Mendelssohn later had reason to thank Lavater for having through thoughtlessness or pious cunning drawn him out of his diffidence and seclusion. Mendelssohn had indeed expressed his relations to Judaism and his co-religionists so vaguely that onlookers might have been misled. In public life he was a philosopher and an elegant writer, who represented the principles of humanity and good taste, and apparently did not trouble about his race. In the darkness of the Ghetto he was a strictly orthodox Jew, who, apparently unconcerned about the laws of beauty, joined in the observance of every pious custom. Self-contained and steadfast though he was in reality, he seemed to be a twofold personality, revealing the one or the other as he was in Christian or in Jewish society. He could not stand up in defense of Judaism without, on the one hand, affronting Christianity by his philosophical convictions, and, on the other, showing, if ever so lightly, his dissatisfaction with the chaotic traditions of the synagogue, and so offending the sensibility of his co-religionists and quarreling with them. Neither of these courses, owing to his peace-loving character, entered his mind. He would have been able to pass his life in an attitude of silence, if Lavater's rude importunity had not dragged him out of this false position, altogether unworthy of a man with a mission. Painful as it was to reveal his innermost thoughts upon Judaism and Christianity, he could not hold his peace at this challenge, without being considered a coward even by his friends. These reflections weighed heavily upon him, and caused him to take up the glove.

He skillfully carried on the contest thus forced upon him, and was ultimately victorious. At the end of 1769, in a public letter addressed to Christendom and Lavater, its representative, Mendelssohn in the mildest form wrote most cutting truths, whose utterance in former times would inevitably have led to bloodshed or the stake. Mendelssohn had examined his religion since the days of his youth, and found it true. Philosophy and belles-lettres had with him never been an end, but the means to prepare him for testing Judaism. He could not possibly expect advantage from adherence to it; and as for pleasure—

"O my worthy friend, the position assigned to my co-religionists in civil life is so far removed from all free exercise of spiritual powers, that one's satisfaction is not increased by learning the true rights of man. He who knows the state in which we now are, and has a humane heart, will understand more than I can express."

If the examination of Judaism had not produced results favorable to it, what would have chained him to a religion so intensely and universally despised, what could have prevented him from leaving it? Fear of his co-religionists, forsooth? Their secular power was too insignificant to do any harm.

"I do not deny that I have noticed in my religion certain human additions and abuses, such as every religion accepts in course of time, which unfortunately dim its splendor. But of the essentials of my faith I am so firmly and indisputably assured, that I call God to witness that I will adhere to my fundamental creed as long as my soul does not assume another nature."

He was as opposed to Christianity as ever, for the reason which he had communicated to Lavater verbally, and which the latter should not have concealed, namely, that its founder had declared himself to be God.

"Yet, for my part, Judaism might have been utterly crushed in every polemical text-book, and triumphantly arraigned in every school composition, without my ever entering into a controversy about it. Without the slightest contradiction from me, any scholar or any sciolist in subjects Rabbinic might have constructed for himself and his readers the most ridiculous view of Judaism out of worthless books which no rational Jew reads, or knows of. The contemptible opinion held of Jews I would desire to shame by virtue, not by controversy. My religion, my philosophy, and my status in civil life are the weightiest arguments for avoiding all religious discussion, and for treating in public writings of truths equally important to all religions."

Judaism was binding only upon the congregation of Jacob. It desired proselytes so little, that the rabbis had ordained that any person who offered to unite himself to this religion was to be dissuaded from his design.

"The religion of my fathers does not care to be spread abroad; we are not to send missions to the two Indies or to Greenland, to preach our belief to remote nations. I have the good fortune to possess as friends many excellent men not of my creed. We love each other dearly, and never have I said in my heart, 'What a pity for that beautiful soul!' It is possible for me to recognize national prejudices and erroneous religious opinions among my fellow-citizens, and nevertheless feel constrained to remain silent, if these errors do not directly affect natural religion or natural law (morality), but are only accidentally connected with the advancement of good. It is true that the morality of our actions does not deserve the name, if based upon error.... But as long as truth is not recognized, as long as it does not become national, so as to work as powerful an effect upon the great mass of the people as ingrained prejudice, the latter must be almost sacred to every friend of virtue. These are the reasons that religion and philosophy give me to shun religious disputes."

Besides, being a Jew, he had to be content with toleration, because in other countries even this was denied his race. "Is it not forbidden, according to the laws of your native city," he ask Lavater, "for your circumcised friend even to visit you in Zürich?" The French work of Bonnet he did not find so convincing, he said, as to cause his convictions to waver; he had read better defenses of Christianity written by Englishmen and Germans; also it was not original, but borrowed from German writings. The arguments were so feeble and so little tending to prove Christianity that any religion could be equally well or badly defended by them. If Lavater thought that a Socrates could have been convinced of the truth of Christianity by this treatise, he only showed what power prejudice exerts over reason.

If the evangelical consistory, before whom Mendelssohn offered to lay his letter for censorship before printing it, did not regret granting him permission to print whatever he pleased, "because they knew his wisdom and modesty to be such that he would write nothing that might give public offense," still he undoubtedly did give offense to many pious persons.

Mendelssohn's epistle to Lavater naturally made a great sensation. Since the appearance of Phædon, he belonged to the select band of authors whose works every cultivated person felt obliged to read. Besides it happened that the subject of the controversy was attractive at the time. The free-thinkers—by no means few at this time—were glad that at last some one, a Jew at that, had ventured to utter a candid word about Christianity. Owing to his obtrusiveness and presumptuous advocacy of Christianity, Lavater had many enemies. These read Mendelssohn's clever reply to the zealous conversionist with mischievous delight. The hereditary prince of Brunswick, who, as said above, was charmed with Mendelssohn, expressed (January 2, 1770) his admiration, that he had spoken "with such great tact and so high a degree of humanitarianism" upon these nice questions. Bonnet himself, less objectionable than his servile flatterer, admitted the justice of Mendelssohn's cause, and complained of Lavater's injudicious zeal. A letter of his dated January 12, 1770, was almost a triumph for Mendelssohn. He said that his dissertation, with which Lavater had desired to convert the Jew, had not been addressed to the honorable "House of Jacob," for which his heart entertained the sincerest and warmest wishes; much less had it been his intention to give the Jewish philosopher a favorable opinion of Christianity. He was full of admiration for the wisdom, the moderation, and the abilities of the famous son of Abraham. He indeed desired him to investigate Christianity, as it could only gain by being subjected to a close inquiry by the wise son of Mendel. But he did not wish to fall into Lavater's mistakes, and make it burdensome for him. However, in spite of his virtuous indignation, Bonnet perpetrated a bit of knavery against Mendelssohn. Lavater himself was obliged in a letter to publicly beg Mendelssohn's pardon for having placed him in so awkward a position, entreating him at the same time to attest that he had not intentionally been guilty of any indiscretion or perfidy. Thus Mendelssohn had an opportunity of acting magnanimously towards his opponent. On the subject proper under dispute, however, he remained firm; he did not surrender an iota of his Judaism, not even its Talmudical and Rabbinical peculiarities, and with every step his courage grew.

Mendelssohn did not wish to let pass this propitious opportunity of glorifying Judaism, which was so intensely contemned, and make it clear that it was in no way opposed to reason. Despite the warnings of timid Jews, to allow the controversy to lapse, so as not to stir up persecutions, he pointed out with growing boldness the chasm which Christianity had dug between itself and reason, whereas Judaism in its essence was in accord with reason. "The nearer I approach this so highly-esteemed religion," he wrote in his examination of Bonnet's "Palingénésie," "the more abhorrent is it to my reason." It afforded him especial delight when strictly orthodox Christians thought that they were abusing Judaism by declaring it to be equivalent to natural religion (Deism).

"Blessed be God, who has given unto us the doctrine of truth. We have no dogmas contrary to, or beyond reason. We add nothing, except commandments and statutes, to natural religion; but the fundamental doctrines of our religion rest upon the basis of understanding." "This is our glory and our pride, and all the writings of our sages are full of it."

Frankly Mendelssohn spoke to the hereditary prince of Brunswick of the untenability of Christian, and the reasonableness of Jewish, dogmas. He thought that he had not yet done enough for Judaism.

"Would to God, another similar opportunity were granted me; I would do the same.... When I consider what we ought to do for the recognition of the sanctity of our religion."

Those who had not wholly parted company with reason declared Mendelssohn to be in the right, and his defense to be just. They beheld with astonishment that Judaism, so greatly despised, was yet vastly superior to celebrated, official, orthodox Christianity. Through its noble son, Judaism celebrated a triumph. The unhappy ardor of Lavater, and the refined yet daring answer of Mendelssohn for a long time formed the topic of conversation in cultured circles in Germany, and even beyond its borders. The journals commented upon it, and noted every incident. Anecdotes passed backwards and forwards between Zürich and Berlin. It was said that Lavater had asserted that if he were able to continue for eleven days in a state of complete holiness and prayer, he would most positively succeed in converting Mendelssohn to Christianity. When Mendelssohn heard this saying—whether authentic or not it is characteristic of Lavater—he smilingly said, "If I am permitted to sit here in my armchair and smoke a pipe philosophically, I have no objections!" There was more talk of the contest between Mendelssohn and Lavater than of war and peace. Every fair brought pamphlets written in German and French, unimportant productions, which did not deserve to live long. Only a few were on Mendelssohn's side, the majority took the part of Christianity and its representatives against the "insolence of the Jew," who did not consider it an honor to be offered admission into the Christian community.

The worst of these was by a petty, choleric author, named John Balthasar Kölbele, of Frankfort-on-the-Main, who, from hatred of the Jews, or from distemper of body and soul, hurled such coarse insults against Mendelssohn, the rabbis, the Jews, and Judaism, that his very violence paralyzed his onslaught. Kölbele had on a previous occasion attacked Mendelssohn, and jeered at him by means of a lay figure in one of his forgotten romances. He desired to write, or said that he had written, an "Anti-Phædon" against Mendelssohn's "Phædon." His whole gall was vented in a letter to "Mr. Mendelssohn upon the affair of Lavater and Kölbele" (March, 1770). Against the assertions of Mendelssohn as to the purity of Judaism, he brought forward the calumnies and perversions of his brother in feeling, Eisenmenger. Mendelssohn's pure, unselfish character was known in almost all cultivated and high circles of Europe. Nevertheless, Kölbele cast the suspicion upon him of adhering to Judaism from self-interest, "because a Jewish bookkeeper is in a better position than a Christian professor, and the former besides derives some profit from attendance in the antechambers of princes." To Mendelssohn's asseveration that he would cling to Judaism all his lifetime, the malignant fool or libeler rejoined, "How little value Christians attach to the oath of a Jew!" Mendelssohn disposed of him in a few words in the postscript of a letter addressed to Lavater. Nothing more was required; Kölbele had condemned himself. Mendelssohn profited by these vilifying attacks, inasmuch as respectable authors, who in their hearts were not a little irritated by his independent and bold action, left him in peace, rather than be associated with Kölbele. Mendelssohn emerged victorious from this conflict, trifling only at first sight, which had lasted for nearly two years; he rose in public opinion, because he had manfully vindicated his own religion.

It had brought upon him also the reproaches of pious Jews. That which his discernment had feared took place. From love of truth he had publicly declared, that he had found in Judaism certain human additions and abuses, which only served to dim its splendor. This expression offended those who reverenced every custom, however un-Jewish, as a revelation from Sinai, because it was sanctified by time and the code. The entire Jewish world, including the Berlin community, with the exception of the few who belonged to Mendelssohn's circle, would not admit that rust had accumulated upon the noble metal of Judaism. He was therefore questioned on this point, probably by Rabbi Hirschel Lewin, and asked for an exact explanation of the phrase. He was very well able to give a reply, which probably satisfied the rabbi, who was no zealot. But his orthodoxy was still suspected by the strictly pious people whom he termed "the Kölbeles of our co-religionists." He was obliged to exculpate himself from the imputation of having pronounced the decisions of Talmudical sages "as worthless trash." Young Poles, adventurous spirits, thirsting for knowledge, "with good minds, but confused thoughts," both pure and impure elements, forced themselves upon Mendelssohn, and brought him into bad repute. The majority had broken not alone with the Talmud, but also with religion and morality; they led a dissolute life, and considered it the mark of philosophy and enlightenment. Out of love to mankind and independent thought, Mendelssohn entered into relations with them, held discussions with them, advanced and aided them, which also cast a false light upon his relations to Judaism. The frivolity and excesses of these young men were imputed to him, and they were regarded as his protégés and disciples.

He soon gave occasion for an increase of this suspicion. The Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, to avoid the dangers of premature interment, had in a mild, fatherly way (April, 1772) forbidden the Jews of his land to bury the dead at once, according to Jewish usage. Jewish piety towards the deceased, which forbids keeping the dead above the earth long enough for decomposition to set in—a feeling petrified in the ritual code—was affronted by this edict, as though the duke had commanded disregard of a religious practice. The representatives of the congregations of Schwerin supplicated Jacob Emden, of Altona, the aged champion of orthodoxy, to demonstrate from Talmudic and Rabbinic laws, that prolonged exposure of a corpse was an important infringement of Jewish law. Emden, who knew his inability to compose a memorial in German, referred the people of Schwerin to Mendelssohn, whose word had great influence with princes. They followed his advice. How astounded were they to learn, from a letter of Mendelssohn's (May, 1772), that he agreed with the ducal order, that the dead should not be buried before the third day; because, according to the experience of competent physicians, cases of apparent death were possible; and that it was right, in fact, compulsory, to rescue human life in spite of the most stringent ordinances of the religious code! Mendelssohn proved besides that in Talmudical times precautions were taken for the prevention of hasty burial in doubtful cases. His opinion was, with the exception of one blunder, faultlessly elaborated in the Rabbinical manner. Nevertheless, true to his peaceful, complaisant nature, he sent the formula of a petition to the duke to mitigate the decree. Emden, however, in his orthodox zeal, stamped this disputed question almost as an article of faith. A custom so universal among Jews, among Italians and Portuguese as well as Germans and Poles, could not be lightly set aside. Not much value was to be attached to the sayings of doctors. Mendelssohn's Talmudical proofs were not conclusive. In a letter Emden gave him clearly to understand that he was reproving him for his own benefit, to remove the suspicion of lukewarm belief, which he had aroused by his evil surroundings. Thus arose petty discord between Mendelssohn and the rigidly orthodox party, which afterwards increased.

Meanwhile, his friend Lessing, just before his death, had unintentionally stirred up a storm in Germany which caused the Church to tremble, and, under the spell of discontent and an artistic impulse, he had glorified Mendelssohn, together with all Jews, in a perfect poetic creation. The first cause of this tempest, which shook Christianity to its core, was Mendelssohn's dispute with Lavater. Lessing was so indignant at the certainty of victory assumed by the representative of Church Christianity that he had strenuously encouraged his Jewish friend to engage in valorous conflict.

"You alone dare and are able to write and speak thus upon this matter, and are therefore infinitely more fortunate than all other honest people, who cannot achieve the subversion of this detestable structure of unreason otherwise than under the pretense of building a new substructure."

He did not suspect that even then he was holding a thunderbolt in his hands, which he would soon be in a position to hurl against the false gods who thought that they had conquered heaven. During his restless life, which corresponded to his constantly agitated spirit, Lessing came to Hamburg, where he made the acquaintance of the respected and free-thinking family of Reimarus. Hermann Samuel Reimarus, a profound inquirer, indignant at the fossilized and insolent Lutheran Christianity of the Hamburg pastors, had written a "Defense of the Rational Worshipers of God," in which he rejected every revealed religion, endeavoring to secure to reason the rights denied it, and depreciating particularly the founder of Christianity. Reimarus, however, had not courage to utter boldly what he recognized as true, and lay bare publicly, in accordance with his convictions, the weaknesses of the dominant religion. He left this treatise, which contained dangerous and inflammatory material, to his family and to a secret order of free-thinkers, as a legacy. Eliza Reimarus, a noble daughter worthy of her father, handed fragments of this incendiary manuscript to Lessing, who read them with interest, and thought of publishing them. However, he had not sufficient confidence in himself to give a decision upon points of theological discussion, and, therefore, sent these fragments to his Jewish friend, who was capable of judging them. Mendelssohn did not, indeed, find this work very convincing, because the author, embittered by the credulity of the Church, had fallen into the opposite error of advocating the most spiritless form of infidelity, and, according to the shortsighted view of that age, of finding only petty intrigues in great historical movements. Despite Mendelssohn's judgment, his friend continued to think that this book would be of service in humiliating the Church. He seriously thought of hurling the inflammatory writings of Reimarus, under a false name, at the Church. But the Berlin censorship would not allow them to be printed. Then Lessing formed another plan. His position as superintendent of the ducal library of Brunswick in Wolfenbüttel permitted him to publish the manuscript treasures of this rich collection. In the interest of truth he perpetrated a falsehood, asserting that he had discovered in this library these "Fragments of an Unknown," the work of an author of the last generation. Under this mask, and protected by his immunity from censorship in publishing contributions "to history and literature from the treasures of the library at Wolfenbüttel," he began to issue them. He proceeded step by step with the publication of these fragments. The first installments were couched in an entreating tone, asking for support of the religion of reason against the religion of the catechism and the pulpit. He then ventured a step further—to prove the impossibility of the miracles upon which the Church was based, and especially to make apparent the unhistorical character and incredibility of the resurrection of Jesus, one of the main pillars of Christianity, with which it stands and falls. Finally, Lessing produced the most important of the fragments at the beginning of 1778, "Upon the Aim of Jesus and His Disciples." Herein it was explained that Jesus had only desired to announce himself as the Jewish Messiah and King of the Jews. To this end he had made secret preparations with his disciples, formed conspiracies to kindle a revolution in Jerusalem, and attacked the authorities in order to cause the downfall of the High Council (the Synhedrion). But when this plan of subversion failed, and Jesus had to suffer death, his disciples invented another system, and declared that the kingdom of Jesus was not of this world. They proclaimed him the spiritual redeemer of mankind, and gave prominence to the hope of his speedy reappearance; thus the Apostles had concealed and disfigured the original system of Jesus.

This treatment of the early history of Christianity, fairly calculated to overthrow the whole edifice of the Church, descended like a lightning-flash. It was sober, convincing, scientifically elaborated, yet comprehensible by everyone. Amazement and stupefaction were the effect, especially on the publication of the last fragment. Statesmen and citizens were as much affected as theologians. Public opinion upon the matter was divided. Earnest youths about to begin a theologic career hesitated; they did not care to yield their life's activity to what was perhaps only a dream, and chose another vocation. Some affirmed that the proofs against Christianity were irrefutable. The anonymity of the writer heightened the excitement. Conjectures were made as to who the author might be; Mendelssohn's name was publicly mentioned. Only a few knew that this blow had been struck by Reimarus, revered by theologians, too. The anger of the zealots was discharged upon the publisher, Lessing. He was attacked by all parties, and had no companion in arms. His Jewish friend would willingly have hastened to his assistance, but how could he mix himself up in these domestic squabbles of the Christians? Among the numerous slanders circulated by the orthodox about Lessing it was said that the wealthy Jewish community of Amsterdam had paid him one thousand ducats for the publication of the Wolfenbüttel fragments. Accustomed to single-handed combat against want of taste and reason, Lessing was man enough to protect himself. It was a goodly sight to behold this giant in the fray, dealing crushing strokes with light banter and graceful skill. He defeated his enemies one after the other, especially one who was the type of blindly credulous, arrogant, and malicious orthodoxy, the minister Göze in Hamburg. As his pigmy opponents could not overcome this Hercules by literary skill, they summoned to their aid the secular arm. Lessing's productions were forbidden and confiscated, he was compelled to deliver up the manuscripts of the "Fragments," his freedom from censorship was withdrawn, and he was expected not to write any more upon this subject (1778). He struggled against these violent proceedings, but he was vulnerable in one point. The greatest man whom Germany had hitherto produced was without means, and his position as librarian being imperiled, he was obliged to seek for other means of support. During one of his sleepless nights (August 10, 1778), a plan struck him which would simultaneously relieve him from pecuniary embarrassments and inflict a worse blow than ten "Fragments" upon the Lutheran theologians. They thundered against him from their church pulpits; he would try to answer them from his theatre pulpit. The latest, most mature, and most perfect offspring of his Muse, "Nathan the Wise," should be his avenger. Lessing had carried this idea in his mind for several years; but he could not have executed it at a more favorable time.

To the annoyance of the pious Christians who, with all their bigotry, uncharitableness, and desire for persecution, laid claim to every virtue on account of their belief in Jesus, and denounced the Jews, one and all, as outcasts, Lessing represented a Jew as the immaculate ideal of virtue, wisdom, and conscientiousness. This ideal he had found embodied in Moses Mendelssohn. He illumined him and the greatness of his character by the bright light of theatrical effects, and impressed the stamp of eternity upon him by his immortal verses. The chief hero of Lessing's drama is a sage and a merchant, like Mendelssohn, "as good as he is clever, and as clever as he is wise." His nation honors him as a prince, and though it calls him the wise Nathan, he was above all things good:

A son of Judaism, Nathan had elevated himself to the highest level of humane feeling and charitableness, for such his Law prescribed. In a fanatical massacre by Crusaders, ferocious Christians had slaughtered all the Jews in Jerusalem, with their wives and children, and his beloved wife and seven hopeful sons had been burnt. At first he raged, and murmured against fate, but anon he spake with the patience of Job:

In his terrible grief a mounted soldier brought him a young, tender Christian child, an orphan girl, and Nathan took it, bore it to his couch, kissed it, flung himself upon his knees, and thanked God that the lost seven had been replaced by at least one. This Christian maiden he loved with all the warmth of a fatherly heart, and educated her in a strictly conscientious manner. Not one religion in preference to another, still less his own, did he instil into the young soul of Recha, or Blanche, but only the doctrines of pure fear of God, ideal virtue, and morality. Such was the representative of Judaism.

How did the representative of Christianity behave? The Patriarch of Jerusalem, who, with his church, was tolerated in the Mahometan city by the magnanimous Sultan Saladin, by virtue of a solemnly ratified treaty, meditates treacherous plans against the sultan, concocts intrigues against him:

For Nathan, he desires to kindle a pyre, because he has fostered, loved, and raised to a lovely, spiritual maiden, a forsaken Christian child. Without the compassion of the Jew, the child would have perished:

Daya, another representative of Church Christianity, who knows Recha's Christian origin, has misgivings when she sees the Christian child basking in the warm love of a Jew. She is won over from these scruples by costly presents, but she still contemplates depriving Nathan of the most precious object to which his soul clings, even though danger should thereby befall him.

The Templar, Leon of Filnek, represents yet another phase of Christianity. A soldier and at the same time a cleric, who, spared by Saladin although he had broken his word, rescues Recha, the supposed Jewish maiden; he behaves with Christian insolence towards Nathan, speaking roughly and harshly to him, whilst the latter is pouring forth heartfelt gratitude for the rescue of his adopted daughter. Then, gradually, through the wonderful power of love, the Templar lays aside the coarse, hateful garb of Christian prejudice. In his veins there flows Mahometan blood. Only the holy simplicity of the friar Bonafides combines human kindness with monastic ecclesiasticism; but he knows only one duty—obedience—and at the command of the fanatically cruel Patriarch would commit the most horrible crimes.

These lessons Lessing preached from his theatre pulpit to the obdurate minds of the followers of Christ. The wise Jew, Nathan—Mendelssohn—has arrived at the highest level of human sympathy; while the best Christian, the Templar, every cultivated Christian—the Nicolais, the Abts, the Herders—have yet to free themselves from their thick-skinned prejudices, to attain to that height. It is a delusion to claim the possession of the one true religion and the only means of salvation. Who possesses the real ring? How can the real one be detected from the false? Only by meekness, heartfelt tolerance, true benevolence, and most fervent devotion to God; in short, by all those qualities which the official Christianity of the time did not display, and which were perfectly realized in Mendelssohn.

In every way Lessing scourged fossilized, persecuting Christianity, and glorified Judaism through its chief representative. As if this splendid drama, the beautiful first-fruits of German poetry, was to belong to the Jews, although given to the world by a Christian poet, a son of Israel aided its production. Lessing, besieged by theological foes, and fighting against dire necessity, would not have been able to complete it, if, during its composition, he had not been enabled to live without anxiety. He required a loan, and found no helper among the Christians. Moses Wessely, in Hamburg, the brother of the neo-Hebraic poet, Naphtali Wessely, who afterwards made a name for himself in Jewish history, advanced the desired sum, although he was not a wealthy Jew, and only wished to have the honor of possessing something in Lessing's handwriting.

Lessing had not been wrong in thinking that this drama would vex pious Christians much more than ten controversial pamphlets against Göze. As soon as it appeared (spring, 1779), intense wrath was felt against the poet, as if he had degraded Christianity. The "Fragments" and his polemics against Göze had not made him so many enemies as "Nathan." Even his friends greeted him coldly, shunned him, excluded him from the social reunions he loved, and left him to the persecution of his adversaries. Through this silent excommunication he felt himself aggrieved, lost more and more of his bright humor and elasticity of spirit, and became wearied, downcast, and almost stupefied. The treatment of pious Christians terribly embittered the last year of his life. He died in vigorous manhood like an aged man, a martyr to his love of truth. But his soul-conquering voice made itself heard on behalf of tolerance, and gradually softened the discordant notes of hatred and prejudice. In spite of the ban placed upon "Nathan," as well as upon its author, both in Protestant and Catholic countries, this drama became one of the most popular in German poetry, and as often as the verses inspired by conviction resound from the stage, they seize upon the hearts of the audience, loosening the links of the chain of Jew-hatred in the minds of Germans, who find it most difficult to throw off its shackles. "Nathan" made an impression on the mind of the German people, which, despite unfavorable circumstances, has not been obliterated. Twenty years before, when Lessing produced his first drama of "The Jews," an arrogant theologian censured it, because it was altogether too improbable that among a people like the Jews, so noble a character could ever be formed. At the appearance of "Nathan" no reader thought that a noble Jew was possible. Even the most stubborn dared not assert so monstrous an absurdity. The Jewish ideal sage was a reality, and lived in Berlin, an ornament not alone to the Jews, but to the German nation. Without Mendelssohn, the drama of "Nathan" would not have been written, just as without Lessing's friendship Mendelssohn would not have become what he did to German literature and the Jewish world. The cordiality of the intimacy between these two friends showed itself after Lessing's death. His brothers and friends, who only after his demise realized his greatness, turned, in the anguish of their loss, to Mendelssohn, as if it were natural that he should be the chief mourner. And in very sooth he was; none of his associates preserved Lessing's memory with so sorrowful a remembrance and religious a reverence. He was beyond all things solicitous to protect his former friend against misapprehension and slander.

As Mendelssohn, without knowing or desiring it, stimulated Lessing to create an ideal, and through him helped to dispel the bias against Jews, so at the same time, without aiming at it, he inaugurated the spiritual regeneration of his race. The Bible, especially the Pentateuch—the all in all of the Jews—although very many knew it by heart, had become as strange to them, as any unintelligible book. Rabbinical and Kabbalistic expositors had so distorted the simple biblical sense of the words, that everything was found in it except the actual contents.

Polish school-masters—there were no others—with rod and angry gestures, instructed Jewish boys in tender youth to discover the most absurd perversities in the Holy Book, translating it into their hateful jargon, and so confusing the text with their own translation, that it seemed as if Moses had spoken in the barbarous dialect of Polish Jews.

The neglect of all secular knowledge, which increased with every century, had reached such a pitch that every nonsensical oddity, even blasphemy, was subtly read into the verses of Scripture. What had been intended as a comfort to the soul was changed into a poison. Mendelssohn acutely felt this ignorance and wresting of Bible words, for he had arrived at the enlightened view that Holy Writ does not contain "that which Jews and Christians believe they can find therein," and that a good, simple translation would be an important step towards the promotion of culture among Jews. But in his modesty and diffidence it did not occur to him to employ these means to educate his brethren. He compiled a translation of the Pentateuch for his children, to give them a thorough education and to introduce the word of God to them in an undisfigured form, without troubling (as he observed) "whether they would continue to be compelled, in Saxe-Gotha, on every journey, to pay for their Jewish heads at a game of dice, or to tell the story of the three rings to every petty ruler." It was only at the urgent request of a man whose word carried weight with Mendelssohn, that he decided to publish his translation of the Pentateuch into German (in Jewish-German characters) for Jewish readers. It cost him an effort, however, to attach his name to it.

He knew his Jewish public too well not to understand that the translation, however excellently it might be done, would meet with little approval, unless it were accompanied by a Hebrew exposition. Of what value to the depraved taste of Jewish readers was a book without a commentary? From time immemorial, since commentaries and super-commentaries had come into existence, these had been much more admired than the most beautiful text. Mendelssohn, therefore, obtained the assistance of an educated Pole, named Solomon Dubno, who, a praiseworthy exception to his countrymen, was thoroughly acquainted with Hebrew grammar, to undertake the composition of a running commentary. The work was begun by securing the necessary subscribers, without whom no book could at that time be issued. It became apparent that Mendelssohn had already many supporters and admirers among his brethren, within and beyond Germany. His undertaking, which was to remove from the Jews the reproach of ignorance of their own literature, and of speaking a corrupt language, was hailed with joy. Most of the subscribers came from Berlin and Mendelssohn's native town, Dessau, which was indeed proud of him. From Poland also orders for the Germanized "Torah" arrived, mostly from Wilna, where Elijah Wilna, to a certain extent a liberal thinker, and the visionary perversities of the New-Chassidim had drawn attention to the Holy Scriptures. As a sign of the times, it may also be noticed that the translation was purchased by Christians, professors, pastors, court preachers, consistorial councilors, court councilors, and the nobility. Mendelssohn's Christian friends were, indeed, extraordinarily active in promoting his work. Eliza Reimarus, Lessing's noble friend, even collected subscriptions.

Glad as were Mendelssohn's admirers to receive the news of a Pentateuch translation from his hand, so disturbed were the rigid adherents to antiquity and obsolete habit. They felt vividly, without being able to think it out clearly, that the old times, with their ingenuous credulity—which regarded everything with unquestioned faith as an emanation from a Divine source—would now sink into the grave.

No sooner was a specimen of the translation published, than the rabbis of the old school were prejudiced against it, and planned how to keep the enemy from the house of Jacob. To these opponents of Mendelssohn's enterprise belonged men who brought honor upon Judaism, not alone by their Rabbinical scholarship and keen intellects, but also by their nobility of character. There were especially three men, Poles by birth, who had as little appreciation of the innovations of the times as of beauty of form and purity of speech. One of them, Ezekiel Landau (chief rabbi of Prague, from the year 1752; died in 1793), enjoyed great respect both within and outside his community. He was a clever man, and learned in time to swim with the tide. The second, Raphael Cohen, the grandfather of Riesser (born 1722, died 1803), who had emigrated from Poland, and had been called from Posen to the rabbinate of the three communities of Hamburg, Altona, and Wandsbeck, was a firm, decided character, without guile or duplicity, who as judge meted out justice without respect to persons, considering justice the support of God's throne. The third and youngest was Hirsch Janow, a son-in-law of Raphael Cohen, who, on account of his profound acumen in Talmudical discussions, was called the "keen scholar" (born 1750, died 1785). His acute mind was equally versed in the intricate problems of mathematics as in those of the Talmud. He was thoroughly unselfish, the trifling income that he received from the impoverished community of Posen he gave away to the unfortunate; he distributed alms with open-handed benevolence, and without asking questions whether the recipients were orthodox or heretics, whilst he himself starved. He contracted debts to save the needy from misery. Solomon Maimon, a deep thinker, who had opportunities of knowing men from their worst side, called this rabbi of Posen and Fürth "a godly man," an epithet not to be considered an exaggeration from such lips. To these three rabbis a fourth kindred spirit may be added, Phineas Levi Hurwitz (born 1740; died 1802), rabbi of Frankfort-on-the-Main, also a Pole, educated in the Chassidean school. These men, and others who thought like them, and who regarded the perusal of a German book as a grievous sin, from their point of view were right in opposing Mendelssohn's innovation. They perceived that the Jewish youth would learn the German language from the Mendelssohn translation more than an understanding of the "Torah"; that the former would strongly tend to become the chief object of study; the attention to Holy Writ would degenerate into an unimportant secondary matter, whilst the study of the Talmud would be completely suppressed. Though Mendelssohn himself enjoyed good repute from a religious point of view, his adherents and supporters were not invariably free from reproach. Unworthy men, who had broken with Judaism, and conceitedly termed themselves Mendelssohnians, were energetic in advancing the sale of the translation, and thus brought it into suspicion with the rigidly orthodox party.

Raphael Cohen, of Hamburg, a man of hasty temper, was the most zealous agitator against the German version of the Bible. But as Mendelssohn had relatives on his wife's side in this town, and also many admirers, no action could be taken against him there or in Prague, where there were freethinkers among the Jews. Fürth, therefore, was looked upon as the fittest place whence the interdict (about June, 1779) against "the German Pentateuch of Moses of Dessau" should be launched. All true to Judaism were forbidden, under penalty of excommunication, to use this translation.

Meanwhile the conflict between the old and the new Judaism was conducted with calmness, and no violent symptoms showed themselves. If Jacob Emden had been alive, the contest would have raged more fiercely, and evoked more disturbance. Mendelssohn was too unselfish, too gentle and philosophically tranquil to grow excited on hearing of the ban against his undertaking, or to solicit the aid of his Christian friends of high rank in silencing his opponents. He was prepared for opposition. "As soon as I yielded to Dubno to have my translation printed, I placed my soul in my hands, raised my eyes to the mountains, and gave my back to the smiters." He regarded the play of human passions and excessive ardor for religion as natural phenomena, which demanded quiet observation. He did not wish to disturb this peaceful observation by external influence, by threats and prohibitions, or by the interference of the temporal power. "Perhaps a little excitement serves the best interests of the enterprise nearest to my heart." He suggested that if his version had been received without opposition, its superfluity would have been proved. "The more the so-called wise men of the day object to it, the more necessary it is. At first, I only intended it for ordinary people, but now I find that it is much more needful for rabbis." On the part of his opponents, however, no decided efforts were made to suppress his translation, which appeared to them so dangerous, or to denounce its author. Only in certain Polish towns, such as Posen and Lissa, it was forbidden, and it is said to have been publicly committed to the flames. Violent action was to be feared only from the indiscreet, resolute Rabbi Raphael Cohen. He seems, however, to have delayed action until the whole appeared, in order to obtain proofs of deserved condemnation. Mendelssohn, therefore, sought help to counteract his zeal. He prevailed upon his friend, Augustus von Hennigs, Danish state councilor and brother-in-law of his intimate friend, Eliza Reimarus, to try to induce the king of Denmark and certain courtiers to become subscribers to the work; this would quench the ardor of the zealot. Hennigs, a man of hasty action, forthwith turned to the Danish minister, Von Guldberg, to fulfill the request of Mendelssohn. To his astonishment and Mendelssohn's, he received an insulting reply, to the effect that the king and his illustrious brothers were prepared to subscribe if the minister could assure them that the translation contained nothing against the inspiration and truth of the Holy Scriptures, so that the Jews might not afterwards say "that Moses Mendelssohn was an adherent to the (ill-famed) religion of Berlin."

This "Berlin religion" was at the time the terror of the orthodox, both in the Church and the Synagogue, and it cannot be said to have been an idle fear. To keep at a distance this scoffing tendency against religion, over-zealous rabbis tried to block every possible avenue of approach to the houses of the Jews. Events of the immediate future proved that the rabbis were not pursuing a phantom. Mendelssohn, in his innocent piety, did not recognize the enemy, although it passed to and fro through his own house. At length, the interdict against Mendelssohn's translation of the Pentateuch was promulgated by Raphael Cohen (July 17th); it was directed against all Jews who read the new version. The author himself was not excommunicated, either out of consideration for his prominence, or from weakness and half-heartedness. However, before the blow fell, Mendelssohn had warded off its consequences. He persuaded Von Hennigs that he need have no scruples about obtaining the king's subscription for the translation, and it was done. At the head of the list of contributors stood the names of King Christian of Denmark and the Crown Prince. By this means Raphael Cohen was effectually foiled in his endeavors to condemn and destroy a work which he regarded as heretical.

His adversaries nevertheless struck Mendelssohn a blow, to hinder the completion of the translation. They succeeded in alienating Solomon Dubno, his right-hand man, which caused Mendelssohn serious perplexity. That his work might not remain unfinished, he had to undertake the commentary to the Pentateuch himself, but finding the work beyond his strength he was obliged to seek for assistants. In Wessely he found a co-operator of similar disposition to his own; but he did not care to undertake the whole burden, and thus Mendelssohn was compelled to entrust a portion to Herz Homberg, his son's tutor, and to another Pole, Aaron Jaroslav. The former was not altogether a congenial associate. He knew that Homberg in his heart was estranged from Judaism, and that he would not execute the holy work according to his method and as a sacred duty, as he himself felt it to be. But he had no alternative. Owing to Homberg's participation in the work, the translation, finished in 1783, was discredited by the orthodox; and they desired to exclude it altogether from Jewish houses.

This severity roused opposition. Forbidden fruit tastes sweet. Youthful students of the Talmud seized upon the German translation behind the backs of their masters, who depreciated the new influence, and in secret learned at once the most elementary and the most sublime lessons—the German language and the philosophy of religion, Hebrew grammar and poetry. A new view of the world was opened to them. The Hebrew commentary served as a guide to a proper understanding of the translation. As if touched by a magic wand, the Talmud students, fossils of the musty schoolhouses, were transfigured, and upon the wings of the intellect they soared above the gloomy present, and took their flight heavenwards. An insatiable desire for knowledge took possession of them; no territory, however dark, remained inaccessible to them. The acumen, quick comprehension, and profound penetrativeness, which these youths had acquired in their close study of the Talmud, rendered it easy for them to take their position in the newly-discovered world. Thousands of Talmud students from the great schools of Hamburg, Prague, Nikolsburg, Frankfort-on-the-Main, Fürth, and even from Poland, became little Mendelssohns; many of them eloquent, profound thinkers. With them Judaism renewed its youth. All who, towards the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century, were in various ways public workers, had up to a certain period in their lives been one-sided Talmudists, and needed the inspiration of Mendelssohn's example to become exponents and promoters of culture among Jews. In a very short time a numerous band of Jewish authors arose, who wrote in a clear Hebrew or German style upon matters of which shortly before they had had no knowledge. The Mendelssohn translation speedily resulted in a veritable renaissance of the Jews. They found their level in European civilization more quickly than the Germans, and—what should not be overlooked—Talmudic schooling had sharpened their intelligence. Mendelssohn's translation of the Pentateuch, together with his paraphrase of the Psalms, has produced more good than that of Luther, because instead of fossilizing, it animated the mind. The inner freedom of the Jews, as has been said, dates from this translation.

The beginning of the outward liberation of the Jews from the cruel bondage of thousands of years was also connected with Mendelssohn's name, and like his activity for their internal freedom was unconscious, without violence or calculation. It seems a miracle, though no marvelous occurrence accompanied it. It secured to the Jews two advocates, than whom none more zealous, none warmer could be desired: these were Lessing and Dohm.

Since the middle of the eighteenth century the attention of the cultured world had been directed towards the Jews without any action on their part. Montesquieu, the first to penetrate to the profound depths of human laws and reveal their spirit, was also the first to raise his weighty voice against the barbarous treatment of the Jews. In his widely-read, suggestive work, "Spirit of the Laws," he had demonstrated, with convincing arguments, the harm that the ill-treatment of the Jews had caused to states, and branded the cruelty of the Inquisition with an ineradicable stigma. The piercing cry of agony of a tortured Marrano at sight of a stake prepared for a "Judaizing" maiden of eighteen years of age in Lisbon had aroused Montesquieu, and the echo of his voice resounded throughout Europe.

"You Christians complain that the Emperor of China roasts all Christians in his dominions over a slow fire. You behave much worse towards Jews, because they do not believe as you do. If any of our descendants should ever venture to say that the nations of Europe were cultured, your example will be adduced to prove that they were barbarians. The picture that they will draw of you will certainly stain your age, and spread abroad hatred of all your contemporaries."

Montesquieu had rediscovered the true idea of justice, which mankind had lost. But how difficult was it to cause this idea to be fully recognized with reference to Jews!

Two events had brought the Jews, their concerns, their present, and their past before public notice: their demand for a legal standing in England, and Voltaire's attacks upon them. In England, where a century before they had, as it were, crept in, they formed a separate community, especially in the capital, without being tolerated or recognized by law. They were regarded as foreigners—as Spaniards, Portuguese, Dutchmen, or Germans, and had to pay the alien duty. However, the authorities, especially the judges, showed regard for the Jewish belief; for instance, they did not summon Jewish witnesses on the Sabbath. After the Jews settled in the American colonies of England had been naturalized, a bill was presented in Parliament by merchants and manufacturers, Jews and their friends, to be sure, begging that they be treated as natives of England, without being compelled to obtain civil rights by taking the sacrament, as the law prescribed. Pelham, the minister, supported the petition, and pointed out the advantages that would accrue to the country by the large capital of the Portuguese Jews and their warm attachment to England. By their opponents, however, partly self-interest, partly religious prejudices were brought to bear against them. It was urged that, placed on an equal footing with English citizens, the Jews would acquire the whole wealth of the kingdom, would obtain possession of all the landed property, and disinherit Christians: the latter would be their slaves, and the Jews would choose their own rulers and kings. Orthodox literalists argued that according to Christian prophecies they were to remain without a home until gathered to the land of their fathers. Surprisingly enough, a bill was passed by the Upper House permitting Jews who had resided in England or Ireland for three consecutive years to be naturalized; but they were not to occupy any secular or clerical office, nor to receive the Parliamentary franchise. The lords and the bishops, then, were not opposed to the Jews. The majority of the Lower House also agreed to the bill, and George II ratified it (March, 1753). Was the decision of the Three Estates really the expression of the majority of the nation? This at once became doubtful: imprecations were immediately thundered from pulpits, guilds, and the taverns against the ministry which had urged the Naturalization Act for Jews. In our days it seems hardly credible that the London merchants should have feared the ruin of their trade by the influx of Jewish capitalists. Deacon Josiah Tucker, who took the part of the Jews, and defended the Naturalization Act, was attacked by the opposition in parliament, in the newspapers, and in pamphlets, and his effigy, together with his defense of the Jews, was burnt at Bristol. To the vexation of the liberal-minded, the ministry were weak enough to yield to the clamor of the populace arising from mercantile jealousy and fanatical intolerance, and to annul their own work (1754) "because it had provoked displeasure, and the minds of many loyal subjects had been disquieted thereby." For, even the most violent enemies of the act could not impute evil to the Jews of England; they created a good impression upon Englishmen by their riches, accumulated without usury, and by their noble bearing. Public opinion warmly sided with them and their claims for civil equality, and if, for the moment, these were disregarded, yet no unfavorable result ensued.

The second occurrence, although originating in a single person, roused even more attention than the action of the English Parliament towards the Jews. This person was Arouet de Voltaire, king in the domain of literature in the eighteenth century, who with his demoniacal laughter blew down like a house of cards the stronghold of the Middle Ages. He, who believed neither in Providence nor in the moral progress of mankind, was a mighty instrument of history in the advancement of progress. Voltaire—in his writings an entrancing wizard, a sage, in his life a fool, the slave of base passions—picked a quarrel with the Jews, and sneered at them and their past. His hostility arose from personal ill-humor and irritability. He maintained that during his stay in London he lost eighty per cent of a loan of 25,000 francs, through the bankruptcy of a Jewish capitalist named Medina. He cannot, however, always be believed.

"Medina told me that he was not to blame for his bankruptcy: that he was unfortunate, that he had never been a son of Belial. He moved me, I embraced him, we praised God together, and I lost my money. I have never hated the Jewish nation; I hate nobody."

Yet, a low-minded Harpagon, who clung to his money, Voltaire, on account of this large or small loss, hated not only this Jew, but all Jews on earth. A second incident excited him still more against them. When Voltaire was in Berlin and Potsdam as court poet, literary mentor, and attendant of King Frederick, who both admired and detested this diabolical genius, he gave a filthy commission to a Jewish jeweler, named Hirsch, or Hirschel (1750), which he afterwards, at the instigation of a rival in the trade, named Ephraim Veitel, wished to withdraw. Friction arose between Voltaire and Hirschel, until some arrangement was made, which the former afterwards desired to evade. In a word, Voltaire practiced a series of mean tricks upon his Jewish tradesman: cheated him about some diamonds, abused him, lied, forged documents, and acted as if he were the injured party. At length a complicated lawsuit sprang from these proceedings. King Frederick, who had obtained information of all this from the legal documents, and from a pamphlet, written ostensibly by Hirsch, in reality by Voltaire's enemies, was highly enraged with the poet and philosopher scamp. He resolved to banish him from Prussia, and wrote against him a comedy in French verse, called "Tantalus in the Lawsuit." Voltaire's quarrel with the Prussian Jew created a sensation, and provided ample material for the mischievous delight of his opponents.

Next to avarice, revenge was a prominent feature in his character. It was too trifling for Voltaire to avenge himself upon the individual Jew who had contributed to his humiliation; he determined to make the whole Jewish nation feel his hatred. Whenever he had an opportunity of speaking of Judaism or Jews, he bespattered the Jews of the past and the present with his obscene satire. This accorded with his method of warfare. Christianity, which he thoroughly hated and despised, could not be attacked openly without rendering the aggressor liable to severe punishment. Judaism, the parent of Christianity, therefore served as the target, against which he hurled his elegant, lightly brandished, but venomous darts. In one of his essays particularly he poured forth his gall against Jews and Judaism.

This partial and superficial estimate of the Jews, this summary judgment of a whole people, and a history of a thousand years, irritated many truth-loving men; but no one dared provoke a quarrel with so dreaded an antagonist as Voltaire. It required a bold spirit, but it was hazarded by a cultured Jew, named Isaac Pinto, more from skillfully-calculated motives than from indignation at Voltaire's baseless defamation. Pinto (born in Bordeaux, 1715; died in Amsterdam, 1787) belonged to a Portuguese Marrano family, was rich, cultivated, noble, and disinterested in his own affairs; but suffered from pardonable egoism, namely, on behalf of the community. After leaving Bordeaux he settled in Amsterdam, where he not only served the Portuguese community, but also advanced large sums of money to the government of Holland, and therefore held an honorable position. He always took warm interest in the congregation in which he had been born, and assisted it by word and deed. But his heart was most devoted to the Portuguese Jews, his brethren by race and speech; on the other hand, he was indifferent and cold towards the Jews of the German and Polish tongues; he looked down upon them with disdainful pride, as Christians of rank upon lowly Jews. Nobility of mind and pride of race were intimately combined in Pinto. In certain unpleasant matters in which the Portuguese community of Bordeaux had become entangled, he displayed, on the one hand, ardent zeal, on the other, hardness of heart. In this prosperous commercial town, since the middle of the sixteenth century, there had flourished a congregation of fugitive Marranos, who had fled from the prisons and the autos-da-fé of the Spanish and Portuguese Inquisition. These refugees had brought considerable capital and an enterprising spirit, and thus secured right of residence and certain privileges, but only under the name of new-Christians or Portuguese merchants. For a time they were forced to undergo the hypocrisy of having their marriages solemnized in the churches. Their numbers gradually increased; in two centuries (1550–1750) the congregation of Bordeaux had grown to 200 families, or 500 souls. The majority of the Portuguese Jews, or new-Christians, of Bordeaux, kept large banking-houses, engaged in the manufacture of arms, equipped ships, or undertook trans-marine business with French colonies. To their importance as merchants and ship-owners they united staunch uprightness, blameless honesty in business, liberality towards Jews and non-Jews, and the dignity which they had brought from the Pyrenean peninsula, their unnatural mother-country. Thus they gained respect and distinction among the Christian inhabitants of Bordeaux, and the French court as well as the high officials connived at their presence, and gradually came to recognize them as Jews. The important mercantile town also attracted German Jews from Alsace, and French Jews from Avignon, under papal government, who obtained the right to settle by paying large sums of money. The Portuguese Jews were jealous; they feared that they would be placed on a level with these co-religionists, who were little educated, and engaged in petty trading or monetary transactions, and that they would lose their honorable reputation. Induced by these selfish motives they exerted themselves to have the immigrant German and Avignon Jews expelled from the town, by appealing to the old edict that Jews might not dwell in France. But the exiles contrived to gain the protection of influential persons at court, and thus obtained the privilege of sojourn. Through the connivance of the authorities, 152 foreign Jews had already flocked to Bordeaux, several of whom had powerful friends. This was a thorn in the side of the Portuguese, and to hinder the influx of strangers, they passed (1760) an illiberal communal law against their foreign co-religionists. They branded every foreign Jew not of Portuguese origin as a vagrant and a beggar, and as a burden to the wealthy. They calumniated the strangers, asserting that they followed dishonorable, fraudulent occupations, and thereby predisposed the citizens and authorities against them. According to their proposal, Portuguese Jews, or their council, should be vested with the right to expel the foreign Jews, or "vagrants," from the town within three days. This cruel and heartless statute had to be confirmed by King Louis XV. It was not difficult to obtain from this monarch, who was ruled by his wives and his courtiers, the most inhuman petitions. A friend and kinsman of Isaac Pinto undertook to get the sanction of the court for this statute.

This was Jacob Rodrigues Pereira (born in Spain, 1715; died in Paris, 1780), grandfather of the famous and enterprising Emile and Isaac Pereira, a man of talent and noble character, and an artist of a peculiar kind, who had obtained wide renown. He had invented a sign language for the deaf and dumb, and taught these unfortunate people a means of expressing their thoughts. As a Marrano, he had taught the deaf and dumb in Spain. Love for the religion of his ancestors, or hatred of the bloodthirsty Catholic Church impelled him to leave the land of the Inquisition (about 1734), and, together with his mother and sister, to emigrate to Bordeaux. Here, even before Abbé de l'Epée, he so thoroughly verified his theory for the instruction of those born dumb, in a specially appointed school, that the king conferred a reward, and the first men of science—D'Alembert, Buffon, Diderot, and Rousseau—lavished praises upon him. Pereira afterwards became royal interpreter and member of the Royal Society in London. The Portuguese community of Bordeaux appointed him their representative in Paris, to ventilate their complaints and accomplish their ends. Moved with sympathy for the unfortunate, he was yet so filled with communal egoism, that he did not hesitate to inflict injury upon his German and Avignon co-religionists. The commission to secure from Louis XV the ratification of the proposed statute, he carried out but too conscientiously. But in the disorderly government of this king and his court there was a vast difference between the passing and the administering of a law. The higher officials were able to circumvent any law or defer its execution. The expulsion of the Jews of German and Avignon origin from Bordeaux lay in the hands of the governor, the Duc de Richelieu. Isaac Pinto, who was on intimate terms with him, was able to win his support. Richelieu issued an urgent command (November, 1761) that within two weeks all foreign Jews should be banished from Bordeaux. Exception was made only in favor of two old men and women whom the hardships of the expulsion would have killed, and of a man who had been of service to the town (Jacob de Perpignan). All the rest were plunged into unavoidable distress, as it was forbidden to Jews to settle anywhere in France, and the districts and towns where Jews already dwelt admitted no new-comers. What a difference between the German Jew Moses Mendelssohn and the Portuguese Jews Isaac Pinto and Rodrigues Pereira, who in their time were ranked side by side! The former did not cease his efforts, until by his influence he brought help to his unhappy brethren, or at least offered them comfort. For the Jews in Switzerland, who were tolerated only in two small towns, and even there were so enslaved that they must have died out, Mendelssohn procured some alleviation through his opponent Lavater. Several hundred Jews were about to be expelled from Dresden, because they could not pay the poll-tax laid upon them. Through Mendelssohn's intercession with one of his numerous admirers, Cabinet Councilor Von Ferber, the unfortunate people obtained permission to remain in Dresden. To a Jewish Talmudical scholar unjustly suspected of theft and imprisoned in Leipsic, Mendelssohn cleverly contrived to send a letter of consolation, whereby he gained his freedom. Isaac Pinto and Jacob Pereira, on the other hand, were zealous in bringing about the expulsion of their brethren by race and religion, which Mendelssohn considered the hardest punishment of the Jews, "equal to annihilation from the face of God's earth, where armed prejudice repulses them at every frontier."

The cruel proceedings of the Portuguese Jews against their brethren in Bordeaux made a great stir. If Jews might not tarry in France, why should those of Portuguese tongue be tolerated? The latter, therefore, saw themselves compelled to put themselves in a favorable light, and requested Isaac Pinto, who had already appeared in public, and possessed literary culture, to write a sort of vindication for them, and make clear the wide difference between Jews of Portuguese descent and those of other lands. Pinto consented, or rather followed his own inclination, and prepared the "Reflections" upon Voltaire's defamation of Judaism (1762). He told this reckless calumniator that the crime of libeling single individuals was increased when the false accusations affected a whole nation, and reached its highest degree when directed against a people insulted by all men, and when the responsibility for the misdeeds of a few is laid upon the whole body, whose members, moreover, widely scattered, have assumed the character of the inhabitants of the country in which they live. An English Jew as little resembles his co-religionist of Constantinople, as the latter does a Chinese mandarin; the Jew of Bordeaux and he of Metz are two utterly different beings. Nevertheless, Voltaire had indiscriminately condemned them, and his sketch of them was as absurd as untrue. Voltaire, who felt called upon to extirpate prejudices, had in fact lent his pen to the greatest of them. He does not indeed wish them to be burnt, but a number of Jews would rather be burnt than so calumniated. "The Jews are not more ignorant, more barbarous, or superstitious than other nations, least of all do they merit the accusation of avarice." Voltaire owed a duty to the Jews, to truth, to his century, and to posterity, which would justly appeal to his authority when abusing and trying to crush an exceedingly unhappy people.

However, as already said, it was not so much Pinto's aim to vindicate the whole of the Jewish world against Voltaire's malicious charges as to place his kinsmen, the Portuguese or Sephardic Jews, in a more favorable light. To this end, he pretended that a wide gulf existed between them and those of other extraction, especially the German and Polish Jews. He averred, with great exaggeration, that if a Sephardic Jew in England or Holland wedded a German Jewess, he would be excluded from the community by his relatives, and would not even find a resting-place in their cemetery. This arose from the fact that the Portuguese Jews traced their lineage from the noblest families of the tribe of Judah, and that their noble descent had always in Spain and Portugal been an impulse to great virtues and a protection against vice and crime. Among them no traces of the wickedness or evil deeds of which Voltaire accused them were to be found. On the contrary, they had brought wealth to the states which received them, especially to Holland. The German and Polish Jews, on the other hand, Pinto abandoned to the attacks of their detractors, except that he excused their not over honorable trades and despicable actions by the overwhelming sufferings, the slavery, and humiliation which they had endured, and were still enduring. He succeeded in obtaining what he had desired. In reply, Voltaire paid him and the Portuguese Jews compliments, and admitted that he had done wrong in including them in his charges, but nevertheless continued to abuse Jewish antiquity.

Pinto's defense attracted great attention. The press, both French and English, pronounced a favorable judgment, and espoused the cause of the Jews against Voltaire. But they blamed Pinto for having been too partial to the Portuguese, and too strongly opposed to the German and Polish Jews, and, like Voltaire, passing sentence upon all indiscriminately, because of the behavior of a few individuals. A Catholic priest under a Jewish disguise took up the cause of Hebrew antiquity. He addressed "Jewish Letters" to Voltaire, pretending that they came from Portuguese and German Jews; these were well meant but badly composed. They were widely read, and helped to turn the current of public opinion in favor of the Jews against Voltaire's savage attacks. They did not fail to remind him that owing to loss of money sustained through one Jew he pursued the whole race with his anger. This friendly pamphlet on behalf of the Jews being written in French, then the fashionable language, it was extensively read and discussed, and found a favorable reception.

Sympathy for the Jews and the movement to elevate them from their servile position were most materially stimulated by a persecution which humane thinkers of the time considered surprising and unexpected, but which has often been repeated in the midst of Christian nations. This persecution kindled passions on both sides, and awakened men to activity. In no part of Europe, perhaps, were the oppression and abasement of Jews greater than in the originally German, but at that time French province of Alsace, to which Metz may be reckoned. All causes of inveterate Jew-hatred—clerical intolerance, racial antipathy, arbitrariness of the nobility, mercantile jealousy, and brute ignorance—were combined against the Jews of Alsace, to render their existence in the century of enlightenment a continual hell. Yet the oppression was so paltry in its nature that it could never stimulate the Jews to offer heroic resistance. The German populace of this province, like Germans in general, clung tenaciously to their hatred of the Jews. Both the nobles and citizens of Alsace turned a deaf ear to the voice of humanity, which spoke so eloquently in French literature, and would not abate one jot of their legal rights over the Jews, who were treated as serfs. In Alsace there lived from three to four thousand Jewish families (from fifteen to twenty thousand souls). It was in the power of the nobility to admit new, or expel old families. In Metz the merchants had had a law passed limiting Jews to four hundred and eighty families. This condition of affairs had the same consequences as in Austria and Prussia: younger sons were condemned to celibacy, or exile from their paternal home, and daughters to remain unmarried. In fact, it was worse than in Austria and elsewhere, because German pedantry carefully looked to the execution of these rigorous Pharaonic laws, and stealthily watched the French officials, lest any attempt be made to show indulgence towards the unfortunate people. Naturally the Jews of Alsace and Metz were enclosed in Ghettos, and could only occasionally pass through the other parts of the towns. For these privileges they were compelled to pay exorbitant taxes.

Louis XIV had presented a portion of his income derived from the Jews of Metz as a gift to the Duc de Brancas and the Countess de Fontaine. They had to pay these persons 20,000 livres annually; besides poll-taxes, trade-taxes, house-taxes, contributions to churches and hospitals, war-taxes, and exactions of every sort under other names.

In Alsace they were obliged to pay protection-money to the king, tribute to the bishop of Strasburg, and the duke of Hagenau, besides residence-taxes to the nobles in whose feudal territory they dwelt, and war-taxes. The privilege of residence did not descend to the eldest son, but had to be purchased from the nobleman, as if the son were a foreign applicant for protection. The Jews had to win the good opinion, not alone of their lord, but also of his officials, by rich gifts at New Year, and on other occasions. Whence could they procure all these moneys, and still support their synagogues and schools?