the best tactics with Jacob are to proceed slowly. If we try to hasten matters we may lose all."
"Well, work it your own way."
This phrase always terminated the altercations between Muse and her mother.
The young girl's calculation was not destitute of judgment. Jacob did not love her, but he was becoming accustomed to her. As for the thought of marriage, it had never entered his head. His heart was filled with Mathilde, this fading flower that charmed him more each day. One thing only drew him to Emusia; it was the fervour that she manifested for the Bible and the Hebrew traditions, nothing more.
The mother did not altogether approve her daughter's plans, and shrugged her shoulders, saying:--
"If he escapes we are lost."
"Oh, no! It is not my Waterloo. I have not staked all on him. I have still the stage," said she laughing; and she continued to simulate an ardent admiration for the Jew and his doctrines, while at the bottom she detested them all. With Henri, on the contrary, full of familiarity and enjoyment, she was in her element.
The better to insinuate herself in Jacob's good graces, she flattered his mania by suggesting to him the thought of giving lectures on Judaism. He fell into the trap with enthusiasm, in spite of the obstacles which he knew he would encounter. His friends, under one pretext or another, refused to give their houses for this edifying purpose. At last Bartold, against his will, but for friendship's sake, put his at the Jew's disposition.
Israelites alone were invited. The only exceptions were Madame Wtorkowska and her daughter, as was very natural. Many Jews, for fear of being accused of superstition and ridicule, excused themselves at the last moment, feigning indisposition.
The room was large and commodious. It had no Jewish features, for the master of the house lived in European style, although without luxury. Ostentation was nowhere to be seen in the dwelling of this descendant of Levi, who, with all his boasting of his biblical nobility, was really an honest and a modest man and a good Polish citizen.
That evening Madame Bartold had put her children to bed at an early hour. She was dressed in good taste, and took great care that nothing should be wanting in any direction.
The ladies were in the minority,--Madame Wtorkowska, Emusia, Mathilde, and two others. Among the men were missing Mann and Mathilde's father, who thought all this Hebrew nonsense the issue of a diseased imagination. Kruder was there, for he desired admittance to all reunions. Ivas also, and Wilk, who sought everywhere converts to the revolutionary cause. Henri had come, ostensibly to escort his wife, but really to converse freely with Muse. He often visited her; but her mother was always present, and she frequently took advantage of his attentions to her daughter to borrow money of the gallant visitor, whose passion disposed him to pecuniary sacrifices.
At nine o'clock the room was full. Madame Bartold, crimson with fatigue, and redder still with timidity, sought to give every one a seat.
On a table loaded with books was a carafe of water, a glass, and some sugar. All awaited the lecturer.
They commenced by serving tea to the company; then Jacob appeared. A solemn silence indicated that his audience was prepared to listen attentively. Not being accustomed to speaking in public, he looked around him, and commenced in a weak and hesitating voice, which gradually grew stronger.
"Ladies and Gentlemen: It is not without apprehension that as a Jew I present myself before Jews, many of whom blush for their origin; before Jews who know the history of France and England better than their own history; before Jews who know more of Sanscrit literature than of the Bible. From all sides we have been reproached for our spirit of retirement and of separation. We have been constrained to it, and the fault was not with us. How much more justly could men to-day make the merited reproach of our having ceased to be ourselves, and of losing our own identity without identifying ourselves with others. We are here in continual antagonism with the country we inhabit, to which many ties should unite us. It appears that even that does not suffice us, and we have divorced ourselves from our own past.
"It is this past, with its poetry, that I would recall to you; for the time has come to appreciate it, and I wish to show you some of its characteristic beauties.
"Without culling here and there detached fragments of this treasure, I prefer to relate to you the entire life of a man who holds a place in sacred and legendary history. My hero is the celebrated Akiba.
"Akiba was so poor in his youth that he served as a shepherd for the wealthy Kalba Chaboua. He became enamoured of his master's daughter, and this love was the source of his wisdom. The young girl responded to the tender sentiment, but she made it the spur of an intelligence of which she had divined the value and the extent.
"'If you wish me to marry you,' said she, 'you must promise to devote your life to science.'
"Akiba promised, and they were married clandestinely. Kalba Chaboua discovered the secret, disowned his daughter, and drove them from his house. They wandered a long time without shelter, sleeping at night under the open sky. For a bed they had only a small bundle of straw, and tradition relates that one morning the beautiful black hair of the young woman was full of straws. Akiba drew them out gently, and lamented their hard fate.
"'Dearest,' said he tenderly, 'if I could I would give thee rich garments, and I would hang on thy neck a golden Jerusalem,'--an ornament which represented the city of Jerusalem, and which was much worn among the Jewish women.
"As he said the words he was accosted by a beggar clothed in rags.
"'Have pity on me,' cried he, 'and give me a handful of straw to put under my wife's head. She is sick, and lying over there on the cold ground.'
"Akiba gave the poor man what he demanded.
"'Behold,' said he, 'an unfortunate still more wretched than ourselves!'
"Akiba, in order to keep his promise to his wife, decided, in spite of his repugnance, to enter the school of Nakhum Gamsu. He was obliged to leave his wife, who entered service, and never ceased during the twelve years that separated them to write her husband encouraging letters, completely forgetting her own discomforts.
"One day, pensive and sad, Akiba followed a solitary path. A little brook attracted his attention. The water had pierced a rock by gradual dropping, and flowed gently through.
"'If drops of water,' remarked the future sage, 'have such power, what force will not then the human will have.'
"He presented himself before his teachers without weakness and without false shame. He commenced with the letters of the alphabet, and in his free moments he gathered wood and sold the fagots in the market-place. Half of his earnings fed him, the other half clothed and lodged him.
"Akiba soon astonished his masters. From a scholar he became an eminent professor. Thousands of disciples grouped around him.
"During this time his wife waited. A wicked neighbour insinuated that he had abandoned her and would never return.
"'It was I,' replied the wife, 'twelve years ago, who begged him to leave me and devote himself to science. If he prolong his studies twelve years longer, it will be well.'
"Akiba heard of this advice, given indirectly, and profited by it. After the lapse of this time he returned to his native place. His renown had preceded him. All the population turned out to see him, and his wife was in the crowd. The wicked neighbour asked her how she dared present herself in rags before such an illustrious man.
"'My husband knows my heart,' replied she simply. Before she was perceived, she ran out and threw herself at his feet. The pupils of Akiba would have repulsed her, but he said:--
"'Let her come to me. She is my wife, and it is to her that you and I owe much.'
"Kalba Chaboua at last forgave his daughter and his son-in-law, and received them into his house.
"Akiba had two remarkable teachers,--Eliezer and Nahum. The former was called the sealed vase, for he never lost a drop of acquired science. The latter, subtle and penetrating, shone by the fineness of his analysis. Their pupil united to the erudition of the one the critical spirit of the other.
"When he commenced his teaching the Jews had many traditions accumulated for ages and transmitted orally. He collected and wrote them down, accompanying them with commentaries intended to reconcile the legends with the sacred writings. He founded a school which attracted universal admiration.
"At the epoch when he lived religious spirit fermented; by the side of the philosophical sects of Greece, Christianity developed; Gnosticism grafted its poetical reveries on monotheism, and differences multiplied.
"Many Jews were converted to the gospel under one form or another. Akiba remained faithful to the Mosaic belief. He was so profoundly absorbed in the mystery of the divine essence, that the angels wished to chastise him for his presumption in wishing to know all, to penetrate all. God restrained the wrath of these messengers, and said to them:--
"'He is worthy of meditating on my grandeur.'
"Devout as was Akiba, he excelled in modern science. He destroyed by his criticisms many things which his contemporaries called miraculous, rejected the prodigious pretensions credited by superstition, and was pleased to demonstrate the immutability of the laws of nature.
* * * * *
"Contrary to the other rabbis, he rejected the belief in eternal punishment. One day, when travelling, having with him a cock and an ass, he arrived at a village, and went in vain from door to door asking hospitality.
"'God doeth all things well,' said he. This was his favourite saying. Then he entered a deep forest, where he sought by the light of his lantern a place to repose. The wind put out his light, and he lay down repeating, 'God doeth all things well.' Just then a wild-cat strangled his cock and a wolf came and tore his ass in pieces; still Akiba repeated 'God doeth all things well.'
"In reality, though he had met these misfortunes he had saved his life, which had been surely lost had he slept in the village. His humility and confidence in God were his chief characteristics.
"Once Akiba appeared in great spirits at the bedside of a dying man who lamented his approaching end, and whose friends were weeping around his bed. When asked the cause of his gayety,--
"'There is no man without sin,' said he, 'and I am rejoiced that this one has expiated his during his life.'
"Another time it was a wise man who was tortured with frightful pains. Three old savants, his friends, came to console him, and spoke in praise of his wisdom.
"'Science,' said the first, 'is more useful to Israel than the dew to the earth. The dew gives the earth temporary life, wisdom prepares the soul for eternal life.'
"'Wisdom,' continued the second, 'is more necessary than the light of the sun. The one guides us here below, the other conducts us to heaven.'
"Then the third spoke thus:--
"'You have been to Israel more than a father and a mother. Our parents give us earthly life; you, the life celestial.'
"When Akiba's turn came to speak, he said simply:--
"'It is sweet to suffer here below.'
"'Raise me up,' cried the dying man; 'I wish to hear the second time these words, for they comfort me.'
"Akiba deemed suffering salutary for individuals and for nations. He compared Israel, stained with blood by Vespasian and his successors, to a white horse adorned with purple reins. He was not over-scrupulous in religious observances. His prayers were short. He wore his usual simple garments on holy days, notwithstanding the biblical command to array one's self with particular care.
"'God,' said he, 'will more readily pardon sins committed against himself than evil done a neighbour. The Israelite owes justice not only to the Israelites, but to the pagans.'
"He loved to discuss morals under anecdotal form. Here is a specimen of his method:--
"Two men were in the midst of a desert. They had only water enough for one. What ought they to do? To share the water was certain death to both. 'That is not the solution of the dilemma,' added Akiba; 'one must sacrifice himself for the other, that one, at least, should live.'
"In advance of his times, the sage had a profound respect for human life, and he was one of the first opponents of the death penalty.
"Having become rich, thanks to his father-in-law, he was a benefactor to the poor and a promoter of all charitable associations.
"'Whoever,' he used to say, 'does not relieve a sick person, when it is in his power to do so, is an assassin.'
"The destruction of Jerusalem and the temple did not weaken Akiba's faith in divine justice. While Israel wept over the smoking ruins of the holy city, he smiled and predicted a brighter future. He always taught resignation to the divine will. But incessant persecutions aroused in him a violent irritation against the Romans, and a thirst for martyrdom. He lived in an epoch when the Jews were most unfortunate. Domitian continued the horrors of Vespasian and of Titus. They struck blows on all sides, and sought particularly a descendant of David, of whom popular rumour proclaimed the existence, and who intended, it was said, to avenge Israel's woes.
"Akiba converted many Romans to the Hebrew monotheism, Flavius Clemens, a relative of the emperor, was put to death for having embraced this doctrine, and his wife was, for the same reason, condemned to exile. After the death of this Cæsar, Israel breathed again during the two years' reign of Nerva and during the first ten years of the reign of Trajan; but they paid dearly for this short respite. The Jews of Syria, of Mesopotamia, of Armenia and Persia, took arms in favour of the Parthians, and drew on themselves the wrath of Rome, whose soldiers massacred them in great numbers. They soon took up arms again upon the Euphrates, and revolted at Cyprus and in Egypt. New persecutions and repressions followed under the reign of Adrian.
"Akiba, a man of science, was changed by these troubles into a man of action. He travelled over the different parts of the empire to prepare a general uprising. He entered into relations with Simon, or Bar Kokhba, called the child of destiny when he was in the height of his prosperity, the child of lies after he had lost his fortune.
"This Simon, intrepid, daring, and of attractive manner, had with his majestic height all the qualities required for the leader of an insurrection. He pleased Akiba, who proclaimed him Messiah. The title attracted thousands of volunteers, for the idea of a deliverer sent by God was attached to the name of Messiah. Simon admitted to the ranks of his army only the strong and vigorous, many of whom were able to tear a large tree from the earth with their hands. Full of a confidence which he communicated to others, Bar Kokhba often addressed to God this strange prayer:--
"'If thou dost not wish to come to my aid, at least do not favour my foes; for if thou dost not support them I will vanquish them.'
"To excessive presumption he owed his ultimate defeat after many brilliant triumphs. The Roman governor of Palestine was completely routed. Fifty cities or towns and nine hundred and eighty-five villages fell into the power of the insurgents. Established at Bitar, Bar Kokhba made that city his capital, fortified it, and coined money in his own name. Adrian was troubled. The Jews everywhere refused to pay taxes. He sent to Britain for one of his most able lieutenants, Julius Severus. Severus advised patience; he attacked the Jews by detachments, and finished by surrounding Bitar, whose inhabitants he reduced to famine. Bar Kokhba defended his city until death.
"It is sad to remember that this valiant chief soiled his life by an unpardonable act. During the siege, the wise Eliezer, Akiba's teacher, gave himself up to fasting and prayer. This contemplative life in the midst of general activity was called treasonable; the Messiah ordered him put to death, and the devout scholar was killed. It is estimated that a half-million of Israelites lost their lives in this formidable revolt. After the combat the fugitives were pitilessly pursued. Many died of hunger in the forests and caverns, the survivors nourished themselves on the corpses of their brothers, and those who fell into the power of the Romans were massacred or sold as slaves. Adrian renewed the edict of Trajan, forbidding the Jews to perform their religious rites or to teach their faith. All literature that might maintain or propagate the national sentiments was suppressed. Jerusalem was peopled with Romans, and on the site of the Temple of Solomon arose a temple to Jupiter, adorned with his statue. They even changed the name of the violated city, calling it Œlia Capitolina, from the name Œlius. The Jews were forbidden to stay there, or even to enter. At the gate which led to Bethlehem the head of a pig was exposed as a permanent insult.
"After the peace, Akiba was not immediately molested in spite of his participation in the insurrection,--a moral participation, perhaps, but very efficacious. He continued, contrary to the imperial edict, to explain the holy books. He was soon arrested, on the order of that same Rufus who had conquered the 'child of destiny,' and who was the new governor of Judea. The old man was shut up in a dark dungeon, and his only nourishment was bread and water. Instead of drinking this water he used it for the ablutions prescribed by the law. He was condemned to torture and to death. In the midst of the most excruciating sufferings, when the hour of prayer, called Chema, arrived, he began to recite in a loud voice. The executioner was astonished, and asked him if he had charms to banish his pains.
"'I have no charms,' replied he calmly; 'but I have always desired to offer God the sacrifice of my life. My wish is granted, and I rejoice.'
"He continued his prayer, and reaching the words, 'There is but one God,' gave up the ghost."